The one for me

chapter 7 Home Fires Rekindled

The elevator hummed softly as it descended from the hotel's private suite, carrying Win and Juju away from the bewildered revelry above. The doors parted with a gentle chime, spilling them into the opulent lobby where marble floors gleamed under crystal chandeliers and the faint scent of orchids lingered in the air. Win's hand slipped free from Juju's grasp almost instinctively, the separation halting their momentum amid the hush of evening foot traffic. Juju turned back immediately, his striking blue eyes meeting Win's with that knowing glint—the one that always preceded a barrage of explanations, excuses, and charm offensives. He knew full well the storm of questions churning behind Win's carefully composed poker face

Without a single word, Juju plunged a hand into the pocket of his black trousers and withdrew a thick, cream-colored envelope bulging with crisp euros—the absurd pocket money bestowed by his French grandparents during his whirlwind visit. "This is for you," he declared earnestly, pressing it into Win's palm with both hands, fingers lingering just a beat too long in that oblivious, brotherly way that sent Win's heart into quiet overdrive. "I visited Grandpa and Marie Nana while I was in Paris. She asked about you right away—wanted to know exactly when you would come with me next time. She sends all her love, and she made me promise to tell you that."

Win's expression held firm as chiseled stone, his brown eyes unreadable beneath arched brows, arms crossed tightly over his chest in a barrier of lingering defense. The envelope felt heavy in his hand, a tangible reminder of Juju's chaotic detour—the fifty-one ignored calls, the empty bed that had greeted his birthday morning, the gnawing void that had shadowed every forced smile at the event. Juju, undeterred as ever, shifted tactics with the ease of someone who had defused Win's moods a thousand times before. He summoned a pitiful pout, exaggerating the jut of his lower lip and widening those blue eyes in feigned innocence, the picture of contrition.

"You know I came directly from Paris without taking any rest whatsoever," Juju pleaded, voice dropping to a dramatic whine. "Straight off the plane, no sleep at all, racing across the city just to make it here for you in time." He glanced up hopefully, searching Win's face for the telltale c***k in the facade. Still, Win remained unmoved, jaw set like granite.

Juju sighed theatrically, clasping his hands together in a gesture of mock supplication that bordered on theatrical. "I completely lost track of time—the phone died on me without warning, and then I overslept straight through the alarm. Just scold me properly or even hit me if you must, but remember that it is my birthday today." He paused for effect, then corrected himself hastily with a sheepish grin that carved deep dimples into his cheeks. "I mean our birthday, of course. Okay, okay—I will let you kill me tomorrow as full punishment."

The corner of Win's mouth twitched at last, betraying the inevitable thaw, a faint spark igniting in his brown eyes. Juju's megawatt smile erupted in full force, transforming his face into a beacon of unfiltered joy. "Where are your car keys? I will drive us home right now.

Win retorted swiftly, plucking the keys from his own pocket with a deft flick of his wrist. "Why, so you can kill us both on the road from sheer exhaustion? You look like you are about to collapse. I will drive. Get into the passenger seat."

Juju saluted with mock-military crispness, his blue eyes twinkling. "Okay, boss. Lead the way."

The sleek Mercedes-Maybach waited in the valet lot, its black curves gleaming under sodium lights like a sleeping predator. Win slid behind the wheel, the engine purring to life with a low, throaty rumble, while Juju buckled into the passenger seat, his head already lolling against the supple leather headrest almost instantly. "Did you call Mom to prepare food for us?" Win asked as he merged smoothly into the flowing traffic of Bangkok's evening arteries, neon signs blurring into colorful streaks along the Chao Phraya.

"Of course I did," Juju mumbled, eyelids drooping heavily, his voice thickening with encroaching sleep. "She knows the full menu by heart—spicy basil chicken, mango sticky rice, all the favorites. Wake me when we reach home, okay? I need a little nap right now."

