Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The sound of the rain was as loud as thunder, drowning out all the sounds around him. All that remained was the sound of water hitting the ground. In the room on the top floor of the condo Eight floors, concealed in the darkness. Two young men curled up on the couch, their bodies soaked. The figure in his arms widened, sobbing as if to suffocate. 

"It's okay In, It's okay." one of them comforted the other. 

The person consoling himself was shaking, letting tears flow. 

"Don't leave me. We must live together,
." both arms wrapped around his lover in a firm hug.

 Forbidden Love, that adults can't accept. They got into a heated argument at home after they broke up and fled to meet up. Korn rubbed the other's swollen cheek. Pity until the heart hurts. A young boy who was once happy with his family got into a fight that led to an argument. 

"I'm sorry." he whispered to his damp temple.

"I love you. Remember that. I love you so much." says Korn 

In raised his head, tears overflow.

"Don't say something like this. Don't say it like you're leaving me. We will be together. I will always be with you." says In 

Lighting rumbled but failed to capture the attention of the two. Korn presses a kiss hard on the lips that were pale from the cold. 

"Hey"

The sound of the door being slammed loudly with a loud shout of anger. 

"What's this." 

"Dad."

"Don't touch my son!" 

"Dad" 

A middle-aged man came and snatched his son's arm. 

"Come here!"

But was shaken off without giving up. 

"Dad."

"What are you thinking?"

"I love him. We love each other." says In 

"We love each other? You love him more than you love your own dad?" says the dad

"Sir."

"What's your excuse for this?" yells In dad 

"It's my fault. I am sorry." says Korn 

Korn kneels down onto the ground. 

"Why are you saying sorry to me? I'm not your dad. It's none of your business." Intouch dad says as he pushes Korn out of the way to get to Intouch. 

"Dad"

"You, come here."

"Don't hurt him." says In 

"Don't you ever bother my son again." says In dad

The door opens again and another man comes into the condo. 

"Korn." says Korn dad

"What's this? Come here."

Korn's dad pulls him up off the floor and holds onto his shirt. 

"How many times did I tell you? Don't get involved with this kid."

Korn's father pushes him away and Korn looks over at In with a sad look in his eyes. While In keeps crying and trying to look over at Korn but his dad keeps making him look away. 

"So, this must be his father." says Korn father

"So what? I never taught my kid to get involved with thugs like you. Don't look at him".  yells In's dad. 

The young boy still sobbing but it was drowned out by the still heavy rain outside the window.  Sharp, gentle eyes that look at the now gloomy lover, if the love in those eyes never diminishes. Korn met his lover's eyes as if making a decision. Korn goes down onto his knees and looks at his father while Intouch was still trying to get out of his dad's arms. 

"Dad, I'm sorry." Korn bows to his father

Korn looks over at In and into his eyes. 

"Don't look at him. You have nothing to do with him." says In dad

Korn is still looking at In. 

"Why did you get involved with someone like him?" asks In dad

"Dad, we love each other. I love him." says In 

In starts to struggle more in his dad's arms. Korn looks over at In. Suddenly, a tall figure pounced on his father, grabbed the gun that was hung around his waist. Korn moves away from his father and held it to his temple. 

"Korn." says his father 

In starts shaking his head. 

"Korn, no." says In 

"Don't do it, Korn." says Korn father

"Korn."

"No!" says In who is fighting in his dad's arms

"Korn. Give it back to me, Korn." says his father

In starts crying again. "Please, don't do it."

"Don't do it, Korn." 

Korn just keeps looking at In. 

"Dad, let me go". says In 

"Give the gun back to me."

"Let me go." crys In 

"Korn."

"In." says Korn 

"Korn." says his father

"I love you."  says Korn 

"Please, don't do this."  says In 

Korn smiles before he closes his eyes.

BANG!!!!

"Korn!" 

In pulls himself out of his dad's arm and runs over to Korn and cries. In falls over Korn and holds him. 

"Don't leave me here. Please, stay with me. Korn, wake up".  says In as he shakes Korn.

"Answer me. I love you."

In sobs over Korn and holds him before laying their foreheads together and he just cries. 

"You said you'd never leave me. Why did you do this to me? We love each other, don't we? Why did you do this to me?" cries In. 

In looks at his hands and sees the blood covering them before he looks at the gun still in Korn's hand. A trembling small hand grabbed the gun and pointed it at his temple. Eyes swollen and bruised, looking at the lover's face as if to be engraved in the memory. 

"I love you." says In 

"Son, no!" yells In's dad

BANG!!

Another shot fired like the sound of the thunder outside. Another life lost as the small body of the other boy fell right on top of his lover's; a final embrace. All that remained were two fathers, one crying and the other with no emotion on his face along with the sound of rain still falling in the background. 

We will be together, forever.

Chapter Text

(Everything before the ---line is my own added details for the story)

The first time Pharm noticed that he was different from other kids was when he was five years old. That day Pharm was hanging out with his cousin Sin while his parents talked to his uncle. Pharm and Sin were watching TV when something unexpectedly exploded and Pharm started to breathe heavily and had the sound of a gunshot in his ears which were ringing. Just as Pharm got his breathing under control, there was a loud gunshot from the TV, and Pharm heard the sound of the gunshot along with a shout of a name in his head but if you ask him what the name was, he wouldn't be able to tell you. But the sound sent Pharm into a panic attack which is when Sin noticed.

"Pharm?"

When Sin touches Pharm on the arm, a loud scream is heard by everyone in the house. Their parents come running into the room.

"What happened Sin?" asks his father Kritt

"I don't know. We were watching TV when there was first an explosion then a gunshot. Pharm started having a panic attack after the gunshot. When I touched him on the arm, he screamed." says Sin

"Pharm sweetheart."

Pharm just stares straight ahead like he didn't hear his mom.

"Pharm." says his dad Kann

Kann slowly reaches out for Pharm and touches his hand when nothing happens Kann pulls him into a hug and is worried about how fast both Pharm is breathing and his heartbeat which can be felt in the hug.

"Shh, it's okay. Just breathe Pharm." says Kann

Pharm tries to take a breath but it feels like he can't get the air into his lungs and because of that feeling he starts to hyperventilate which makes his crying worse especially as he starts gasping for air.

"Kann, I'm calling 911". says Kann's brother Kritt

As Kritt calls 911, Kann stills tries to get Pharm breathing but he has started to notice that Pharm's lips are starting to develop a blueish tint to them the more he tries to breathe. Around 10 minutes later, the sirens can be heard pulling up outside of the house. Kritt meets them at the door and leads them into the living room.

"Can you tell me what happened?" asks the paramedic

"We were in the dining room talking when we heard a loud scream. Rushing in here my son Pharm was sitting on the floor having a panic attack that my nephew told us came from hearing a gunshot on the tv and the scream was when he tried to touch Pharm. I tried to get him to calm down and try breathing but he started to hyperventilate instead." says Kann

The paramedics start looking over Pharm and they are able to get an oxygen mask on Pharm to help with his breathing. After getting vitals and seeing Pharm's heart rate, they get the stretcher.

"With Pharm having a hard time breathing and with his heart rate, I feel it would be best to take him to the hospital to get checked out." says the paramedic

"Can I ride with him?"

"Yes, you can even sit with him on the stretcher to help Pharm feel more comfortable".

Getting onto the stretcher and into the ambulance, Kann rubs Pharm's back and tries to make him feel better. Once at the hospital, Pharm has fallen asleep and his breathing starts to become better. As Pharm sleeps, the doctor tells Kann and his wife about what to expect if Pharm has another panic attack.

The second time he noticed that he was different from other kids was the fact that he felt like he was looking for someone. Pharm has never understood why he felt like that but just has this feeling in his heart that someone is missing. His friends call him weird because Pharm will just look around trying to see if he can find this person but he can't help it.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

(Into the book and show)

Thrid Pov

A loud knocking on the next door has the boy opening his eyes. Rolling over onto his back before sitting up in bed.

"What a noisy morning."

Pharm Triwinij, a nineteen year old, a first-year student in the Faculty of Economics at T University. He is living alone for the first time in his life. His father passed away when he was ten years old from an illness and just left behind his mother and younger brother who both live in America. On the other hand, he stubbornly took the university entrance exam in Thailand. His mother fussed but allowed him to live in a small studio apartment of a relative.

Pharm doesn't look happy about his wake-up call before his alarm goes off at 7:00 am. Leaning over to grab his phone, he looks at the alarm.

"Darn it, I can't be late on my first day."

Rushing out of bed and into the bathroom to get changed before heading to the University. Once he gets there, he runs into the line for registration.

"Hello." the person standing before him greets.

"Hello." says Pharm

"What's your name? I'm Team." says Team

"I'm Pharm".

"Hello, My name is Manaow."

"After the registration, there are club activities that we can go have a look at." says Team

"I see, so Team and Pharm, which one do you want to join?" asks Manaow

"I'm thinking of joining the swimming team. Even though I look like this, I got into this university because of my swimming scholarship." says Team 

"I will believe it if you gain more muscle." says Manaow

"Don't look at me like that." says Team 

 "I think I will join...". starts Pharm 

Manaow turns around and points to someone. 

"That's P'Dean. That guy is Dean. He's a third-year business student. He is so handsome." says Manaow 

"How do you know all this?" asks Team 

"Don't underestimate my general knowledge". says Manaow

 Pharm looks at the tall, tanned figure walking, his eyes not blinking. Bright eyes, sharp face, thick eyebrows with an aquiline nose, he looked like he had mixed blood. But it was not his good looks that attracted him. If something is provoking... He did not understand himself. 

"I think, I met him somewhere in the swimming competition." says Team 

"Of course, He is the swimmer of his faculty. Even I know him. Oh, hey Pharm. " says Manaow

"Pharm, it's your turn to register" says Team 

Pharms breaks out of his staring and looks at Team and Manaow.  Pharm moves and follows Team and gets registered. 

"Where is Dean going? I didn't get a chance to say hi. You will be in the swimming club right?"  asks Manaow

"Yeah". says Team 

"So, you will get to meet Dean". says Manaow

Pharms just stay quiet and doesn't say anything. 

"Pharm, so which club are you going to join? Team will join the swimming club and I will join the drama club." asks Manaow

"I think I will join the cooking club." says Pharm

"Cooking club?" asks both Team and Manaow

"Yes. My mom used to open a Thi restaurant. Also, I love to make Thi desserts, so I will be joining this club." says Pharm

"That's great. I like to eat Thi desserts. Like Steamed Layer Cake and Mung Bean Sweets. Yummy" says Manaow

"I also like Thi desserts. Wait. what is it called? I got it. It's Pumpkin Custard. Man, I'm hungry now." says Team

Pharm just shakes his head with a smile at Team. 

"Since we are already hungry, after we finish this and join the club activities, let's meet at the student lounge, okay?" asks/says Manaow 

Both Team and Pharm let out a laugh. 

"Okay." says Pharm

"Let's go grab a seat. Come on. There are many people already." says Manaow

Walking around, Pharm finds the building for the cooking club and walks in to sign up. 

"Hello. This is the cooking club, right?" says/asks  Pharm

"Aum. Finally, a guy is joining our club!" says one of the girls sitting at a table

A girl stands up and wipes her hands on her apron and she joins the other girl at her table while Pharm sits down.

"Write your name here." says the frst girl

"Hello. My name is Aum. I am the club president. And over there with the grey hair is Dej. He's the vice president. And this is..." says Aum

"Giffy! I'm Giffy. I am the assistant." says Giffy

"My name is Pharm. I'm a fresher from the Faculty of Economics." says Pharm 

"Our club doesn't have many people. You are very welcome here." says Aum  

"I am so happy that a guy is finally joining our club. I have been gaining muscles from carrying all these flour bags." says Giffy

"Let me know if you guys need any help. I am good at making Thi food and dessert. I can do some food carving as well!" says Pharm

"That's very good, Pharm!" says Aum as she and Giffy grab his hands

"Our club participates in many activities at the university. It will be great to have an amazing cook like you in our club!" says Aum 

"My pleasure!" say Pharm 

Aum and Giffy let go of Pharm's hands. 

"Anyway, I will let you know if there is any activity coming up." says Aum

"Let me have your LINE account first. Yes, your LINE account. Write it clearly." says Giffy as she taps the table and pushes the sign-up sheet. 

After Pharm writes his line account, he puts down the pen and Giffy pulls the sheet to her. 

"Okay, I will contact you soon." says Aum 

"Sure!" says Pharm 

Pharm looks at Aum. 

"I will excuse myself then." says Pharm 

"Sure! See you." says Aum 

"Goodbye." says Aum 

"Goodbye. See you!" says Giffy 

After Pharm walks away, Aum turns to Giffy. 

"You are overreacting! You will scare him away." says Aum

"He is so cute!" says Giffy 

After leaving the cooking club, Pharm heads to the student lounge and meets up with Team and Manaow. 

"There are so many girls joining the club. I almost fainted." says Manaow

"Of course, it is a drama club. I saw an actor there too. But if you're interested to see a lot of guys, come and join my club!" says Team

"No, it's too hot." says Manaow

"True, It's so hot. Look at my arms. I got all these bad sunburns." says Team

"Oh no! Why don't you use sunscreen? Your skin will get worse." says/asks Manaow

"Pharm, I think we are having a second mum now." says Team

"Hello, mummy." says Team and Pharm

Manaow hits Team on the upper arm and tries to hit Pharm too. All of a sudden there is a loud noise and crash from outside. Pharm looks down at the table and tries not to panic. 

"That sound is so loud." says Manaow

"It crashed right in front of here." says Team

"Pharm, what's wrong. Why do you look so pale?" asks Manaow

"Pharm. Are you okay?" says/asks Team 

"I...I was scared of that noise." says Pharm

"Why are you so scared of the noise?" asks Team

"Well...I've been scared of loud noises since I was very young. If I hear an unexpected loud noise, I will be shocked, just like that." says Pharm

"How loud is the noise that will make you panic?" asks Team 

"Like, the sound of lightning, guns, bombs. Stuff like that." says Pharm 

"What if it's an action movie?" asks Manaow

"That won't make me scared. Those jump-scare scenes in horror movies also don't scare me." says Pharm

"What about starting pistols used in races?"asks Team

"I will know it beforehand. It shouldn't be a problem." says Pharm

"I see, so, that means you won't have a problem when we go watch Dean at the swimming competition." says Manaow 

Pharm looks away from Manaow and doesn't make eye contact with her or Team. 

"You know, I think, I am much stronger than Pharm. Look at me and look at Pharm. Do I look stronger? and look at Pharm. Stand up for a second." Manaow pulls Pharm out of his chair. " Look, he's only a little bit taller than me. Your weight is also...so tiny!" says Manaow

"Let me protect you." says Manow

"What do you want to protect me from?" asks Pharm

"Let me protect both of you." says Team 

"You are crazy and overreacting." says Pharm

"How can you protect us?" asks Manaow

"Pharm, you know nothing. You are the type of guy that girls like to ship with another guy." says Team 

"That is so true! I want to ship you with Dean. You know, with this height. A tall senior and a tiny fresher!" says Manaow

"What are you talking about Manaow? Stop talking and go back to your seat." asks/says Pharm

"You are blushing now." says Team

"Are you shay?" asks Manaow

"Stop talking about this!" says Pharm

"I'm asking. Why are you shy?" asks Manaow

"I am not!" says Pharm

"But you're blushing." says Team

Pharm is sitting on his couch reading his heavy microeconomics textbook for his class when he puts down the book and leans back against the couch before reaching over and grabbing his laptop off the table. Opening his laptop, Pharm opens Facebook and types swimming club into the search bar before scrolling and stopping on a picture of Dean. Typing Dean's name into the search bar, Pharm pulls up his page and goes to pictures. He clicks on a picture of Dean standing at the railing and looking at something far away. 

