After Hours
663 Words
The week moved fast.
Win buried himself in the Sojo campaign, determined to prove himself. The creative direction was bolder now—braver. He poured his soul into every screen, every stroke, knowing that Khun Phu was watching. Always watching.
Phu never hovered, never micromanaged—but his presence was a weight Win carried with a strange mixture of fear and anticipation.
There was something thrilling about working under him. The precision of his feedback. The way he never raised his voice, yet every word cut clean.
Win wanted to impress him. Not just as a designer.
As a man.
---
Friday, 9:17 PM
The office was empty again.
The air-conditioning hummed quietly as Win clicked through the final mock-ups for Sojo’s new mobile layout. He'd skipped dinner. Too focused. Too wired.
He didn't notice Phu until he heard the soft thud of a water bottle placed next to him.
“You’ll fry your brain,” Phu said, voice low but firm.
Win looked up. “You’re still here?”
Phu raised an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t I ask you that?”
Win smiled. “Maybe I just like the quiet.”
Phu leaned against the edge of Win’s desk. The soft lighting from the overhead lamps cast shadows along the curve of his neck, highlighting the angle of his jaw.
“You’ve improved,” he said. “Your work. The Sojo team will like this direction.”
Win’s chest swelled slightly. “Thanks. Coming from you, that means a lot.”
Phu nodded. “But it’s still... hesitant. You're holding back.”
Win blinked. “I thought you just said—”
“You’re good,” Phu interrupted. “But you’re afraid to push too far.”
There was a pause. A silence that wasn’t empty, but charged.
“I’m not afraid,” Win said softly.
Phu tilted his head, studying him. “Aren’t you?”
Win stood, turning to face him. The distance between them narrowed—just a meter, maybe less. Close enough that he could smell the hint of something earthy on Phu’s skin.
“I’m not afraid,” Win repeated. “Of design. Of... people.”
He stepped closer. So close that their sleeves nearly touched.
Phu didn’t move away. His gaze flicked down to Win’s lips—brief, but unmistakable.
“You want to test me?” Phu asked, voice like velvet dragged across silk.
Win’s breath caught. “No. I just... want to understand you.”
Another pause.
Then Phu said something Win didn’t expect. Something that didn’t sound cold or clinical.
“My life isn’t simple.”
Win’s eyes softened. “Whose is?”
Phu looked away for the first time that night. “You see what I let you see.”
“Then let me see more.”
That caught Phu off guard. Win stepped even closer now—close enough to feel the warmth radiating off his body. He didn’t touch him. But the space between them was charged like a held breath.
“You shouldn’t be so reckless,” Phu murmured.
“You’re the one who keeps coming back.”
This time, the silence was different. Full. Loaded.
Phu’s hand lifted—hovering for a moment—then dropped again before it could touch Win’s face.
He stepped back.
“I’ll walk you to your bike,” he said quietly.
And just like that, the moment was gone. Teased. Denied.
---
The Elevator
They stood in silence as the elevator descended.
Phu’s hands were in his pockets. Win kept his eyes on the floor numbers. The tension was unbearable.
Just before the doors opened on the ground floor, Phu spoke.
“You did well this week. But next time, don’t let praise make you careless.”
Win turned to look at him. “And what about you?”
Phu’s eyes flicked to him.
“You’re the first person to make me question the rules I wrote for myself.”
The doors slid open.
- Writer