"Okay," Win replied softly, his tone stripped bare of all earlier edge, now laced with quiet tenderness. Juju drifted off within seconds, his chest rising and falling in peaceful rhythm, the ginger ponytail spilling messily over the headrest like a cascade of autumn fire. Win glanced sideways at the next red light, his brown eyes tracing the familiar lines of Juju's sleeping face—the long lashes fanned dark against pale skin, lips parted slightly in repose, the faint freckles dusting his nose from the Paris sun. A genuine smile curved Win's lips fully now, warm and unguarded, all frustration dissolved into profound contentment. The road home stretched invitingly ahead, their birthday finally, truly complete.

The drive unfolded in companionable silence, the city's pulse fading as they wound through quieter streets toward the blooming garden oasis that was their shared sanctuary. Win's mind wandered to the day's whirlwind—the agency's prying eyes, Alex's cloying attempts at closeness, the fans' frenzied cheers that felt hollow without Juju by his side. But now, with Juju's steady breathing filling the cabin, the weight lifted. He stole another glance, heart twisting in that familiar, unspoken ache. Juju remained blissfully oblivious, his extroverted warmth drawing everyone in like gravity, leaving Win to harbor the deeper currents alone.

They pulled into the driveway just past eight-thirty, the house aglow with welcoming lights, the scent of home-cooked spices wafting from open windows. Win nudged Juju's shoulder gently. "Home. Wake up."

Juju stirred with a sleepy mumble, rubbing his eyes like a child. "Food time?" He unbuckled, stretching languidly, his loose shirt riding up to reveal a sliver of toned midriff. Win averted his gaze, throat tight.

The front door flew open before they reached it. Win's mom—Cutie—barreled out, arms wide. "My boys! Happy birthday proper!" She crushed Juju first in a jasmine-scented hug, then Win, kissing both cheeks. "Food waits—Juju called ahead, bossy as ever."

Behind her emerged the dual-family contingent: Tanthira (Us Than) with her knowing smile, Pops (Nat) clapping Juju's back approvingly, Aimee fluttering French kisses, Suk raising whiskey glasses. BigEye bounded from the garden, tail whipping frenzy, leaping into Juju's arms. "Traitor," Juju laughed, ruffling fur. "Forgot me already?"

The dining room table groaned under bounty: pad kra pao sizzling aromatic, tom yum goong steaming spicy, khao niao mamuang glistening sweet, platters of grilled prawns and mango salads. Grandparents from both sides presided at the ends, Marie Nana absent but represented by Juju's envelope tales.

"To our twenty-two-year-old terrors," Suk toasted first, glass raised. "May empires bend to your will."

Pops nodded gruffly. "Juju, Paris project—board whispers for you soon?" Juju waved it off. "Later, Pops. Food first!"

Laughter flowed as stories cascaded. Aimee cooed over Juju's French visit: "Grandpa grumbled, but Nana adored your lilies." Tanthira teased Win: "Alex's guitar gift? Fans shipping you two?" Juju pouted instantly, jealous edge sharpening. "Fake bros stealing my bestie? No fair.

Win's heart stuttered at "bestie," but he smirked. "Jealous much?" Juju stomped his foot under the table—playful, oblivious. "Damn right. Our tradition: you, me, BigEye, river cake. Not Alex."

Cutie beamed, passing seconds. "Eat, boys. Tomorrow, TV show—Juju roped you in?" Juju grinned wickedly. "Friendship quiz. Win knows me better than anyone—twenty-two years, ten hours since yesterday's bday."

Suk leaned in, voice low to Win. "Board meeting next week. Your seat waits—main member now." Win nodded subtly, power humming beneath fame's facade. Juju oblivious, stuffing prawns.

Night deepened with games—mahjong with grandparents (Juju cheating shamelessly), BigEye fetch chaos. Juju clung throughout: arm around Win's shoulders narrating Paris ("Grandpa hated Nat stories!"), head on shoulder during films. Win's pulse raced, pining silent t*****e—Juju's warmth brotherly, devastatingly so.

Midnight struck; they slipped to the river stall tradition—candlelit cake under stars, Juju feeding Win frosting, laughing crumbs. "Best bday," Juju declared. Win smiled, aching. If only you knew.

Back home, Juju crashed beside Win—oblivious sprawl. Win lay awake, staring at ceiling, jealousy flickering: Alex's touches, Meen's unknown threats. Mine, he thought possessively. Sleep came fitful.