"Why do I feel so sad when I look at him?" asks Pharm to himself

Pharm just keeps looking at the picture. 

Sitting on the steps on campus at night are two boys. One boy is sitting up running his hand through the hair of the other boy who is lying on the step with his head on the boy's lap. 

"I have to go back early." says one of the boys as he looks up to the sky

"Why do you have to go back early today?" asks the other boy

"Because my father will come back today. I have to be home before he arrives." says the boy

"What will happen if you won't make it in time?" asks the boy

"He will probably punch me." says the boy 

The boy who was lying down sits up as the other talks before moving closer to him and holding the other hand so that they are holding hands. The one goes back to looking up at the sky while the other boy sighs before looking over at the other. 

"Hey, Korn." says In "

Korn looks over at In.

"If...". says In

"What?" asks Korn 

"If we died and we were born again, do you think we would find each other?" asks In 

"Nonsense! Did you watch too many dramas?" says/asks Korn 

"I'm serious here." says In

"Of course, we will." says Korn 

"Really?" asks In

"Yes." says Korn

"I will keep searching until I find you." says Korn 

"What if we live on different continents?" asks In

"I will get on a plane to find you." says Korn

"You're so rich!" says In 

In leans his head onto Korn's shoulder. Holding hands both Korn and In look off to the front of them enjoying spending time with each other. Korn and In look at each other.  

"I will also search for you." says In

In holds up his pinky finger for a pinky promise. 

"Promise me that we will always find each other." says In 

"I promise." says Korn 

Korn doesn't hold up his pinky. 

"Hey. Where's your pinky promise?" asks In

"Korn." says In as he grabs his hand to make a pinky promise. 

"We made a promise that we will always find each other." says In 

Korn and In keep the pinky promise as they look into each other's eyes leaning their foreheads together and keeping looking at each other.

Pharm is sleeping in his bed holding onto his pillow. 

"Dude!" says someone

"I told you to glue this piece here. Why did you cut it?"

"I didn't know."

"Why didn't you look at the template?"

Pharm wakes up to hear his neighbors arguing. 

"Can we make a new one?"

"You go out and buy a new one for me then."

"You have to pay!"

Pharm sits up in his bed and listens to them. 

"Here, take it!"

"I know. I will help you later." 

"Oh!" says Pharm as he looks at his clock.

"It's eight o'clock already!" says Pharm as he gets out of bed 

Pharm goes into the bathroom and looks into the mirror and he notices something, the tears going down his face and how his eyes look like he has been crying.  Pharm wipes away the tears with his hands. 

"Did I have a nightmare?" asks Pharm 

Pharm looks in the mirror as a flashback shows In doing the pinky promise with Korn.

"Promise me that we will always find each other." says In 

Before the flashback ends and Pharm has more tears in his eyes. In voice can be heard as Pharm gets closer to the mirror.

"If we died and we were born again, do you think we will find each other again?" says In as the flashback starts again. 

"Of course, we will." says Korn

"Really?" asks In

"I will keep searching until I find you." says Korn

Goes back to Pharm where he is looking into the bathroom mirror. He wipes the tears again before washing his face.

Team and Manaow are sitting in class waiting for Pharm to show up and their teacher to show up for class. Pharm comes running into the classroom out of breath before sitting down. 

"Calm down. The teacher is not here yet." says Manaow

"Hey, Pharm. Did you wake up late today?" asks Team

"Yeah." says Pharm

"Did you see the Cute Boy Facebook page yesterday?" asks Manaow

"What Cute Boy?" asks Pharm

"That page that uploads photos of cute guys." says Manaow

Manaow picks up her phone. 

"Just a second." says Manaow

"Here. This one." says Manaow

Manaow turns her phone around and shows a picture of Team and Pharm sitting together outside at a table maybe doing homework. 

"What?" says Pharm 

Pharm and Team look at the picture. 

"No matter how cute he is, I don't want him." says Team 

"I don't want you either." says Pharm

"I think it's cute." says Manaow

"No!" says both Team and Pharm

"I'm just saying...it's cute." says Manaow

"Please no!" says Pharm

'Fine!" says Manaow

Manaow puts down her phone and Pharm pulls out his books for class. 

At the end of class, Pharm puts his books and notes into his backpack. As the rest of the students get up and leave, Manaow gets on her phone. 

"So... Have your club activities started yet?" asks Team 

"Not yet." says Manaow

"Mine starts next week." says Pharm 

"That's great. Today I have a swimming try-out. Come and cheer me up. Please?" says/asks Team 

"At the swimming club?" asks Pharm

"Yes. Yes. At my swimming club." says Team 

"Let's go Pharm. I want to see naked guys." says Manaow before she can stop herself

"No. I mean...I want to see guys swim. I don't want to look at you. I want to look at other guys." says Manaow

"Just wait and see!" says Team

"Can I say no?" asks Pharm

"You can't." says both Team and Manaow

"Why are you copying me?" asks Team

"Then why did you say it first?" asks Manaow

Team and Manaow start to go back and forth.

"Don't you argue." says Team

Manaow says something. 

"Shut up Manaow." says Team

"You, shut up." says Manaow

"Fine!" says Team

"Let's go Pharm." says Team

"Pharm, you come with me". says Manaow

"No Pharm, come with me." says Team

"No, come here Pharm." says Manaow

"Pharm." says Team 

"Let's go both of you." says Pharm

Pharm walks and pushes Manaow to get her to move.  

"Manaow, you go first." says Pharm

Pharm and Manaow head to the pool so that they can watch Team during to try-out. 

"There are so many people. I thought it's just a try-out ." says Pharm

"Don't you know our university swimming club is so famous? They got so many awards." says Manaow

Pharm looks around to find a place to sit. 

"Let's sit there." says Pharm pointing to a few seats. 

They walk over to the seats and sit down. 

"Here they come. Let's sit" says Manaow

"Where's Team?" says Manaow

"Team..." says Pharm

"Where?" asks Manaow

"He's there." says Pharm

"Team is actually fit." says Manaow

"Manaow, he's our friend." says Pharm

"Oh, If I could turn back time. I wouldn't be his friend." says Manaow

"Manaow, you silly!" says Pharm

"Look at that guy, He's really hot!" says Manaow

Manaow points to Dean who is looking at Pharm. 

"This year seems to have a lot of potential. Great. They can substitute our graduated seniors". says Win

Win looks over at Dean who is still looking at Pharm. 

"Oh, hey. What are you looking at? Hey." says Win

"Hey there." says Win

Dean looks over at Win. 

"Let's get going, Mr. President." says Win ys

"Let's start once you all are ready." says Dean

"Here we go!" says Manaow

"Take your mark." says Pruk

 The guys of the club get onto the diving blocks. When Pruk blows the whistle, they guys jump into the water. 

"Team! Go! Go!" yells Manaow

"Keep going." says Pharm

"You got it, Team." says Manaow

"Team, quick." says both Pharm and Manaow

"Team is leading now." says Pharm

"I'll buy you snacks after." says Manaow

"Team is leading." says Pharm

"Go get them, Team." says Pharm

"He made it." says Manaow

"You did very well!." yells Manaow

"Well done!" says Pharm

"Let's go see him." says Manaow

"Let's go." says Pharm

"He's great. Team is so talented. He is actually really good." says Manaow

"Good job. You are now in the team." says Pharm

"Of course. Don't you know who I am?" says Team

"I was planning to compliment you, but now I've changed my mind." says Manaow

"But, I'm so hungry now. I already used up all my energy. Let's find something to eat" says Team

Team hugs Pharm.

"Hey, I'm wet now." says Pharm

"By the way, where is Dean?" asks Manaow

"Over there. Why are you always asking about guys? Where is the innocent little girl that we met on the first day?" asks Team

"I'm still an innocent girl. I'm just asking for Pharm." says Manaow

"It has nothing to do with me." says Pharm

"I saw the way you looked at him. You didn't even blink." says Manaow

"I didn't do that. Stop it!" says Pharm

"Let's go and eat then, I'm hungry." says Team

"Oh. That's the fresher whose name is Team right? His friends probably have been waiting. The freshers are so cute, aren't they?" says/asks Win

"True, She's cute." says Pruk

Dean just stares at Pharm not blinking or hearing what is being said around him. 

"Don't you need to get changed?" asks Pharm

"I can go now. I have a good body. No need to be ashamed." says Team

"Please have some shame. Just go and change first." says Manaow

"I will wait for you outside." says Pharm

"Please?" asks Team

"Sure." says Manaow

"I'll see you guys outside." says Team

"Okay." says Pharm

"What?" 

"Just go." says Team

"You are hurting my eyes. I don't want to look." says Manaow

Dean, Win, and Pruk watch Team and his friends as Pharm and Manaow leave and Team heads to the locker room. 

"Dean, what's wrong?" asks Win

"Nothing. Just itchy eyes". says Dean

At Pharm's apartment, Pharm is wearing an apron and spooning a blue jelly. On a tablet, is Pharm's mom watching as her son makes the dessert. 

"Wow. Why do you suddenly want to make the dessert?" asks his mom

"I just feel like eating it. I'm making them for my friends too." says Pharm

"I miss your cooking". says his mom 

"I will cook for you when I visit you in America." says Pharm

"I hope that's true." says his mom

"What if you have a girlfriend and forget about me?" asks his mom

"What are you talking about? Just stop there. What time is it over there? It's nearly time to open the restaurant, right? " asks/says Pharm

"You're right, I have to go now." says his mom

"Take care of yourself." says his mom

"Don't worry. Dad is also here with me." says Pharm

"I will call you later, then." says his mom

"Okay. Oh! Also tell Phoom, "don't be naughty"." says Pharm

Pharm puts down the bowl and picks up the tablet. Opening Facebook, Pharm sees a picture of him, Team, and Manaow with the caption of "Team's number one supporter". Pharms start to read the comments under the post. 

"Oh! Who took the photo?" asks Pharm

Reading more of the comments. 

"Team..." says Pharm

Pharm pulls up Dean profile to see a table of scores and hours for the pool. 

"Why are you so serious?" asks Pharm

Putting down the tablet, Pharm picks up the bowl again and finishes making the dessert. 

The next day at campus, Pharm puts a box with the dessert on the table in front of him. 

"Here." says Pharm

"What's this? Pudding with coconut topping?" asks Manaow

"Nope. These are similar, but this one is called Leum Kluen." says Pharm

"Leum Kluen?" asks both Team and Manaow

"I've never heard of it before. Look at this, they are green and blue. So pretty." says Manaow

"The green ones are made from pandan leafs, the blue ones are made from butterfly-pea flowers." says Pharm

Team and Manaow pick up a dessert. 

"Cheers." they both say

"How is it?" asks Pharm

"I actually forgot to swallow. It's so good." says Manaow

"It's really good." says Team

"It's so soft and has a good smell." says Manaow

"It has a smooth texture right, That's why you keep eating it and forget to swallow. That's why the dessert is called Leum Kluen (forget to swallow)." says Pharm

"Pharm, you are so talented. You are more delicate than a girl like me." says Manaow

"There are so many male chefs.It doesn't matter if you are male or female." says Pharm

"So...if you like cooking, why don't you study at the faculty of home economics?" asks Team

"Because this university doesn't have that facility, that's why I chose Economics instead." says Pharm

 "Well that's true." says Team

Pharm looks down at the bag he brought with him. 

"What's wrong?" asks Team

"Actually, I made so many, you guys can share them with your club members." says Pharm

"Yes, of course." says Manaow

"I will have all of them then." says Team

"Is that equal?" asks Manaow

"It is. Thank you so much Pharm. It smells nice. So... I will go to my club first them, Win will kill me if I'm late." says Team

"I have to go to my club as well." says Pharm

"Pharm, you don't have to worry. I will make sure Dean gets to eat it." says Team

"No! I want you to share with other people, not just Dean." says Pharm

"I know. I know. I will make sure Dean gets to eat the most." says Team

"Team." says Pharm

"I'm off" says Team

"See you. Bye." says Pharm and Manaow

"By the way, does this one have an owner?" asks Manaow pointing to the box

"Nope." says Pharm

"Can I have it?" asks Manaow

Pharm nods his head.

"This one is for the club members. This one is for myself." says Manaow

"Be careful, you will get fat." says Pharm

"I will start my diet tomorrow.I still have so much time." says Manaoww

"You also said this yesterday." says Pharm

"I say this every day. I'll go now," says Manaow

"See you. Bye-Bye."

In the university pool locker room are a few of the guys after practice. 

"Let's go home now, guys. We have an intense training session tomorrow." says Pruk

As Pruk leaves the locker room, Team is walking in. 

"You should go back now too." says Pruk 

"Yes sir." says Team

Team lays down on the bench.

"I'm so tired." says Team

"Get up! Get up!" says Win

"What do you want?" asks Team

"Are you getting up or not?" asks Win 

Team doesn't move from the bench.

"You're not getting up right." says Win

Win grabs the towel around Team waist and pulls on it. Team falls to the floor.

"Win!" says Team

"Darn it. You already put on your pants. Get up quickly. " says Win 

"I'm so hungry." says Team who is still on the floor until he sits up.

Standing up, Team gets off the floor. "Oh, I have food." says Team

Team opens his locker and pulls out the brown paper bag that Pharm gave him earlier. Sitting on the bench, he pulls out a box. Picking up one of the desserts. 

"It's not spoiled yet." says Team

"What's this? It has a weird color. There's coconut topping. Just like Thai pudding."says Win

"You obviously don't know what Leum Kluen is. It's yummy." says Team

"I think I've heard of it before." says Win

Win eats the Leum Kluen. 

"Wow. This is good. Where did you buy it from?" says/asks Win

"My friend made it. His cooking skill is the best." says Team

"His cooking... So he is a guy?"asks Win

"Yeah. His family used to open a restaurant or something." says Team

Dean walks into the locker room and looks at both of them. 

"Why are you guys still here? " asks Dean

Dean takes a look at what they are holding. 

"Leum Kluen." says Dean

"You know what Leum Kluen is? Do you want to try?" asks Team

Team hands over the Leum Kluen to Dean. 

"It's my friend who came to the club. His name is Pharm, he made this." says Team

Dean takes a bite. 

"It's good but food is not allowed in here." says Dean

Team and Win share a look with each other. 

"Right. There is one piece left. Do you want it?" says/asks Team 

Team stands up and pulls his stuff out of the locker. 

"Here, It's for you. They said if you get the last one, you will have a cute partner." says Team as he hands the last one to Dean

"So.. I better go then." Team leaves the locker room really fast. 

