The Birthday Party
705 Words
Friday afternoon brought an unexpected invitation.
Aun found the envelope on his desk, tucked beneath a stack of attendance sheets. Inside, thick cream-colored paper with gold trim:
> “You are cordially invited to Thana Sirikarn’s 18th Birthday Celebration — Saturday, 7 PM. Dress Formal. Venue: Sirikarn Residence.”
He stared at it for a long moment.
Eighteen.
Legal.
It shouldn’t have mattered.
But it did.
---
He hadn’t planned to go. He told himself a dozen reasons why it was a terrible idea: it wasn’t appropriate, it wasn’t safe, and most of all—it wasn’t smart.
But Saturday evening, Aun still found himself in front of the mirror, buttoning his cleanest white shirt, the one he reserved for job interviews. The only shoes he owned were scuffed and tired, but he shined them the best he could.
As he parked his motorbike outside the Sirikarn mansion, security guards gave him skeptical glances. One of them checked the guest list twice before waving him through.
The house looked like something out of a movie. Chandeliers glimmered through tall windows. Servers in black carried trays of champagne. A string quartet played softly under the glow of fairy lights in the garden.
Aun felt like a trespasser. Every laugh, every clink of a glass reminded him he didn’t belong here.
Then he saw Tae.
The boy stood at the top of the staircase like he owned the world—black suit, no tie, shirt unbuttoned just enough to hint at skin. He was laughing at something someone whispered, but the moment his eyes met Aun’s, the smile changed.
Slower. Deeper.
Just for him.
---
“Didn’t think you’d come,” Tae said when they finally stood face to face, slightly off to the side of the party.
“You invited me.”
“You could’ve said no.”
“I should’ve.”
Tae stepped closer. “But you didn’t.”
Aun tried to keep his eyes off the way the suit clung to Tae’s body. “I’m here to be polite.”
“Then let’s be impolite.” Tae offered a champagne glass. “Live a little.”
Aun took the glass. He didn’t drink often, but tonight, the cold fizz tasted like rebellion.
---
The night wore on with clinking glasses and gentle music. At some point, Tae leaned close and whispered, “Wanna see my room?”
Aun hesitated. “Tae...”
“It’s just a room.”
They both knew it wouldn’t be just a room.
Still, he followed.
---
Tae’s bedroom was large, clean, expensive. But the walls were lined with books, art supplies, old sketchbooks. The messiness of it surprised Aun.
Tae locked the door.
Aun’s heartbeat pounded. “Don’t.”
Tae turned to him, eyes serious. “You kissed me back.”
Aun exhaled. “It was a mistake.”
“Then stop looking at me like that.”
“I’m trying.”
Tae stepped forward, reached out, gently brushing a thumb along Aun’s cheekbone. “You’re allowed to want me.”
“I’m not.”
“But you do.”
Aun closed his eyes.
“Yes.”
That was all Tae needed.
Their mouths met again—this time slower, desperate but tender. Hands moved over shirts and skin, fumbling, heated. Aun’s body betrayed his resolve as he let himself feel—truly feel—someone wanting him not out of pity, but passion.
The suit jacket dropped first, followed by buttons popping open, breath hitching.
Aun whispered, “We shouldn’t—”
Tae’s lips traced the edge of his jaw. “But we will.”
Clothes hit the floor. Skin met skin.
There was nothing gentle about the way Tae held him—eighteen but bold, cocky but honest. And Aun, older and more afraid, melted into it.
Their bodies moved like they had been waiting for this moment for far too long.
Gasps. Hands. Tongues. Heat.
It wasn’t perfect—but it was real. Messy, breathless, intense.
When they finally collapsed side by side on the sheets, Aun stared at the ceiling, chest heaving.
Silence hung between them.
Then Tae whispered, “Still think it was a mistake?”
Aun didn’t answer.
But he didn’t leave, either.
- Writer
