POV: Tee
The final bell at Eliya Academy sounds like freedom.
Not the dramatic kind.
Just survival.
The second it rings, the entire school explodes into motion—chairs scraping, conversations overlapping, people already halfway out the door before teachers can finish their last sentence.
I leave with the crowd.
Head down.
Backpack hanging off one shoulder.
Headphones around my neck, not on. I like people thinking I can't hear them.
Makes them honest.
The hallway's loud in the way only rich schools can be. Expensive perfume. Loud laughter. Designer shoes clicking against polished floors. Everyone acting like their lives are part of some luxury teen drama.
Maybe they are.
I move through it unnoticed.
Exactly how I like it.
No one stops me.
No one calls my name.
Good.
Outside, the late afternoon heat hits immediately. Eliya's parking lot is lined with black luxury cars waiting like obedient guard dogs.
Mine's already there.
The VUS door opens before I even reach it.
I slide into the backseat, letting the cold air-conditioning hit my face.
Finally.
Silence.
Well—
Almost silence.
Bangkok traffic still hums outside like the city never sleeps long enough to breathe.
P'Krit glances at me through the mirror. "Home, Nong Tee?"
I nod once.
He doesn't push conversation after that. One of the reasons I like him.
The car starts moving.
I pull out my phone.
No notifications.
Perfect.
I open my reading app instead.
Class Z: Can You Survive?
The title alone sounds dramatic enough to distract me from today.
And honestly?
It works.
The story's messy in the best way. Zombies everywhere. Blood. Chaos. Two idiots surviving the apocalypse while clearly wanting to kiss each other but choosing violence instead.
Realistic.
I scroll through the next chapter.
The two leads are barricading a classroom door while arguing over whether trusting people gets you killed.
One of them grabs the other's wrist.
Too long.
Too careful.
The tension practically leaks through the screen.
Then—
Movement outside catches my attention.
I look up.
Big mistake.
Sun Suwannasuk Suwannakul is crossing the parking lot like the universe personally hired a camera crew to follow him around.
Of course people are staring.
They always stare.
Moon's beside him, fingers laced with his.
She's laughing at something he said, head tilted toward him slightly, comfortable in a way that feels practiced.
And Sun—
God.
He still looks annoyingly good after throwing hands in the cafeteria.
Golden light catches in his hair. His loosened tie hangs perfectly on him in that effortless rich-boy way that should honestly be illegal.
It irritates me instantly.
My fingers tighten around my phone.
My cheek still stings faintly where his fist grazed me earlier.
I touch it without thinking.
Bad idea.
Now I remember the fight.
His grip on my hoodie.
His voice sharp in my ear.
The way his eyes looked when I shoved him back.
Alive.
That's the worst part.
He looked alive.
And somehow, for a few seconds, so did I.
I look away first.
Because obviously I always do.
The car pulls out of Eliya's gates, and Bangkok unfolds around us in flashing neon and traffic lights.
Motorcycles weave between cars like death is optional.
Street vendors shout over sizzling grills.
The city smells like rain trapped under heat, gasoline, and food cooked too close to the road.
Normal.
Comforting, almost.
P'Krit turns on the radio quietly.
Some Thai pop song titled "Poison for me" fills the car—synth-heavy heartbreak with lyrics dramatic enough to make Sun cry artistically in public.
I almost laugh thinking about it.
Almost.
Instead, I sink lower into the seat and go back to my novel.
The leads are fighting again.
One accuses the other of being reckless.
The other says:
"If I die, at least I die trying."
Dramatic.
Stupid.
Very Sun-coded.
I hate that comparison the second my brain makes it.
I scroll faster.
Doesn't help.
Because now I'm thinking about the principal's office.
About Chai forcing us into the same project like this is some kind of inspirational movie where enemies magically become friends.
Not happening.
Sun would rather die.
Honestly?
So would I.
Probably dramatically.
The car stops at a red light.
I glance outside again.
A street market buzzes nearby, crowded and loud. A girl in a school uniform is arguing with her friend over bubble tea flavors. Someone's grilling squid by the roadside. Two guys around my age are laughing so hard one nearly drops his drink.
For a second, I just watch them.
People who belong somewhere always look lighter.
Sun belongs everywhere.
That's probably his real superpower.
Not the popularity.
Not the looks.
It's the way he walks into a room and acts like there's space waiting for him.
Meanwhile, I spent half my life learning how to disappear.
My old friends from St. Gabriel's barely text anymore after I transferred. Not that I blame them.
Distance kills things.
Sometimes quietly.
Sometimes all at once.
Now it's mostly just me.
Me, my sketchbook, and a dangerously unhealthy addiction to webnovels.
Speaking of—
My phone buzzes.
Math club group chat.
Moon's name pops up immediately.
Probably organizing another study session.
I don't open it.
Moon's nice. Too nice, honestly.
But she exists inside Sun's orbit.
And everything around Sun burns eventually.
Another memory hits before I can stop it.
The cafeteria.
His hand gripping my hoodie.
His shoulder against mine.
Warm.
Solid.
Too close.
I stare harder at my screen.
The Class Z leads are kissing now in some dusty supply closet while zombies slam against the door outside.
Desperate.
Messy.
The kind of kiss that happens because tomorrow isn't guaranteed.
I snort quietly.
Sun in a zombie apocalypse would be unbearable.
He'd probably try flirting with the undead.
Actually—
He'd succeed once, get overconfident, then nearly die because of it.
And somehow still make it everyone else's problem.
The thought drags a laugh out of me before I can stop it.
Small.
Brief.
P'Krit notices immediately in the mirror.
"There's the human emotion," he says.
I glare at him lightly.
"Drive."
He grins.
Traitor.
The condo tower comes into view eventually, all glass and steel and "my parents definitely have money."
Thonglor at sunset glows gold around the edges, expensive and untouchable.
The VUS pulls into the underground parking garage.
I grab my bag.
"Thanks," I mutter.
"Don't stay up reading all night again," P'Krit says.
No promises.
I step into the elevator, finally alone.
Quiet hum.
Bright lights.
My reflection stares back at me from the mirrored wall.
There's still a faint red mark on my cheek.
A souvenir from Sun.
I should hate it.
Instead, I just stare for a second too long.
The elevator doors open.
I walk toward my apartment slowly, phone still in hand.
Before unlocking the door, I glance down at the paused chapter of Class Z on my screen.
The two leads are still running.
Still surviving.
Still pretending they don't care about each other.
Idiots.
I close the app.
Sun thinks he's the center of the universe.
Bright.
Untouchable.
The kind of person people naturally orbit around.
But shadows don't disappear just because the sun shines.
And after today?
I don't think either of us is walking away from this untouched.
___