Dean looks at Win next since he is still sitting on the bench. 

"Ahh. Team forgot to throw his trash away. I will throw it away then. I will throw it away." says Win as he quickly leaves.

Dean puts something in his locker before sitting down on the bench and holding up the Leum Kluen. 

"So... Your name is Pharm." says Dean

Chapter Text

Chapter 3 will be Until We Meet Again episode 2

This Chapter is going to focus on Pharm's childhood more and I will do the same for Dean in Chapter 4. This chapter will pick up from the panic attack that Pharm had when he was five years old. 

Third Person Pov

(Pharm's five years old)

The doctor explains to Kann and his wife the potential triggers and symptoms of panic attacks, emphasizing the importance of remaining calm and supportive during such episodes. They discuss strategies for helping Pharm cope with future attacks, including deep breathing exercises, distraction techniques, and seeking professional counseling if necessary. The doctor also advises them to monitor Pharm closely for any signs of distress and to seek medical attention promptly if his symptoms worsen or persist.

After Pharm awakens, the doctor speaks with him gently, reassuring him that he's safe and cared for. Pharm listens intently, his wide eyes reflecting a mixture of fear and confusion. Kann holds Pharm's hand tightly, offering words of encouragement and comfort.

As they prepare to leave the hospital, Kann and his wife make a silent vow to always be there for Pharm, no matter what challenges may come their way. They know that their love and support will help him navigate the uncertainties of his condition and find strength in the face of adversity.

Back at home, Pharm curls up on the couch, feeling exhausted yet relieved to be surrounded by familiar surroundings. Kann sits beside him, wrapping him in a warm embrace, while his wife prepares a comforting meal.

(Six years old)

One sunny day, Pharm, his parents, and his two-year-old brother, Phoom, decided to visit a lively amusement park. Pharm was brimming with excitement, eager to explore the colorful rides and games that awaited them. Phoom, too young to fully comprehend the adventure ahead, clung to his mother's hand, his wide eyes taking in the vibrant surroundings.

As they ventured deeper into the park, Pharm's anticipation grew, his laughter blending with the cheerful sounds of the bustling crowd. Phoom, sensing his brother's excitement, giggled with delight, his chubby legs wobbling as he toddled alongside Pharm and their parents.

However, their carefree outing took an unexpected turn when they reached the heart of the park. A sudden burst of fireworks lit up the sky, accompanied by thunderous explosions that reverberated through the air. Pharm's joy turned to sheer terror as the loud noises echoed around him, sending waves of panic coursing through his young body.

Frozen in fear, Pharm clung to his father's leg, his eyes wide with alarm as he struggled to comprehend the overwhelming sounds. Phoom, sensing his brother's distress, looked up in confusion, his lower lip trembling as he watched Pharm's reaction.

"Pharm, what's wrong?" Phoom asked, his voice barely audible over the booming fireworks.

But Pharm couldn't respond. Overwhelmed by fear, he buried his face against his father's leg, seeking solace in his comforting presence. Phoom, his concern deepening, reached out a chubby hand to touch Pharm's trembling shoulder, offering silent support and solidarity.

Realizing the severity of Pharm's reaction, their parents sprang into action, wrapping both boys in a protective embrace. Pharm's mother scooped him up into her arms, holding him close as she murmured words of reassurance. Phoom, too young to fully grasp the situation, snuggled against Pharm's side, his tiny arms encircling his brother in a gesture of comfort.

Deeply troubled by Pharm's intense fear, their parents sought guidance from medical professionals to understand his condition better. Through consultations and therapy sessions, they learned that Pharm suffered from phonophobia, an extreme fear of loud noises.

Armed with this knowledge, Pharm's parents took proactive steps to help him cope with his phobia. They gradually exposed him to gentle sounds in a controlled environment, teaching him relaxation techniques and coping strategies to manage his anxiety. Phoom, ever the devoted brother, stood by Pharm's side, offering unconditional love and support throughout his journey.

(Seven years old)

(Eight years old)

At eight years old, Pharm's interest in cooking blossomed as he started to help his mom in the kitchen. His mother, a talented cook who ran a small Thai restaurant, welcomed Pharm's eagerness to learn and eagerly taught him the art of Thai cuisine.

In their cozy kitchen filled with the fragrant aroma of herbs and spices, Pharm watched his mother with wide-eyed fascination as she deftly sliced vegetables, stirred simmering pots, and blended exotic flavors together to create mouthwatering dishes. With each passing day, Pharm grew more intrigued by the culinary world, eager to master the techniques and recipes that his mother so effortlessly wielded.

Under his mother's patient guidance, Pharm began to take on small tasks in the kitchen, such as washing vegetables, measuring ingredients, and stirring pots under her watchful eye. He marveled at the alchemy of cooking—the way simple ingredients could be transformed into delectable meals that brought joy to those who tasted them.

As Pharm's skills and confidence in the kitchen grew, so too did his bond with his mother. Cooking together became a cherished ritual for the mother and son, a time for laughter, storytelling, and the sharing of family traditions passed down through generations.

With each dish they created together, Pharm felt a sense of pride and accomplishment, knowing that he was contributing to the family's culinary legacy while also honing his own skills as a chef-in-training.

(Nine years old)

At nine years old, Pharm's nightmares became more frequent and intense, often leaving him feeling shaken and afraid long after he woke. One night, unable to bear the burden of his fears alone, Pharm mustered the courage to confide in his parents.

"Mom, Dad," Pharm said, his voice trembling with anxiety as he stood before them in the dim light of his bedroom. "I've been having bad dreams."

His parents, sensing the seriousness in their son's tone, exchanged a concerned glance before ushering him to sit beside them on the edge of his bed.

"What kind of dreams, sweetheart?" his mother asked, her voice gentle and soothing.

Pharm took a deep breath, steeling himself against the memories of the nightmares that haunted his sleep.

"They're scary," he admitted, his eyes flickering with the remnants of fear. "I dream of monsters and dark places...and sometimes, there's a shadowy figure that follows me."

His father wrapped an arm around Pharm's shoulders, offering him a comforting embrace. "It's okay, son. Dreams can't hurt you."

"But they feel so real," Pharm whispered, his voice barely above a murmur. "And I'm afraid to go back to sleep."

His parents listened intently as Pharm poured out his fears, offering him words of comfort and reassurance in return. Together, they talked about ways to cope with nightmares, discussing strategies to help Pharm feel safe and secure at bedtime.

(Ten years old)

At the tender age of ten, Pharm faced one of life's most difficult challenges - the loss of his father, Kann. It was a heart-wrenching moment that left Pharm and his family devastated, forever altering the course of their lives.

Kann's passing cast a shadow over the household, leaving an emptiness that seemed impossible to fill. Pharm, in particular, struggled to come to terms with the sudden absence of his beloved father, grappling with feelings of grief and confusion that threatened to overwhelm him.

For Pharm, Kann wasn't just a father; he was a source of guidance, strength, and unwavering love. Kann's absence left a void in Pharm's life that nothing could ever replace, leaving him feeling adrift in a world that suddenly seemed cold and unfamiliar.

In the days and weeks that followed Kann's passing, Pharm and his family leaned on each other for support, drawing strength from their shared memories and the love they had for one another. Together, they navigated the turbulent waters of grief, finding solace in each other's presence and the knowledge that they were not alone in their pain.

Although the pain of losing Kann would never fully fade, Pharm found comfort in the knowledge that his father's love would live on in his heart forever, a beacon of light to guide him through even the darkest of days. And though Kann may have passed from this world, his spirit lived on in the memories they shared and the love that bound their family together

(Elven years old)

At eleven years old, Phoom, Pharm's younger brother, innocently makes a remark about Pharm's birthmark that leaves Pharm feeling both surprised and amused.

"Hey, Pharm, have you ever noticed that your birthmark kinda looks like you shot yourself?" Phoom asks, his curiosity shining through his innocent gaze.

Pharm can't help but chuckle at his brother's observation, finding humor in the unexpected comparison. It's the first time he's heard anyone liken his birthmark to something so unusual, and he's both intrigued and amused by Phoom's unique perspective.

"Really? I never thought about it like that," Pharm responds, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I guess it does kind of look like that, doesn't it?"

Phoom nods enthusiastically, pleased that his observation has been met with such a positive reaction from his older brother.

"Yeah, it totally does! You should tell your friends at school. They'd probably think it's cool!" Phoom suggests, his eyes lighting up with excitement.

Pharm considers Phoom's suggestion for a moment, amused by the thought of sharing his brother's humorous observation with his friends. While he's not sure how they'll react, he can't deny that Phoom's playful perspective has brought a smile to his face.

"Maybe I will," Pharm says with a grin, grateful for the lighthearted moment shared between him and his brother. "Thanks for pointing that out, Phoom."

With a sense of camaraderie and laughter, Pharm and Phoom continue their conversation

(Twelve years old)

At twelve years old, Pharm's fear of rain intensifies, casting a shadow over his daily life and causing him distress whenever dark clouds gather in the sky. What was once a mild discomfort escalates into a paralyzing dread, leaving Pharm feeling trapped and helpless in the face of nature's fury.

As the sound of raindrops drumming against the windows grows louder, Pharm's anxiety mounts, his heart racing with each ominous rumble of thunder. The pitter-patter of raindrops transforms into a cacophony of terror in Pharm's mind, triggering a flood of irrational fears and panicked thoughts.

Unable to shake the grip of his fear, Pharm finds himself retreating further into the safety of his home, seeking refuge from the storm raging outside. He avoids venturing outdoors whenever possible, haunted by the specter of impending rainfall and the relentless roar of thunder.

Even the gentle patter of rain against the roof sends shivers down Pharm's spine, evoking memories of past traumas and exacerbating his deep-seated anxieties. The unpredictability of the weather becomes a constant source of dread for Pharm, casting a dark shadow over his otherwise sunny disposition.

Despite his efforts to rationalize his fear, Pharm finds himself overwhelmed by the irrational terror that grips him whenever rain clouds loom on the horizon. His fear of rain becomes a constant companion, a looming presence that colors his perception of the world around him.

As Pharm grapples with the debilitating effects of his phobia, he longs for relief from the relentless grip of fear that threatens to consume him. 

(Thirteen years old)

At thirteen years old, Pharm faces a significant life change as his family makes the decision to move to America. Leaving behind the familiar sights and sounds of Thailand, Pharm embarks on a journey to a new country, filled with excitement, anticipation, and a hint of trepidation.

As Pharm adjusts to his new surroundings, he grapples with a whirlwind of emotions, from the thrill of exploring unfamiliar landscapes to the pangs of homesickness for the place he once called home. Everything feels different in America – the language, the culture, the people – and Pharm finds himself navigating a sea of new experiences with a mixture of excitement and apprehension.

Despite the challenges of adjusting to life in a foreign country, Pharm embraces the opportunity to immerse himself in a new culture and broaden his horizons. From sampling American cuisine to making friends with classmates from diverse backgrounds, Pharm begins to carve out a place for himself in his new home.

However, amidst the excitement of starting afresh in America, Pharm grapples with feelings of nostalgia for the life he left behind in Thailand. Memories of his childhood home, his friends, and his favorite places flood his mind, reminding him of the bonds that tie him to his roots.

As Pharm settles into his new life in America, he finds solace in the love and support of his family, who stand by him through every twist and turn of this new chapter.

(Fourteen years old)

At fourteen years old, Pharm begins to question his sexuality, a pivotal moment in his adolescence that prompts a period of self-discovery and introspection. As he navigates the complexities of his identity, Pharm grapples with feelings of confusion, curiosity, and apprehension about his evolving attractions.

As Pharm explores his emotions and experiences, he gradually comes to realize that he is gay, a realization that both exhilarates and unsettles him. In a world where societal norms and expectations often dictate how individuals perceive and express their sexuality, Pharm wrestles with the fear of judgment, rejection, and misunderstanding from those around him.

Despite the challenges and uncertainties he faces, Pharm finds solace in the growing acceptance and understanding of LGBTQ+ identities within his community. He seeks out supportive spaces and resources where he can connect with others who share similar experiences, finding comfort and camaraderie in the shared journey of self-acceptance and empowerment.

With each step forward on his journey of self-discovery, Pharm grows more confident in his identity and embraces the fullness of who he is. He learns to love and accept himself for who he truly is, finding strength and resilience in the face of adversity.

(15 years old)

At 15 years old, Pharm decides to explore dating, curious about romantic relationships and eager to understand his own feelings and desires. With a mixture of excitement and trepidation, he ventures into the realm of dating, navigating the ups and downs of adolescent romance with an open heart and an open mind.

Pharm approaches dating with a sense of curiosity, eager to connect with others and explore the intricacies of romantic attraction. He embraces the opportunity to meet new people, forging connections based on shared interests, values, and experiences.

As he delves into the world of dating, Pharm learns valuable lessons about communication, empathy, and self-discovery. He navigates the complexities of romantic relationships with honesty and integrity, striving to understand his own emotions and boundaries while respecting those of his partners.

Along the way, Pharm experiences the highs of infatuation and the lows of heartbreak, learning valuable lessons about love, loss, and resilience. He discovers the importance of self-love and self-care, recognizing that his worth is not defined by his relationship status or the opinions of others. Pharm's first kiss with Alec should have been a moment of magic, a culmination of his feelings and desires. But instead, as their lips met, a wave of confusion washed over him. It didn't feel quite right, not the way he had imagined it.

As their lips touched, Pharm couldn't shake the feeling of discomfort that gnawed at him from within. It wasn't the softness of Alec's lips or the warmth of his breath that troubled Pharm, but rather a nagging sense of disconnect, as if something fundamental was missing.

In that moment of intimacy, Pharm found himself questioning everything he thought he knew about himself and his desires. Was he really attracted to Alec, or was it merely a projection of what he thought he should feel? As they pulled away, Pharm's mind raced with conflicting thoughts and emotions. He tried to brush off the unease, to convince himself that it was just nerves or inexperience. But deep down, he couldn't shake the feeling that something wasn't right.

(Sixteen years old)

At sixteen years old, Pharm's friends inadvertently stumbled upon his fear of loud noises during a casual hangout at his house. They were all engrossed in watching TV when a sudden gunshot sounded from the television, sending shockwaves through the room.

As the echoes of the gunshot faded away, Pharm's friends turned to him, their expressions filled with concern. They noticed Pharm's body stiffening, his breathing becoming rapid and shallow.

"Pharm, are you okay?" one of his friends asked, reaching out to touch his arm.

But before Pharm could respond, panic seized him, and he began to hyperventilate, unable to catch his breath. His friends exchanged worried glances, realizing that something was seriously wrong.

Frantic, they dialed Phoom, Pharm's younger brother, hoping that he might know how to help. Phoom, sensing the urgency in their voices, rushed to their aid, only to find Pharm struggling to breathe amidst the chaos.

With Pharm's condition worsening by the minute, Phoom made a quick decision to call their mother, seeking her guidance on what to do next. Their mother, upon hearing the situation, instructed them to take Pharm to the hospital immediately.

Without hesitation, Phoom and Pharm's friends sprang into action, guiding Pharm out of the house and into the car. Despite their best efforts to comfort him, Pharm's hyperventilation persisted, his fear of the loud noise gripping him tightly.

The journey to the hospital felt like an eternity, each passing moment fraught with tension and uncertainty. Pharm's friends did their best to reassure him, offering words of encouragement and support as they navigated the streets towards medical help.

Upon arriving at the hospital, Pharm was swiftly ushered into the emergency room, where doctors and nurses worked quickly to stabilize his condition. Despite the chaos and confusion, Pharm's friends remained by his side, offering comfort and reassurance as he underwent medical evaluation and treatment.

In the aftermath of the harrowing ordeal, Pharm's friends realized the severity of his fear of loud noises and vowed to support him however they could. Together, they faced the challenges ahead, united in their determination to help Pharm overcome his debilitating phobia and reclaim his sense of peace and security.

(17 years old)

At seventeen years old, Pharm embarked on his final year of high school, marking the culmination of his academic journey thus far. As he stepped into the halls of his school, Pharm couldn't help but feel a mix of emotions swirling within him – excitement for the adventures that lay ahead, nostalgia for the memories he had created, and a hint of apprehension about what the future held.

With graduation looming on the horizon, Pharm threw himself into his studies with renewed vigor, determined to finish strong and make the most of his remaining time in high school. He juggled coursework, extracurricular activities, and college preparations with grace and determination, eager to leave a lasting impact on his school community before venturing into the next chapter of his life.

Outside the classroom, Pharm immersed himself in various school activities, from sports teams to student clubs, relishing the camaraderie and sense of belonging they provided. He cherished the friendships he had forged over the years, leaning on his peers for support and encouragement as they navigated the challenges of adolescence together.

As the school year progressed, Pharm found himself reflecting on the moments that had shaped him – the triumphs and tribulations, the joys and sorrows, the lessons learned and the growth experienced. He felt a sense of gratitude for the opportunities he had been afforded and a determination to make the most of his final months in high school.

Amidst the whirlwind of exams, college applications, and senior events, Pharm took a moment to pause and savor the memories he had created – the late-night study sessions, the pep rallies, the school dances, and the heartfelt conversations shared with friends old and new. He knew that these moments would soon become cherished memories, serving as a reminder of the journey he had undertaken and the person he had become.

(18 years old)

At eighteen years old, Pharm stood proudly amidst the sea of graduates, his heart brimming with excitement and anticipation for the future. As he held his diploma in hand, Pharm couldn't shake the feeling of nostalgia mingled with a sense of determination to pursue his dreams.

With his family gathered around him, Pharm took a deep breath before sharing his decision. "Mom, Phoom," he began, his voice steady with conviction, "I've made up my mind. I want to attend T-University in Thailand."

His mother's initial reaction was one of concern and apprehension. "But Pharm, what about staying here with us? We'll miss you," she protested, her maternal instincts kicking in.

Pharm understood his mother's worries, but he knew deep down that his heart yearned for something more, something beyond the familiar comforts of home. "I appreciate your concerns, Mom, but Thailand is where I feel I belong," he explained earnestly. "Studying at T-University will not only allow me to pursue my academic aspirations but also reconnect with our roots and heritage."

Phoom, ever the supportive younger brother, chimed in with a reassuring smile. "I believe in you, Pharm. If Thailand is where your heart leads you, then that's where you should go," he affirmed, his voice filled with unwavering confidence.

Their mother hesitated for a moment, torn between her maternal instincts to protect her son and her desire to see him flourish. Ultimately, she relented, knowing that Pharm's determination was unwavering. "Alright, Pharm. If this is truly what you want, then I'll support you every step of the way," she conceded, her voice tinged with a mixture of pride and apprehension.

With his family's blessing and support, Pharm embarked on a new chapter of his life, determined to carve out his own path and pursue his dreams with unwavering determination.

(19 years old)

At nineteen years old, Pharm found himself back in Thailand, the country of his birth, with a head swirling with mixed emotions. As he walked the familiar streets, the sights, sounds, and smells of his homeland flooded his senses, evoking memories both cherished and bittersweet.

Returning to Thailand marked the beginning of a new chapter in Pharm's life, one filled with possibilities and challenges. Despite the excitement of being back, there was an underlying sense of apprehension as well. After all, he was venturing into unfamiliar territory, away from the comfort of his family and the security of his childhood home.

Yet, amidst the uncertainty, there was a glimmer of hope – a sense of belonging that stirred within him. Thailand held a special place in Pharm's heart, with its rich culture, vibrant communities, and the promise of new adventures waiting to unfold.

As he embarked on this journey, Pharm knew that he would encounter both joys and obstacles along the way. But with determination in his heart and a spirit of resilience, he was ready to face whatever the future held, embracing the challenges as opportunities for growth and discovery.

With each step he took on Thai soil, Pharm felt a renewed sense of purpose and excitement, eager to carve out his path in the bustling cityscape of Bangkok and make his mark on the world. 

Returning to Thailand, Pharm felt a deep longing to reconnect with his roots, to visit the place where his father lay at rest. With a heavy heart and a head full of memories, he made his way to the tranquil cemetery where his father's grave stood.

Standing before the simple yet dignified headstone, Pharm felt a flood of emotions wash over him. He knelt down, tracing the engraved letters of his father's name with his fingertips, as if seeking solace in the cold stone.

"Hey Dad," he began softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm back. It's been a while, hasn't it? So much has happened since I last saw you."

Pharm proceeded to pour out his heart, telling his father about his journey abroad – the challenges he faced, the triumphs he celebrated, the moments of doubt and uncertainty. He spoke of the friends he made, the lessons he learned, and the dreams he dared to pursue.

"I wish you could have been there, Dad," Pharm said wistfully. "I wish you could have seen me graduate, seen me take on new adventures. I miss you every day, you know."

As he spoke, Pharm felt a sense of comfort wash over him, as if his father's spirit was listening, offering silent support and encouragement. He knew that even though his father was no longer physically present, his love and guidance would always be with him.

The night before his first day at T University, Pharm felt a whirlwind of emotions swirling within him. Excitement, anticipation, and a touch of nervousness filled his mind as he prepared for the new chapter of his life. Sitting at his desk in his small studio apartment, Pharm laid out his belongings for the next day, ensuring that everything was in order.

He neatly folded his clothes and set them aside, choosing the perfect outfit for his first day on campus. A crisp shirt, a pair of well-fitted trousers, and comfortable shoes – Pharm wanted to make a good impression from the start. As he dressed, he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride at how far he had come.

Next, Pharm gathered his textbooks and notebooks, making sure he had everything he needed for his classes. He reviewed his schedule one last time, familiarizing himself with the locations of his lectures and the timings of his breaks. Organization was key to success, and Pharm was determined to start off on the right foot.

With his preparations complete, Pharm took a moment to reflect on the journey that had led him to this point. From his decision to return to Thailand for university to the countless hours of studying and preparation, every step has brought him closer to his goals. Now, as he looked forward to the challenges and opportunities that awaited him, Pharm felt a sense of excitement building within him.

Before turning in for the night, Pharm took a few moments to relax and unwind. He listened to some calming music, allowing the soothing melodies to ease his mind and prepare him for a restful sleep. As he climbed into bed, Pharm felt a surge of anticipation coursing through his veins. Tomorrow would be the beginning of a new adventure, and he couldn't wait to see where it would take him. With a smile on his face, Pharm closed his eyes and drifted off into dreams of the exciting days that lay ahead.

Chapter Text

Previously on Beautiful but Tragic 

Dean looks at Win next since he is still sitting on the bench.

"Ahh. Team forgot to throw his trash away. I will throw it away then. I will throw it away." says Win as he quickly leaves.

Dean puts something in his locker before sitting down on the bench and holding up the Leum Kluen.

"So... Your name is Pharm." says Dean

Third Pov

As In sat down across from his mom, he couldn't help but feel a sense of comfort wash over him. His mom's presence always had a way of soothing his soul, no matter how turbulent his thoughts may be.

"Mum, what are you doing?" he asked, curiosity piqued as he observed the bowls in front of her.

"You're here just in time. Help me make Look Choup," his mom replied, a warm smile gracing her lips.

"Look Choup? Why are you making all these by yourself? It's much easier if you just buy them," In remarked, wondering why his mom was going through all the trouble.

"That's true... But the feeling is different," his mom explained, her hands deftly working the ingredients before her.

"What's the difference?" In inquired, genuinely curious about his mom's reasoning.

"If we put our effort into making it, the person who eats it will definitely feel that. It's not just about the taste. But it's also about the feeling," his mom replied, her eyes sparkling with wisdom.

In took a moment to ponder her words, realizing the depth of her sentiment. As his mom offered him some on a spoon, he couldn't help but feel a surge of gratitude for her unwavering love and care.

"Why don't you make these for your special one?" his mom suggested, her gaze filled with a knowing glint.

In hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to broach the topic that weighed heavily on his heart.

"Mum... I..." he began, faltering as he struggled to find the right words.

"About that guy?" his mom interjected, her voice gentle yet understanding.

"You know about him?" In asked, surprise coloring his tone.

"I know," his mom affirmed, her eyes conveying a depth of understanding that touched In's heart.

"Do you think I'm abnormal?" In ventured, uncertainty lacing his words.

"What is your definition of abnormal?" his mom countered, her gaze unwavering as she searched his eyes for understanding.

In paused, contemplating her question before speaking softly, "Well... 

"You might like something that is not similar to others, But that doesn't make you different from everyone else. Your life belongs to you. But remember that we're still living in this society. People will still judge you from what they see." says In's mom

"I know that Mum, But I don't care what other people think. As long as people in my family, Dad, you, and p'An don't think I'm strange, that is already enough for me. But... Dad..." In trailed off, his voice filled with longing and uncertainty.

"Some things take time," his mom reassured him, her words carrying a soothing warmth that enveloped him like a gentle embrace.

In's mom handed him a star-shaped Look Choup, a playful twinkle in her eye.

"Make a wish," she encouraged, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

In closed his eyes, his heart heavy with unspoken desires, before silently making his wish and taking a bite.

"Does it taste good?" his mom asked, her eyes dancing with mischief.

"I think it's pretty good," In replied, a small smile playing on his lips.

"I just dropped that one on the floor," his mom teased, a mischievous glint in her eye.

In's expression turned to one of mock disbelief as he shook his head in amusement.

"Are you serious?" he asked, feigning exasperation.

"Yes, yummy?" his mom teased, a playful grin on her lips.

"Why do you like to tease me?" In chuckled, rolling his eyes fondly at her antics.

As In reached for a bowl of water to clean his hands, he couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for moments like these—simple yet precious, filled with love and laughter.

After cleaning his hands, he and his mom continued to make Look Choup together, their shared laughter echoing through the room, a testament to the bond that bound them together, stronger than any thread of fate.

"Hello everyone! My name is Aum. I am the president of this cooking club. Welcome all new members to the club! Our club might not have a lot of members, but we are rich with qualities. Like this person here," Aum announced, gesturing to the girl standing beside her.

"I'm Giffy," the girl introduced herself with a warm smile.

"She's good with cooking main dishes. And this grey-haired guy is Dej. He is the vice president. Please give them a round of applause," Aum continued, acknowledging the contributions of her fellow club members.

There is clapping heard in the room

"Our club is not just for cooking. We also provide classes for outsiders and help with the university's events. Over there is a prepping station. You can cook the main dishes and desserts there. We also have utensils for Thai dishes including brass pans, spatulas, and streamer pots," Aum explained, giving a brief overview of the club's activities and resources.

"Can I use this room outside the club activity time?" Pharm piped up, seeking clarification on club policies.

"Yes, but let me know beforehand. Oh! I have an announcement. Our club has an order to make 40 snack boxes. Anyone volunteers? Extra points and pocket money will be given as well. Anyone?" Aum announced, presenting an opportunity for club members to get involved.

"Is this for the university event?" Pharm inquired, curious about the purpose of the snack box order.

"This is not for the university event. This one is for the swimming club. They're having welcoming activities at the beach. So, they want to have snack boxes on the go. Anyone wants to help? There's pocket money too," Aum clarified, explaining the specifics of the task.

"I volunteer," Pharm offered without hesitation, raising his hand to indicate his willingness to assist.

"Let's go"

"Okay, sure." 

As Pharm sat in his cozy apartment, he continued to towel dry his hair, he reached for his laptop, ready to catch up on his messages. Opening his messaging app, he found a new message from Aum, the president of the cooking club, discussing plans for the upcoming snack boxes.

"We'll make sandwiches for the snack boxes. We do have a lot of budget and we can make more desserts. Do you have any ideas?" Aum's message read.

"Desserts?" Pharm messaged back, intrigued by the idea.

Prompted by Aum's query, Pharm shifted his attention to his group chat with Team and Manaow.

"Don't forget to do your homework," Manaow reminded the group, a note of authority in her message.

"Team, how's the dessert I gave you today?" Pharm inquired, eager to hear feedback on his culinary creation.

"Very good! Everyone loves it," Team replied enthusiastically.

"Okay. I will make more then," Pharm responded, pleased by Team's positive response.

"Why didn't you ask if my club members like it or not?" Manaow questioned, her tone slightly accusatory.

"I was going to!" Pharm hurriedly assured her. "I forgot. My club doesn't have Dean."

"No! It's not that. So, do they like it?" Manaow confirmed, her curiosity piqued.

"Of course. They love it!" Team chimed in, offering reassurance.

"Hehe," Team added, a mischievous undertone evident in their message.

"What are you laughing at? Seems evil," Pharm teased, playfully poking fun at Team's mysterious amusement.

"Don't forget to give me more food tomorrow!" Team exclaimed, his appetite evidently whetted by Pharm's culinary delights.

As the conversation continued, Team shared a picture from a Facebook post made by Dean, showcasing the dessert Leum Kluen that Pharm had given them to share with the swimming club, with the comment "I never forgot."

Pharm couldn't help but smile at the sigh. Feeling a mixture of embarrassment and amusement at the mention of his desserts in Dean's post, Pharm buried his face in the towel, attempting to stifle his laughter. The unexpected recognition from Dean, coupled with Team's mischievous tone, caught him off guard, but it also filled him with a sense of pride.

As Korn and In sat on the floor, In began unstacking the lunchbox he had packed. Korn couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the sight before him.

"What's this?" Korn asked, eyeing the slightly charred omelet with curiosity.

"It's an omelet," In replied sheepishly, a hint of embarrassment coloring his cheeks.

"Why does it look like this?" Korn inquired, noting the uneven texture and darkened edges.

"It burnt and got stuck to the pan. It was so hard to get it off," In explained, his tone tinged with frustration.

Korn glanced down at the less-than-appetizing dish before him, contemplating his options.

"You don't have to eat it. Let's go buy food at the auntie's restaurant downstairs. Eat this first, though," In suggested, offering Korn a small container filled with colorful desserts.

"Dessert?" Korn asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

"Yes. I helped my mum make this. Especially this one, a star-shaped Look Choup. It's very hard to make. You can try it. There's no harm in eating this!" In encouraged, holding out the sweet treat for Korn to sample.

Curious, Korn accepted the offering and took a bite of the star-shaped Look Choup. His eyes widened in surprise as the flavors exploded on his palate.

"How is it? Does it smell nice?" In asked eagerly, watching Korn's reaction with anticipation.

"It's really good," Korn admitted, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"I baked this with a fragrant candle too," In added proudly, pleased by Korn's positive response.

"I don't have a chance to eat this omelet?" Korn teased, his playful tone lightening the mood.

"I will make it for you next time," In promised, determination shining in his eyes.

"It won't burn next time, right?" Korn teased further, a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

"I promise, I guarantee. It will be super yummy," In assured him, a playful smile playing on his lips.

Feeling a surge of affection for his friend, Korn reached out and ruffled In's hair affectionately

As Dean woke up to the sound of his alarm, he reached over to turn it off. But as he sat up in bed, a sudden memory flashed in his mind. In's voice echoed clearly, as if he were standing right there in the room, holding out a star-shaped Look Choup. "It's very hard to make, you can try it," In's words reverberated in Dean's mind, haunting him with their bittersweetness.

For a moment, the scene shifted, and Dean found himself watching In presenting the Look Choup, a tender smile gracing his features. Then, the image shifted again, this time showing Korn and In, their laughter filling the air with warmth and camaraderie.

But just as quickly as the memories came flooding back, they dissipated, leaving Dean sitting alone in his room, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. He wiped them away with a shaky hand, trying to shake off the overwhelming emotions that threatened to consume him.

Dean couldn't quite grasp the significance of the memory or the emotions it stirred within him. All he knew was that it left him feeling a profound sense of longing and sorrow, as if something precious had been lost forever. With a heavy heart, Dean pushed himself out of bed, silently vowing to uncover the meaning behind the haunting memory that continued to linger in his mind.

As Dean made his way downstairs, he found Don and Del already seated at the dining room table. Taking a seat, he grabbed his glass of orange juice and took a sip, listening as Don made his request.

"Dean, Can I sleep over at my friend's this weekend? I have to discuss my project," Don asked hopefully.

However, Dean's response was swift and firm. "I have to go on a camp trip this weekend. No one's home. You have to come back home to stay with Del," he stated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

"But..." Don started to protest, only to be interrupted by Del.

"It's okay. I can stay on my own," Del interjected, trying to ease the tension.

"No, you cannot! There're only girls in the house. It's dangerous," Dean insisted, his concern evident in his voice. "I'll call to check up on you," he added, trying to reassure Del.

Dean rose from the table, preparing to leave. "How about your breakfast?" Del called after him.

Dean shook his head and made his way out of the house, his mind already focused on the day ahead. Stepping into his car, he drove off towards school, leaving behind the lingering tension at the breakfast table.

As Dean entered the university cafeteria, he greeted Auntie before placing his order for rice with an omelet. While waiting for his food, his mind drifted momentarily, flashing back to a memory of a burnt omelet. Shaking off the thought, he collected his meal, paid, and found a table.

"This omelet is not burnt," Dean remarked to himself, a subtle contrast to the memory.

Just then, his phone rang, and he answered it promptly.

"What's up?" Dean inquired, listening intently to Win's voice on the other end.

As the conversation progressed, Dean nodded in understanding. "I'm at the university now. What's the problem?" he asked, receptive to Win's concerns.

"Yeah, I'll meet you at the club," Dean affirmed before ending the call.

Attempting to focus on his meal, Dean took a few bites before glancing at his watch and realizing he needed to leave. Hastily gathering his belongings, he unintentionally left some papers behind on the table.

Meanwhile, Pharm, engrossed in conversation with Team on the phone, approached the same table. Setting down his belongings, including the papers he carried, he accidentally placed them on top of Dean's forgotten documents.

Spotting Team, Pharm waved him over excitedly. "Team!" he called out, eager to catch up.

"I'm here. Here's your water," Team greeted Pharm as he joined him.

Chapter Text

Previously on Beautiful but Tragic

Spotting Team, Pharm waved him over excitedly. "Team!" he called out, eager to catch up.

"I'm here. Here's your water," Team greeted Pharm as he joined him. 

(Everything before the ---line is my own added details for the story)

Third-person 

Meanwhile, Dean hurried to the club room, his thoughts racing about the upcoming training camp. Win was already waiting when he arrived, surrounded by a few other team members.

"Dean, there you are," Win greeted him. "We need to finalize the itinerary for the camp. There have been some last-minute changes, and we must ensure everything's in order."

Dean nodded, taking a seat. "Alright, let's go over everything."

The group huddled together, discussing the logistics and making necessary adjustments to the schedule. Dean's mind occasionally wandered back to the cafeteria, wondering if he had left anything important behind, but he pushed the thought aside, focusing on the task at hand.

As they wrapped up the meeting, Dean felt a sense of accomplishment. "Thanks, everyone. This camp is going to be great," he said, his confidence in their plans restored.

Win clapped him on the back. "Good job, Dean. We'll make sure everything goes smoothly."

Dean smiled, but a nagging feeling lingered in the back of his mind. He couldn't shake the sense that he had forgotten something important. As he left the club room, he made a mental note to check the cafeteria later, just in case.

Third Pov

Pharm and Team were sitting at a table in the university cafeteria, enjoying a well-deserved break. Pharm had just taken a bite of his omelet when Team's eyes wandered over to Pharm's plate, a glimmer of interest in his gaze.

"Wow, yours looks so good. Let me have some," Team said, reaching over for a piece of Pharm's omelet.

Pharm quickly slapped Team's hand away. "Team!"

"What the heck? Why are you so stingy? Why do you eat just an omelet?" Team asked, bewildered.

Pharm shrugged and took another bite of his omelet. "I just feel like eating it. You know, omelet was the first dish I ever learned to cook."

Team raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "So... When did you first learn how to cook?"

Pharm's gaze turned nostalgic. "When my height was not above the kitchen counter, I secretly cooked an omelet. My mum was so mad when she found out I turned on the stove by myself. I started learning more about cooking when I was 8 years old."

Team chuckled. "You deserve it. I was already a grown man when I started to cook. By the way, I have a question for you. I'll let you guess. What is the first dish I cooked by myself?"

Pharm thought for a moment before answering. "Instant noodles."

Team’s smile faltered. "What the... This is not fun at all!" he exclaimed, feigning frustration.

"It's correct, isn't it?" Pharm asked with a smirk.

"Yeah," Team admitted, his expression softening into a grin.

They both started smiling, their laughter lightening the mood.

"I don't think you can cook anything else," Pharm said, taking another bite of his omelet.

"I can do many things," Team countered.

"Like what? Boiling eggs?" Pharm teased.

"Stealing your omelet," Team said, reaching for Pharm's plate again.

"Team! Stop it," Pharm protested, pulling his plate away.

"So stingy," Team said with a playful sigh.

"Go and buy it yourself," Pharm retorted.

"Fine. I'll just eat my own food," Team said, settling back into his seat.

"Eat it then," Pharm said, gesturing toward Team's plate.

Team took a bite of his food, and Pharm watched him with a mix of amusement and curiosity.

"Dude!" Pharm said, shaking his head in mock exasperation.

"Just eat," Team replied, grinning as he enjoyed his meal.

The two friends continued their banter, their camaraderie evident as they shared stories and laughed over their food. Despite the playful teasing, it was clear that their friendship was built on a foundation of mutual respect and affection.

In building 2 at the university, Pharm, Team, and Manaow were settled into their English class. The lecture hall hummed with the soft murmur of students discussing notes and the occasional shuffling of papers. Manaow, ever the multitasker, was engrossed in her phone under the desk.

"Pharm!" Manaow whispered, a bit louder than intended, masking it with a cough, "Pharm! Pharm!"

Pharm glanced over, puzzled by her urgency.

"Do you know what Dean's post means? Have you met him before? Why did he post 'Never forget'?" Manaow asked, showing Pharm the recent Facebook post from Dean on her phone.

"I don't know either. I've never met him before," Pharm replied, his voice low and thoughtful.

"Really? Everyone was so surprised. Dean hasn't posted his status for more than half a year. It's amazing," Manaow mused, scrolling through the comments on the post.

"Maybe he's never had the dessert before. That's why he posted it," Pharm suggested, trying to find a logical explanation.

"Really? But I think... How do I explain this? I actually feel that you and him... Both of you. There's something, you know, that clicks," Manaow remarked, her intuition kicking in.

"That's is such a Yaoi fangirl," Team chimed in, half amused, half exasperated.

"What's a Yaoi fangirl?" Pharm inquired, genuinely confused.

"Those girls who like to ship guys together," Team explained.

"Hey. Even though, I'm a Yaoi fangirl. But in real life, I won't force my friend with another guy," Manaow defended herself.

Pharm tried to shift his focus back to his classwork, feeling the conversation steering away from his comfort zone.

"Anyway... Are you angry when I ship you with Dean?" Manaow asked, a hint of concern in her voice.

"Don't worry Manaow. If I had not liked it, I would have told you already," Pharm reassured her, offering a small smile.

"So, that means you like it?" Team probed further, his curiosity piqued.

"I... I'm not sure," Pharm admitted, his feelings a complex web.

"But there's a chance right? A fifty-fifty chance?" Manaow pressed, eager to understand more.

"This is a serious question. Do you like Dean?" Team asked, looking intently at Pharm.

"I don't know either. Well... If I tell you this, you must not laugh at me," Pharm said, hesitantly.

"I won't," both Team and Manaow promised in unison.

"Since I was young, I've been thinking of one person," Pharm began, his voice soft.

"And then?" Manaow prompted, leaning in.

"I don't know what he looks like. It's... It's unclear. The only thing I know is that I'm happy when I'm with him," Pharm shared, not realizing that this connection stemmed from Intouch.

"I love him so much," Pharm confessed.

"So, that person is a man?" Team clarified.

"Yes, I have known that I was gay since I was 14 years old, but I didn't know that I could feel about someone until I met Dean on the orientation day," Pharm explained.

"It's him, isn't it? Dean is the one, right?" Manaow speculated, her eyes wide with excitement.

"I'm not sure either. I've never actually met him. All I know is that when I saw Dean, my heart was beating like it was going to explode," Pharm confessed.

"Same here," Manaow agreed, empathizing with his turmoil.

"Why don't you go and meet him? I can take you," Team suggested, ready to help.

"No, you can't!" Pharm protested, the thought alone filling him with anxiety.

"Oh...why not?" Team asked, surprised by the intensity of Pharm's reaction.

"I'm scared," Pharm admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Don't be scared. Just pretend that you go to see Team at the swimming club. This way you can find out," Manaow suggested, trying to lighten the mood.

"I don't mean it that way. I mean... I'm really scared. I'm scared to meet him. I don't know why," Pharm explained, his fear genuine.

"It's okay, Pharm. Team and I will be there for you," Manaow reassured him warmly.

"It's okay if you cannot go. You can make all the desserts. I will make sure to feed Dean," Team joked, trying to bring a smile to Pharm's face.

"Make sure you actually do that!" Manaow chimed in, half serious, half in jest.

"There will be no feeding. Stop it," Pharm responded, a bit flustered.

"Can I go to meet him too?" Manaow asked, eager to be part of the adventure.

"Team and Manaow..." Pharm began, overwhelmed by their enthusiasm.

"Join our team. Become a Yaoi fangirl," Manaow teased, trying to lighten the mood.

"You said that you wouldn't laugh at me," Pharm reminded them, his tone hinting at reproach.

"I didn't," Manaow quickly assured him, her tone earnest.

Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by their professor, catching them off guard.

"Sorry," they all murmured, quickly returning to their classwork, the weight of their shared secrets lingering in the air.

After a long and tiring day of university classes, Pharm returned to his small studio apartment in Thailand. The rooms were still unfamiliar to him, echoing the newness of his return to his homeland. He felt a weight of loneliness pressing down after the busy day, exacerbated by the emotional discussions about Dean that stirred memories and questions deep inside him.

Sighing deeply, Pharm tossed his backpack onto a chair and slumped down on the sofa. His mind was buzzing with thoughts of Dean, the mysterious connection he felt, and the unresolved feelings about someone from his past—a person whose presence felt both distant and painfully close. He knew he needed more than just his own speculations to understand these feelings fully.

Reaching for his laptop, Pharm decided to call his friends back in America. They knew him well; they knew his history and the emotional journey he had been on. Perhaps they could offer some insight or, at the very least, lend a sympathetic ear.

The video call connected, and soon, the familiar faces of his friends filled the screen, their smiles a comforting sight.

"Hey, Pharm! How’s everything going? How's university life treating you?" one of his friends greeted enthusiastically.

Pharm managed a small smile. "It's all pretty overwhelming, to be honest. But there’s something specific I wanted to talk about... It’s about someone I met here."

"Ooh, sounds intriguing. Spill the beans, Pharm!" another friend said, leaning closer to the screen.

Pharm took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. "It’s about this guy, Dean. There's something about him... I can’t explain it clearly, but there’s a deeper connection. You guys remember how I've always felt like I was waiting for someone, right?"

His friends nodded, expressions turning serious as they remembered many late-night conversations about Pharm’s feelings of an unexplained bond awaiting him somewhere.

"Yeah, of course. You've talked about feeling connected to someone you couldn’t remember," one friend replied. "Do you think Dean might be that person?"

"I'm not sure. But there's this pull, an inexplicable feeling when I’m around him. But the weird part? I've never actually spoken to him. It’s like a memory I can’t fully access."

"Sounds like something out of a movie," another friend said, half-joking. "But with your sense of intuition, Pharm, I wouldn’t just brush it off."

Pharm chuckled weakly. "Yeah, it does sound bizarre when you put it that way. But it’s not just that. Dean posted something on Facebook recently, something about not forgetting, and it just... resonated with me."

His friends exchanged glances. "That’s really interesting, Pharm. Maybe your mind is trying to connect dots from your past experiences? You've always been sensitive to things that most of us wouldn’t notice."

"True," Pharm acknowledged, feeling a bit relieved to have his feelings validated. "But what do I do about this? How do I even begin to understand what this all means?"

"Well, why not start simple? Try talking to Dean," suggested one of his friends. "Find common ground, see if the feelings intensify or clarify when you actually interact with him."

"And keep an open mind," added another. "Maybe this connection, whatever it is, could reveal something important about your past or something meaningful about your present."

Pharm nodded, his heart feeling lighter from the conversation. "Thanks, guys. I think I’ll do just that. Maybe there’s a piece of my puzzle in Dean, or maybe it’s just a new friendship waiting to happen."

"Either way, we’re here for you," they said in unison, smiling.

As the call ended, Pharm felt a renewed sense of purpose. While the mystery of Dean and the deep-seated feelings from his past remained unsolved, he now had a more straightforward path forward—starting with a simple conversation. With his friends’ encouragement echoing in his mind, Pharm felt ready to face whatever came next.

At fourteen, during a sleepover that had stretched late into the night, Pharm and his friends were nestled in sleeping bags scattered across his living room floor. The glow of a small lamp cast soft shadows, creating a secretive ambiance as they shared stories and whispered confessions. During these intimate hours, Pharm felt compelled to share something deeply personal that he had never articulated before.

"Guys, can I tell you something... weird?" Pharm's voice was hesitant, his eyes tracing the patterns on his sleeping bag before meeting those of his friends.

"Of course, you can tell us anything," one friend reassured, her voice gentle in the dim light.

"Yeah, spill it," another chimed in, eager and supportive.

Pharm took a deep breath, gathering the courage to articulate thoughts that had been swirling in his mind, unclear and unformed until that moment. "It’s about someone I keep thinking about... but it’s strange because I don’t actually know who they are."

His friends looked puzzled but intrigued, urging him to continue.

"I mean, I feel like there’s someone I’m supposed to find. Or maybe meet again? It’s like... like there’s a part of my life missing, and I don’t know why I feel this way," Pharm explained, his voice faltering slightly under the weight of his own words.

"Like a soulmate?" one friend offered, trying to put a label on the inexplicable.

"Maybe... but it’s more intense than that. It’s like my heart knows who it’s looking for, but my mind can’t remember," Pharm said, struggling to put his nebulous feelings into words.

"Do you ever dream about this person?" asked another friend, her interest piqued by the mysterious nature of Pharm’s feelings.

"Yeah, sometimes. In my dreams, it feels so real—like I’m happy and complete. But when I wake up, I can’t remember a face or a name. Just the feeling that someone important is missing from my life," Pharm confessed, feeling both relieved and vulnerable as he shared his deepest, unexplained experiences.

"That sounds pretty intense for someone your age," one friend noted, half-joking to lighten the mood, yet genuinely impressed by the depth of Pharm's emotional insight.

"Have you ever thought about writing these feelings down? Maybe it could help you figure things out or at least deal with them," suggested another, always practical.

Pharm nodded, considering the idea seriously. "Maybe I should. It might help me understand whether I’m just making this up, or if there’s really something to it."

The conversation gradually drifted to other topics, but the seeds of curiosity and wonder about Pharm's experience were planted firmly in their minds. His friends offered smiles and quick squeezes of his hand, silently communicating their support and acceptance of his search for answers.

Reflecting on that night years later, Pharm realized how pivotal it was in shaping his understanding of his heart and mind. It had been the first time he acknowledged out loud that his life was intertwined with a mystery that he was still unraveling. Even now, as he pondered Dean's enigma and the feelings that surfaced around him, Pharm appreciated the early acknowledgment of his deep-seated yearning for connection—a theme that would define many of his choices and relationships throughout his subsequent years.

Back in the present, Pharm sat alone in the quiet corner of his apartment, his mind whirling with his earlier conversation with his friends. The lamp beside him cast a soft glow over the room, reminiscent of the sleepover years ago where he first vocalized his deep-seated feelings of connection to someone he couldn't remember. The same emotions were resurfacing now, centered around Dean.

He replayed the conversation in his mind, his friends' words echoing through his thoughts. They had encouraged him to explore this mysterious pull he felt towards Dean, to seek out answers that might lie hidden in their potential connection.

Pharm's phone buzzed, snapping him out of his reverie. It was a message from one of his friends from the call earlier.

"Remember, just talking to Dean might give you more clarity. Don't build walls before you know what's actually there." The message was simple but filled with encouragement.

Pharm typed out a response, his fingers hesitating slightly before pressing send. "Thanks, I'll think about how to approach him. It's just... there's something about him that feels important."

He set his phone down and leaned back, thinking about Dean's social media post again. "Never forget," it had said. The phrase tugged at something within him, a thread that felt both familiar and utterly perplexing.

"Why am I feeling this way?" Pharm murmured to himself. "Is it just a coincidence, or is there something more?"

The silence of the room offered no answers, just the gentle hum of the city outside his window. Pharm knew that his friends were right; he needed to find a way to meet Dean, to see if this feeling was grounded in something real or if it was just his mind drawing parallels where there were none.

He thought about the practical advice his friend had given during their call:

"You know, sometimes the mind plays tricks on us, especially when we want to find connections. But it doesn’t hurt to explore. Who knows? Maybe there's a reason you feel this way about Dean."

Pharm considered this. His intuition had always been strong, guiding him through feelings and situations that initially didn't make sense. And now, it seemed to be pulling him towards Dean, urging him to discover the nature of their connection.

As he pondered his next steps, Pharm felt a mix of anticipation and fear. Approaching Dean could open a path to understanding his persistent feelings or lead to more confusion. But either outcome would be a step forward in unraveling the mystery that seemed to be an intrinsic part of his life.

With a deep breath, Pharm resolved to find an opportunity to speak with Dean soon, to gauge for himself the nature of the connection he felt. "Let’s see what the future holds," he said quietly to the empty room, a sense of resolve steadying his nerves.

He picked up his phone again, drafting a plan in his notes on how he might casually approach Dean on campus. Every action felt significant, each step filled with the potential of profound discovery. As he mapped out his approach, Pharm felt a renewed sense of purpose; no matter the outcome, he was moving closer to understanding a part of himself that had long remained a mystery.

Chapter Text

Previously on Beautiful but Tragic 

With a deep breath, Pharm resolved to find an opportunity to speak with Dean soon, to gauge for himself the nature of the connection he felt. "Let’s see what the future holds," he said quietly to the empty room, a sense of resolve steadying his nerves.

He picked up his phone again, drafting a plan in his notes on how he might casually approach Dean on campus. Every action felt significant, each step filled with the potential of profound discovery. As he mapped out his approach, Pharm felt a renewed sense of purpose; no matter the outcome, he was moving closer to understanding a part of himself that had long remained a mystery.

One year old

Dean was only a year old when his parents brought home a new baby. At that tender age, he could hardly understand the significance of the small, wriggling bundle named Don, but the arrival marked the beginning of a lifelong brotherly bond.

In their small, cozy living room, Dean's mother gently nudged him toward the crib where Don was sleeping. The baby's soft cooing filled the room, mingling with the muted sounds of a television playing in the background.

"Look, Dean," his mother whispered, her voice warm and excited. "This is your little brother, Don."

Dean peered curiously into the crib, his small brow furrowed as he tried to make sense of the situation. The baby, wrapped snugly in a pale blue blanket, yawned and stretched, causing Dean to step back a bit in surprise.

"Can you say 'hello' to Don?" his father encouraged, kneeling beside Dean to bring him closer to the crib.

"Hello, Don," Dean murmured, imitating the tone his father used. His voice was soft and tentative, a stark contrast to his usual babble of toddler words.

"That’s right!" his mother beamed, her heart swelling with pride. "You’re going to be the best big brother, Dean."

As days turned into weeks and months, Dean slowly adapted to his new role. The house, once filled mostly with his own laughter and cries, now echoed with the sounds of two children. Dean learned to share his parents' attention, which wasn't always easy, but his parents made sure to involve him in caring for Don, fostering a bond between the brothers.

One afternoon, while Dean was playing with blocks on the living room floor, Don, now a few months old and lying on a playmat, started to fuss. Dean’s mother was busy in the kitchen, and his father was at work. Hearing his brother's cries, Dean paused, his hands full of colorful blocks.

"Don cry," Dean said, his voice laced with concern. He toddled over to the playmat, a block still in hand, and looked down at his brother with wide eyes.

"It’s okay, Don," Dean cooed, clumsily placing a block next to Don, hoping it would entertain him.

The baby's cries subsided a bit, his tears giving way to sniffles as he noticed Dean. Intrigued by the bright color of the block, Don reached out with his small, chubby hands, his fingers curling around it.

Seeing Don calm down, Dean clapped his hands, delighted with his success. "Don happy!" he exclaimed, looking up as his mother rushed into the room.

"You're such a good brother, Dean," his mother said, relief washing over her as she scooped Don up into her arms. She ruffled Dean's hair affectionately. "Thank you for helping me."

Two years old

When Delta was born, Dean was two years old and Don just one. Their home, already filled with the sounds of little feet and baby giggles, prepared to welcome yet another layer of laughter and cries.

On a warm spring morning, while Dean and Don played under the watchful eyes of their grandmother in the living room, their parents returned from the hospital, their arms cradling the newest family member. The room, scattered with toys and books, suddenly grew quiet as the boys noticed their parents.

"Dean, Don, come meet your baby sister, Delta," their mother called softly, her voice tinged with fatigue and joy.

Dean, curious and somewhat cautious, approached first. His little legs moved hesitantly as he neared the bundle in his mother's arms. Don, not fully understanding but sensing the excitement, toddled closely behind his big brother.

"Baby?" Dean asked, his small finger pointing at Delta.

"Yes, this is Delta, your sister," his father explained, kneeling beside the boys to bring them closer to the baby.

Dean peered into the blanket, his eyes wide. Delta, wrapped snugly in a pink swaddle, yawned and wiggled, her tiny hands stretching out. Dean giggled softly, his initial hesitation melting away.

"She's tiny," Dean remarked, his voice a whisper as if he understood the need for quiet around the newborn.

Don, observing his brother's fascination, echoed the sentiment with a simple, "Tiny."

Their mother, balancing Delta carefully, invited, "Do you want to give Delta a gentle kiss?"

Dean nodded, and with his father's guidance, he kissed the baby's forehead softly. Don, eager not to be left out, leaned in for his turn. His kiss was more of a gentle headbutt than a peck, which earned a soft chuckle from everyone in the room.

"Good boys," their grandmother praised, her eyes misty with emotion. "You're both going to be wonderful big brothers."

Over the following months, the family adjusted to the rhythms of life with three young children. Dean took to his role as the eldest with a seriousness that belied his tender age, often trying to assist his parents by fetching diapers or soothing Delta with his babyish rendition of nursery rhymes. Spirited and sweet, Don followed his older brother's lead, contributing to the chaos and care in equal measure.

Three years old

When Dean was only three years old, circumstances within his family shifted, leading his grandmother to take a more significant role in his upbringing. Dean’s parents, overwhelmed by various challenges and unable to provide the stable environment Dean needed, had come to a difficult decision. On a sunny afternoon, Dean’s grandmother arrived to discuss the arrangements with his parents while Dean played quietly in the corner with his toy cars.

“Are you sure this is the best decision? It’s a big responsibility at my age,” Dean’s grandmother voiced her concerns as she sat on the old, comfortable sofa, her hands folded neatly in her lap.

His mother nodded, her eyes glistening with unshed tears, “Mom, you know we’ve thought this through. With everything going on, Dean needs more stability, and we just can’t provide that right now.”

Dean’s father added, “It’s just not feasible for us to give him the attention and care he deserves. You have the means and the time, and honestly, Mom, he adores you. He might even be happier.”

Dean, oblivious to the gravity of the conversation, continued to line up his cars, making soft engine noises under his breath.

Dean’s grandmother sighed, looking over at the innocent boy playing on the floor. “And what about his schooling, his friends? He’s just started to settle in with his peers.”

“We’ve thought about that too,” his mother replied, wiping a stray tear from her cheek. “The school near your place is excellent, and I’m sure Dean will make new friends. He’s resilient. And we’re not going far; we’ll visit all the time.”

His father knelt down beside Dean, catching his attention. “Hey champ, how would you like to stay with Grandma for a while? You’ll have fun, and she’s got that big backyard you love so much.”

Dean looked up, a slight frown on his face as he processed the information. “Can I bring my cars?”

His grandmother chuckled softly, easing the tension in the room. “Of course, you can bring all your cars. And we’ll have cookies and milk every afternoon, just how you like it.”

Dean smiled, reassured by the promise of cookies and the familiar comfort of his grandmother’s presence. “Okay, I’ll go with Grandma.”

As the day of the move arrived, Dean’s little world was packed into boxes – toys, books, and clothes. His grandmother took his hand as they walked out of his childhood home, a gentle squeeze reassuring him. “You’re going to have a great time, Dean. We’ll make it a grand adventure.”

Dean nodded, squeezing her hand back, his young mind filled with the promise of new beginnings and the security of his grandmother’s love.

Five years old

When Dean was five years old, he met Sorn, an eight-year-old boy whose family had just moved into the house next to his grandmother's. Their initial meeting occurred one crisp autumn morning as Dean was helping his grandmother plant tulip bulbs in the front yard.

"Who's that?" Dean asked curiously, pausing to wipe his hands on his jeans as he watched a new family unload boxes next door.

"That's our new neighbors, honey. Why don’t you go say hello?" his grandmother suggested with a gentle smile, nudging him forward.

A bit hesitant but intrigued, Dean approached the fence that divided their properties just as Sorn emerged from his house, carrying a box labeled 'Sorn's Stuff' in big, bold letters. Spotting Dean, Sorn set the box down with a thud and sauntered over.

"Hi! I'm Sorn. What’s your name?" Sorn called out, leaning over the fence with a friendly grin.

"I'm Dean," the younger boy replied, clutching the fence with small hands.

"Do you like superheroes?" Sorn asked, eager to find common ground.

Dean's eyes lit up. "Yeah! Spider-Man is my favorite!"

"Mine too! Do you wanna come over and see my Spider-Man comics?" Sorn offered, his voice full of excitement.

Dean looked back at his grandmother, who was watching them. She nodded her approval, and Dean turned back to Sorn with a big smile. "Yes, please!"

Sorn led Dean through the gate that connected their yards, chattering about his comic collection. Dean was amazed by the number of comics and toys scattered everywhere as they reached Sorn's room. They spent the afternoon reading comics, discussing their favorite superhero adventures, and forging a friendship that would grow deeper with each passing year.

Their friendship became a staple of their childhood. They walked to school together each morning, often immersed in deep discussions about the latest superhero movies or what they did over the weekend. Dean looked up to Sorn, not just because he was older but also because he always had interesting stories and a protective attitude.

"Dean, you gotta stick with me at school, okay? If anyone bothers you, just tell me," Sorn would say as they walked past the school gates, slinging his backpack over one shoulder with a confident air.

"Okay, Sorn. Thanks!" Dean would reply, feeling safe and looked after in his friend's presence.

Their afternoons were often spent at one or the other’s house, doing homework together, playing video games, or exploring the neighborhood on their bikes. Sorn taught Dean how to climb trees and build forts, while Dean shared his secret spots for finding the best wildflowers for his grandmother.

Six years old

At six years old, Dean discovered a passion that would shape much of his young life: swimming. It was a sunny Saturday morning, and Dean's grandmother had taken him to the local community pool for a beginner's swimming lesson. The water shimmered invitingly under the bright sunlight, and children's laughter echoed around the bustling pool area.

"Are you excited, Dean?" his grandmother asked, kneeling down to adjust his swim goggles as they stood by the edge of the pool.

Dean nodded enthusiastically, his eyes wide with anticipation. "Yes, Grandma! I'm going to swim like a fish!"

His grandmother chuckled at his excitement. "I'm sure you will, honey. Just listen to your instructor and have fun, okay?"

As the lesson started, Dean was a natural in the water. He kicked his legs vigorously and followed the instructor's directions to "paddle like a puppy." Each new instruction was met with eager attempts, and soon, Dean was floating and paddling with minimal assistance.

"Look at you, Dean! You're doing so well!" the swimming instructor praised, her voice encouraging. "Can you show me how you jump in?"

Without hesitation, Dean climbed out of the pool and stood at the edge. With a proud glance at his grandmother, who was watching with a beaming smile, he jumped back into the water with a joyful splash. The cool water enveloped him, and as he resurfaced, his laughter mingled with the sounds of the pool.

His grandmother clapped, her pride evident. "You're a little swimmer, aren't you?"

Dean paddled over to the side where his grandmother stood. Grasping the edge of the pool, he looked up at her, his face wet but beaming. "Grandma, I love swimming! Can we come back tomorrow?"

"We'll come as often as we can," she promised, touched by his enthusiasm. "Would you like that?"

"Yes! I want to swim all the time!" Dean exclaimed, his voice echoing his newfound passion.

From that day on, swimming became a significant part of Dean's life. His grandmother enrolled him in regular lessons, and with each visit to the pool, his skills and confidence grew. Dean found not only joy in the water but also a sense of freedom and strength that he hadn't felt in other sports. Swimming lessons were the highlight of his week, and he eagerly absorbed all the techniques and tips his instructors offered.

The pool became a place where Dean could express himself physically and let his worries wash away with the water. His love for swimming followed him as he grew older, eventually becoming more than a hobby. It was a sanctuary, a place of personal challenge and achievement, and a key part of his identity.

Seven years old

At seven years old, Dean often experienced intense dreams that lingered in his consciousness long after he awoke. Though the specifics of these dreams eluded him upon waking, the emotions they stirred within him—ranging from sadness and fear to fleeting moments of inexplicable happiness—remained vivid and profound.

One morning, after a particularly restless night, Dean sat at the breakfast table with his grandmother, his young face etched with traces of the night's turmoil. His grandmother, noticing his subdued demeanor and the dark circles under his eyes, became concerned.

"Dean, honey, you look like you didn't sleep well again," she said, pouring him a bowl of cereal and setting it down in front of him with a gentle hand.

Dean nodded, stirring his cereal listlessly. "I had another dream," he mumbled, not meeting her eyes.

"Do you want to talk about it?" his grandmother prodded softly, sitting down beside him with her own cup of tea.

"I don't remember it all," Dean admitted, his voice tinged with frustration. "But it makes me feel sad when I wake up, and sometimes scared."

His grandmother reached out, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead with a tender touch. "It's okay to feel that way, Dean. Dreams can be powerful, but they can't hurt you. Do you ever feel happy from these dreams?"

"Sometimes," Dean replied, a slight smile flickering on his face as he recalled the warmth that occasionally filled his chest upon waking. "Sometimes I wake up feeling really happy, like something good happened."

"That's wonderful, sweetheart. Maybe those happy dreams are telling you about good things coming your way," his grandmother suggested, hoping to comfort him.

"Really?" Dean looked up, his interest piqued.

"Yes, really," she affirmed with a nod. "Dreams can be like little mysteries. They might feel real, but they're just your mind's way of telling you stories while you sleep."

Dean pondered this for a moment, then asked, "Why don't I remember them?"

"It's just how dreams work sometimes. But what matters most is how you feel, and that you know you're safe and loved when you wake up," his grandmother explained, offering him a warm, reassuring smile.

Feeling a bit better, Dean managed a small smile. "Can I tell you if I have more dreams?"

"Of course, Dean. You can tell me anything, anytime," his grandmother promised, squeezing his hand gently. "Now, let's get you ready for school, okay? Maybe today will be a really good day."

Nine years old

At nine years old, Dean was brushing his teeth one evening when he noticed something unusual in the mirror. A small, distinct mark on his right temple caught his attention. He leaned closer, his brow furrowing as he touched it gently with his fingertips.

"Grandma!" Dean called out, still examining his reflection. "What's this on my head?"

Hearing the urgency in his voice, his grandmother quickly came into the bathroom, her expression one of mild concern mixed with curiosity. "Let me see, sweetheart," she said, leaning over to get a better look at the mark Dean was pointing to.

"It's just a birthmark, Dean," she explained gently, after inspecting it. "You've had it since you were a baby. It's part of what makes you special."

Dean looked back at the mirror, tilting his head slightly. "A birthmark? Why haven't I noticed it before?"

"It’s probably because it’s a bit faint, and your hair usually covers it a bit," his grandmother suggested, smoothing his hair back to give him a clearer view. "It’s nothing to worry about. Many people have birthmarks."

"Does it do anything?" Dean asked, still fascinated by the new discovery of this permanent, personal feature.

His grandmother chuckled softly at the question. "No, it doesn’t do anything. It’s just a little mark that’s unique to you. Some people think of them as beauty marks."

"Beauty marks," Dean repeated, his tone reflecting a new sense of acceptance. "So, it’s like a little badge?"

"Exactly," his grandmother agreed, smiling warmly at his analogy. "A little badge of your uniqueness. Everyone has something special about them, and this is one of your things."

Dean smiled, his initial concern replaced by a sense of pride in his unique mark. "I guess it’s kind of cool," he admitted, feeling more at ease.

"Very cool," his grandmother affirmed, giving him a reassuring hug. "Now, let’s finish getting ready for bed. Big day tomorrow!"

As they left the bathroom, Dean took one last look at his reflection. His birthmark was now a symbol of his individuality rather than a source of worry.

Thirteen years old

Fourteen years old

At fourteen, Dean was navigating the tumultuous waters of early adolescence with a blend of confidence and typical teenage awkwardness. One sunny afternoon, as he sat with his friends on the school playground, the conversation unexpectedly turned toward him.

"Dean, you know you’re like, really good-looking, right?" one of his friends, Mia, blurted out, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.

Caught off guard, Dean blushed, rubbing the back of his neck uncomfortably. "What? No, I mean, I'm just regular, I guess."

His friend Luke chimed in, laughing. "Man, you should see how everyone talks about you. You’re definitely one of the most popular guys in our grade. Don’t be so humble."

Dean shook his head, a sheepish smile tugging at his lips. "I don't know about that. I'm just trying to get through school like everyone else."

Mia rolled her eyes playfully. "Dean, come on, you have to admit it. You’ve got this mysterious vibe going on, and everyone kinda likes that. Plus, your style is always on point."

Another friend, Jenna, nodded in agreement. "Yeah, and you always know how to say the right thing. You’re just naturally cool, Dean."

Feeling slightly overwhelmed by the attention, Dean tried to deflect the compliments. "Okay, okay, enough about me. Let’s talk about something else. What about the math test coming up?"

But Luke wasn’t ready to drop the subject. "Seriously, Dean, you should embrace it a bit. It’s a good thing to be liked and noticed. Just don’t let it go to your head, you know?"

Dean considered this for a moment. The idea that he was well-liked and considered attractive was strange and new to him. It made him reflect on how he viewed himself versus how others saw him.

"Yeah, I guess it’s nice to be liked," Dean admitted, still a bit uncomfortable with the idea. "I’ll try to see it as a positive thing, without getting all weird about it."

"That’s the spirit!" Mia said, giving him a light shove. "Just own it, Dean. It’s part of who you are."

Dean sat quietly, pondering his friends' words as the conversation drifted to other topics. The realization that his peers perceived him positively was comforting, yet it also added a layer of expectation that he wasn't sure how to handle. He resolved to remain true to himself, to maintain his humility and to use his popularity for good, perhaps by helping others feel included and valued.

Fifteen years old

At fifteen, Dean was already well-known in his high school for his natural affinity for water, a passion that blossomed from his first swimming lessons as a child. It was early September, and the swimming club held tryouts for the new school year. Dean, full of anticipation and a bit of nerves, arrived at the school pool, where the buzz of excited students filled the air.

As he approached the pool, the club president, a senior named Marcus, was rallying the hopefuls with a clipboard in hand. "Alright, everyone! Welcome to the tryouts. We’re excited to see what you’ve got. Remember, it’s not just about speed—it’s about technique, endurance, and team spirit."

Dean joined the group of students, stretching by the poolside as he watched others take their turns. Finally, it was his turn. He adjusted his goggles, took a deep breath, and dove into the pool with a practiced, smooth dive that cut through the water with minimal splash.

He surfaced, starting his laps with powerful, even strokes. The water was his domain, and with each stroke, he felt his confidence surge. When he finished, he touched the wall and looked up to find Marcus jotting down notes.

"Nice work, Dean!" Marcus called out, giving him a nod. "Great form and good pace. How long have you been swimming?"

"Thanks," Dean panted, pulling himself out of the pool. "Since I was about six. It’s kind of my thing."

Marcus smiled, marking something on his clipboard. "It shows. We could use someone like you on the team. You interested in competing?"

"Yeah, absolutely," Dean replied, his excitement growing. "I love swimming. I’ve been looking forward to joining the team."

"That’s what I like to hear," Marcus said, clapping him on the shoulder. "We have practice sessions every Tuesday and Thursday after school, and meets about twice a month. We train hard, but we’re like a family. You’ll fit right in."

As Dean nodded, enthusiastic about the schedule, another swimmer, a girl named Lisa who was also trying out, chimed in, "You really set the bar high, Dean. I’ve seen you in gym class, but this is something else."

Dean chuckled, feeling a flush of pride. "Thanks, Lisa. Just doing my best. Looking forward to training with everyone."

Dean lingered by the poolside as the tryouts concluded and the students started to leave, watching the water settle back into a calm surface. Joining the swimming club felt like a new chapter in his journey, one that held promise for athletic achievement and building friendships and being part of a team.

His grandmother, who had always supported his swimming, was waiting for him outside. Seeing her, Dean ran over, a broad smile spreading.

"Grandma, I made the team!" he exclaimed, his eyes bright with excitement.

"I knew you would, honey," she said, embracing him warmly. "I’m so proud of you. Let’s go celebrate. Ice cream on me?"

"Best way to celebrate," Dean agreed, his heart full of joy and anticipation for the season ahead.

As they walked to the car, Dean felt a surge of gratitude for his family's support and the new opportunities awaiting him. With each step, he was swimming toward victories in the pool and personal growth and cherished memories in the making.

Sixteen years old

At sixteen, the feeling of searching for something undefined had grown stronger in Dean. It was a sensation that nagged at him daily—a constant reminder that something, or someone, was missing. One afternoon, as he walked home from school, he stopped by a local tattoo parlor that had caught his eye several times before. Today, he felt an impulsive urge to go inside.

The bell above the door chimed as he entered, and the smell of antiseptic and ink hit him immediately. The walls were adorned with designs ranging from the intricate to the bold. Dean’s eyes were drawn to the design of a compass—a symbol of guidance and direction. It resonated deeply with him, mirroring his internal quest.

The tattoo artist, a middle-aged man with sleeves of colorful art himself, looked up from his sketchbook. "Can I help you?" he asked in a friendly tone.

Dean approached the counter, pointing at the design on the wall. "I want to get a tattoo. That compass, but I’d like it here," he explained, indicating the left side of his hip.

The artist raised an eyebrow, a gesture of interest rather than judgment. "A compass, huh? What’s it for? If you don’t mind me asking."

Dean hesitated, then decided to share a bit of his truth. "It’s like... I’ve always felt like I’m looking for something, or someone. I don’t know. This compass seems right. Like it might show me the way."

"Finding your direction, I get that," the artist nodded, understanding. "Alright, let’s get you set up. Have you thought about the size and the exact placement?"

"Yeah, about this big," Dean showed the size with his fingers, "and just here, on the side of my hip."

The artist nodded, setting up his equipment with practiced ease. "Good spot. It won’t be too conspicuous, but it’s meaningful enough for you to appreciate it."

As Dean lay on the chair, the artist prepped his skin. The buzz of the tattoo machine started, and Dean braced himself for the pain. It was sharp at first, but as the artist worked, Dean found himself focusing on the significance of the tattoo rather than the discomfort.

"Why a compass?" the artist asked as he worked, making conversation to keep Dean's mind off the pain.

Dean thought about it, his answer more to himself than to the artist. "I guess I’ve always felt a bit lost, like I’m supposed to find something important. Maybe this will remind me to keep looking, or at least to keep moving forward."

The artist nodded. "That’s a good reason as any. Tattoos are personal. They should mean something to the one wearing them."

By the time the tattoo was finished, Dean looked down at the fresh ink with a sense of accomplishment. The compass was beautifully detailed, pointing perpetually northeast on his skin.

"Looks great," the artist said, wiping down the area one last time.

Dean admired the tattoo, a sense of peace settling over him. It was as if the compass had anchored a part of him that had always felt adrift. "Thanks," he said genuinely, "I think it’s exactly what I needed."

As he left the parlor, the weight of the unknown seemed a little lighter. Dean felt a new connection to his path—wherever it might lead. His compass tattoo wasn't just ink on his skin; it was a declaration of his journey, a permanent reminder to seek out his direction in the chaos of growing up.

Eighteen years old 

Nineteen years old

At nineteen, Dean was brimming with the excitement and nerves typical of a freshman starting university. His decision to enroll in the Faculty of Management at T-University was fueled by a desire to forge a path distinct from his technical inclinations in high school. Alongside him, his friend Win, whom he had fortuitously met the previous summer, shared both his academic faculty and a passion for swimming.

On their first day of classes, Dean and Win found themselves navigating the bustling campus, their schedules fortuitously aligned. As they walked toward their first class together, the air was filled with the chatter of eager students and the rustling of autumn leaves.

"Looks like we’re in this together, huh?" Win remarked with a grin, adjusting the strap of his backpack.

"Yeah, it's going to be an adventure, man," Dean replied, his eyes scanning the campus map on his phone. "Management 101 is our first battle."

They entered the large lecture hall and found seats near the front, keen on making a good first impression on their professor. As the room filled, the murmur of anticipatory conversations grew louder.

After their morning classes, they discussed their next shared interest—the university swimming club tryouts scheduled for that afternoon. Both had been competitive swimmers in high school, and joining the university team seemed like the perfect way to continue their passion.

"I can't believe we're trying out for the team on our first day," Win said as they changed in the locker room, the smell of chlorine strong in the air.

"It’s like jumping into the deep end—literally," Dean chuckled, pulling on his swim cap. "You ready for this?"

"As ready as I’ll ever be. Let’s show them what we’ve got," Win replied, his competitive spirit igniting.

They walked onto the pool deck, where the tryouts were about to start. The coach, a stern-looking man with a clipboard, called the group to attention.

"All right, everyone! We’re going to start with a 400-meter freestyle. Let’s see what you’ve got," the coach announced, his voice echoing off the walls.

Dean and Win exchanged a determined look before lining up at the starting blocks. At the whistle, they dove into the pool, the cool water enveloping them, silencing the world above. Dean felt his muscles stretch and pull with familiar ease, the adrenaline and the rhythmic sound of his strokes filling his senses.

After several intense minutes, Dean touched the wall, gasping for breath. He looked up to see Win finishing right beside him. They both looked toward the coach, who was making notes, his expression unreadable.

"Good effort, you two," the coach finally said, offering a small nod of approval. "We’ll be posting the team list by Friday."

"Thanks, coach," Win and Dean responded in unison, relief and fatigue mingling in their voices.

As they climbed out of the pool, Dean felt a surge of pride. "No matter what happens, that was a killer swim," he said, clapping Win on the back.

"Absolutely," Win agreed, a wide smile spreading across his face. "Here's to our first day and hopefully many more on the team."

Walking back to the locker room, their spirits were high. The day had been a whirlwind of new experiences, but facing them together made all the difference. Whatever challenges lay ahead in their academic or athletic pursuits, Dean knew they had started on the right foot—side by side, ready to take on whatever came their way.

Returning home at the age of nineteen after years of living with his grandmother, Dean found himself navigating a different kind of challenge. His younger siblings, Don and Del, now teenagers themselves, had grown up hearing about their older brother but rarely seeing him. The house, filled with the noise of three young adults, was different from the quiet consistency of his grandmother’s home.

On Dean’s first evening back, the atmosphere at the dinner table was tense. Don and Del exchanged uncertain glances, unsure how to interact with the brother who was more a concept than a reality to them.

"So, Dean, um, how was living with Grandma?" Del asked, her voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and nervousness.

"It was good, she took great care of me," Dean replied, trying to make eye contact with his siblings, who quickly looked down at their plates. "I’ve missed being home, though. Missed you guys."

Don fidgeted with his fork, then said, "Yeah, we saw you on holidays, but it’s not the same, is it?"

"No, it’s not," Dean agreed, sensing their discomfort. "But I’m here now. We can get to know each other better, right?"

Del nodded, a small smile breaking through her initial reserve. "What do you like to do now? I mean, we know you swim, but what else?"

Dean appreciated Del’s attempt to bridge the gap. "Well, I’ve started reading a lot more. And I still love movies. Maybe we could watch something together tonight?"

Don seemed to warm up to the idea. "Yeah, that sounds cool. What kind of movies do you like?"

"Mostly action and sci-fi. But I’m open to other genres," Dean replied, his tone more relaxed.

The conversation gradually became more fluid, the initial awkwardness fading as they discussed their favorite films and books. After dinner, the siblings moved to the living room, where Dean picked out a sci-fi movie he thought everyone would enjoy. As they settled onto the couch, Del inched closer to Dean.

"It must have been weird, not growing up here with us," she said softly, as the opening credits rolled.

Dean nodded, looking at both Del and Don. "It was, sometimes. But Grandma told me stories about you guys, and I always wondered what it would be like to live together."

"We used to think about that too," Don admitted. "It’s kind of weird now, trying to figure out how to be siblings who live under the same roof."

Dean reached out, placing a gentle hand on each of their shoulders. "Let’s just take it one day at a time. We’re family, and that’s what matters. We’ll figure it out."

Del smiled, leaning her head against Dean’s shoulder. "I’d like that."

20 years old

21 years old

At twenty-one, Dean stood on the brink of his third year at T-University, a palpable sense of anticipation coursing through him. It was an odd, undefined premonition that this year would pivot his life in a new direction, though the specifics eluded him. During one of their routine jogs around the campus, he shared these thoughts with Win, the early morning sun casting long shadows on the path ahead.

“You ever get the feeling something big is about to happen, but you can’t quite put your finger on what?” Dean asked, his breath steady despite the pace.

Win glanced over, the rhythm of their footsteps syncing. “Like pre-game jitters?”

“Sort of, but bigger. It’s like this entire upcoming year is waiting to throw curveballs at me, and I’m not sure if I’m supposed to catch them or dodge,” Dean said, a half-smile playing on his lips despite the seriousness of his tone.

Win considered this for a moment, then nodded. “I get that sometimes. A feeling like you’re on the edge of something new. It could be exciting, man.”

“Exciting or terrifying,” Dean mused, his gaze fixed on the winding path ahead. “But yeah, I’m hoping for exciting. Maybe it’s about personal growth, or maybe it’s something unexpected. I just hope I’m ready for whatever it is.”

“You’ve handled everything so far pretty well. What makes you think this year will be different?” Win asked, genuinely curious.

“It’s not about thinking it will be different; it’s more like a sense of... inevitability? Like there are things I’ve put off dealing with, and this year they won’t let me keep them on the back burner anymore,” Dean explained, his voice tinged with introspection.

“Sounds intense. But you know, sometimes those years that challenge us the most are the ones that teach us the most,” Win said, supportive as ever.

“I hope you’re right. I’m just not sure what to prepare for. It’s all so vague,” Dean admitted, slowing his pace a bit as they neared a steep incline.

“As long as you keep moving forward, you’ll handle whatever comes your way. And you’ve got friends, you know. We’ve got your back,” Win assured him, clapping him on the shoulder.

Dean smiled, feeling a bit lighter. “Thanks, man. It means a lot to know I’m not in this alone.”

“Nope, you’re definitely not alone. Whatever this year throws at you, we’ll face it together. Just like always,” Win confirmed, the bond of their friendship as solid as the ground beneath their feet.

Dean felt his unease lessen as they continued their run, replaced by a cautious optimism. Whatever changes the year brought, he would meet them head-on, fortified by the support of his friends and his own growing resilience. The path might be unclear, but he was ready to run it—all the way to whatever lay ahead.

Chapter Text

Previously on Beautiful but Tragic

“Nope, you’re definitely not alone. Whatever this year throws at you, we’ll face it together. Just like always,” Win confirmed, the bond of their friendship as solid as the ground beneath their feet.

Dean felt his unease lessen as they continued their run, replaced by a cautious optimism. Whatever changes the year brought, he would meet them head-on, fortified by the support of his friends and his own growing resilience. The path might be unclear, but he was ready to run it—all the way to whatever lay ahead. 

Pharm concluded his classes for the day and made his way to the cooking club, where he joined Giffy in carefully cutting decorative leaves for an upcoming event. The club's president, Aum, gathered everyone's attention with a clear, commanding voice.

"All right, everyone," Aum announced, scanning the room to ensure she had everyone's focus. "This Saturday, we have to start making snack boxes for the swimming club. So on Friday, I will need everyone's help to prepare the materials."

Pharm, along with the rest of the club members, nodded in agreement, understanding the importance of the task at hand.

"Are you ready?" Aum asked, her eyes meeting those of her club members.

"Yes," the group responded in unison, their voices filled with enthusiasm.

Later that evening, after a long day at the university, Pharm finally returned to his small apartment. He kicked off his shoes at the door and headed straight to his desk, eager to start his homework. Something unusual caught his eye as he pulled out a stack of papers from his backpack.

"Whose sheet is this?" Pharm muttered to himself, frowning as he flipped through the unfamiliar document. "Where did it come from?"

It was only when he reached the bottom of the page that he noticed the name printed there: Dean Rattanon.

"It's probably just the same name," Pharm tried to convince himself, though a twinge of doubt lingered in his mind.

Curious, and with a growing sense of unease, Pharm opened his laptop and navigated to the university's Education Service System and Office of Academic Promotion and Registration. With a hesitant breath, he typed in the student number listed on the paper: 5711907.

To his surprise—and horror—the system pulled up Dean's profile, complete with a picture that left no room for doubt.

"Shit," Pharm muttered under his breath, anxiety bubbling up inside him. "How can I return this to him?"

For a moment, he considered adding Dean on Facebook to let him know, but the idea of sending that kind of message felt too direct, too personal. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, but he couldn’t bring himself to hit the "Add Friend" button.

"This is not a good idea," Pharm decided, shaking his head as he closed the browser. "Should I give this to Team?"

He thought about it, but quickly discarded the idea. "Oh my god! No way. Team will force me to give it back to Dean for sure."

Pharm stared at the papers in his hand, feeling the weight of indecision pressing down on him. "What should I do?"

He sighed, lifting the paper into the air as if hoping it might offer some kind of answer. "Fine. I will return this to Dean by myself," he finally resolved, though uncertainty still gnawed at him. "But then... I'll have to think about this one more time."

Trying to push the problem out of his mind for the moment, Pharm grabbed his towel and headed into the bathroom, hoping a hot shower would help clear his head. Afterward, he settled back at his desk, printing out his homework and organizing his thoughts for the next day. But his eyes kept drifting back to the papers, the name Dean Rattanon staring back at him.

Before turning in for the night, Pharm couldn't help but glance at the papers one last time. With a soft, almost reluctant smile, he whispered, "Good night, Dean."

And with that, he flicked off the light, the room plunging into darkness as he lay in bed, still thinking about the strange turn of events that had landed Dean’s papers in his possession. The sense of something significant looming on the horizon was stronger than ever, but Pharm pushed it to the back of his mind, hoping tomorrow would bring a solution.

A few days later, after the usual class routine, Pharm and Manaow found themselves walking side by side as they left the lecture hall, their conversation meandering from one topic to another.

"Do you have to go to the club today?" Manaow asked, glancing over at Pharm.

"I don’t have to," Pharm replied, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder. "I think I’ll head to the library instead. Aum messaged me yesterday, saying there’s leftover money."

As they continued down the hallway, Team caught up with them, falling into step beside Pharm.

"So, she asked me to make more dessert," Pharm continued, now addressing both of his friends. "I’m planning to do some research on what desserts I should make."

"I want Thai desserts," Team chimed in, his voice laced with enthusiasm. "I’m still impressed with your Leum Kleun. Pleaseee."

Pharm smiled at Team’s excitement. "Let me discuss it with Aum. I’ll let you know what we decide."

"Okay," Team agreed, satisfied for the moment.

"Wait!" Manaow suddenly exclaimed, causing both boys to pause and look at her.

"What?" Team asked, a hint of curiosity in his voice.

"Let me eat it too," Manaow demanded playfully. "Make some for me too; I want to eat."

Team grinned mischievously. "Only people in swimming suits get to eat."

Manaow wasn’t one to back down from a challenge. "Why? How about I wear a two-piece? Can I eat it then?"

Pharm, sensing the conversation was about to get out of hand, sighed and started to walk away from them. "Stop it, guys."

Ignoring Pharm’s attempt to disengage, Manaow continued, her eyes narrowing at Team. "What two-piece? A two-piece is also a swimming suit."

"That’s for playing," Team retorted, clearly enjoying the banter.

Manaow crossed her arms defiantly. "I’ll wear it so I can eat."

Team couldn’t resist another jab. "Look at your body."

Manaow’s eyes flashed with mock outrage. "What about it?"

Team pretended to gag. "I want to puke."

Manaow, never one to let an insult slide, shot back, "What’s your problem?"

"Don’t puke," Manaow added, rolling her eyes as they both started laughing.

"Stop it," Team muttered, though he was grinning.

Pharm, who had been listening to the exchange with half an ear, turned back just in time to hear Manaow’s final plea. "Pharm, make some for me. I will wear my swimming suit."

Pharm shook his head with a smile, unable to suppress his amusement. "You guys are ridiculous."

Pharm sat at a large wooden table in the quiet corner of the university library, surrounded by a small stack of cookbooks. The soft light overhead cast a warm glow on the pages as he carefully flipped through one book after another, searching for inspiration. His phone buzzed softly on the table beside him, breaking the silence. He glanced at the screen and saw a message from Aum on LINE, so he quickly opened the app and typed a message.

"Hi, Aum. Is it okay to make Thai dessert?" Pharm asked, his fingers hovering over the screen momentarily before sending the message.

It didn’t take long for Aum to respond. "Yes, but be careful as they are perishable."

Pharm nodded to himself as he read the reply, feeling a sense of relief. Thai desserts had always been close to his heart, and now he had the chance to share that part of himself with others. He picked up another cookbook from the pile and began flipping through the pages, his eyes scanning the vibrant images and detailed instructions. As he turned a page, he paused at a beautifully photographed display of Look-Choup—delicate, colorful, and intricately shaped into tiny fruits and vegetables.

For a reason he couldn’t quite explain, Pharm felt an immediate connection to this particular dessert. His heart skipped a beat, and a strange nostalgia overwhelmed him. Suddenly, a memory that wasn’t entirely his own flooded his mind.

Flashback

The warm glow of candles softly illuminated the room, their flickering light casting shadows that danced along the walls. In and Korn sat on the floor together, a quiet but comforting presence filling the space between them. In’s hands trembled slightly as he carefully unstacked the lunchbox he had packed with such care.

Korn raised an eyebrow as he looked at the slightly charred omelet in front of him. "What’s this?" he asked, his tone teasing but affectionate.

"It’s an omelet," In replied with a sheepish smile. "It burnt and got stuck to the pan. It was so hard to get it off."

Korn chuckled softly, his eyes filled with warmth as he gazed at the dish. "You don’t have to eat it. Let’s go buy food at the auntie’s restaurant downstairs. Eat this first, though," In said, pulling out a small container filled with brightly colored desserts.

"Dessert?" Korn questioned, raising an eyebrow in curiosity.

In nodded eagerly, his smile widening. "Yes. I helped my mum make this. Especially this one," he said, holding up a star-shaped Look-Choup. "It’s very hard to make. You can try it. There’s no harm in eating this!"

Korn took the delicate dessert from In’s hand and took a bite, his eyes widening as the sweet flavors burst in his mouth.

"How is it? Does it smell nice?" In asked, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

"It’s really good," Korn replied, a genuine smile spreading across his face.

In’s expression brightened even more. "I baked this with a fragrant candle too," he added proudly.

"I don’t have a chance to eat this omelet?" Korn teased, his voice light and playful.

"I will make it for you next time," In promised, his determination shining through.

"It won’t burn next time, right?" Korn asked with a chuckle.

"I promise, I guarantee. It will be super yummy," In said confidently.

Korn reached out and gently ruffled In’s hair, a gesture of affection that spoke volumes about their bond.

End Flashback

Pharm blinked rapidly, the memory leaving him momentarily dazed. He stared at the picture of the Look-Choup in the cookbook, his heart aching with a strange longing and sadness. He couldn’t quite explain it, but something about the dessert felt incredibly important—almost as if it were a piece of a life he couldn’t fully remember.

Pharm closed the cookbook with a deep breath and carefully gathered the others from the table. As he stood up to put them back on the shelf, a movement from the corner of his eye caught his attention. Turning slightly, he noticed Dean sitting at a table not far away, fast asleep with his head resting on his folded arms.

Pharm’s breath hitched as he walked closer to the table, drawn by an inexplicable urge to be near him. Standing over Dean, he felt a powerful wave of emotion—a mixture of recognition, longing, and an overwhelming desire to reach out and touch him. His hand hovered over Dean’s shoulder, but at the last moment, he hesitated, unable to bring himself to make contact. Instead, he simply stood there, gazing down at Dean with tenderness and sadness.

After what felt like an eternity, Pharm slowly backed away, returning to his table. Tears began to gather in his eyes, and he struggled to hold them back. He looked down at the table where Dean was sleeping, a single tear escaping and sliding down his cheek. Quickly, he wiped it away, taking a moment to steady himself.

Pharm reached into his backpack and pulled out the paper he had mistakenly taken earlier—a paper that belonged to Dean. He grabbed a blue sticky note from his bag and wrote a short message, his hand trembling slightly as he added, "I found this. Sorry for returning it late, Pharm." But as soon as he wrote his name, he hesitated, then carefully erased it, leaving only the message behind.

He stood up once more and walked back over to where Dean was still asleep, his footsteps almost silent on the library floor. Gently, he placed the paper next to Dean’s arm, the sticky note securely attached to the top. For a moment, he lingered, staring at Dean’s peaceful face, unable to tear himself away.

Reaching into his pocket, Pharm pulled out his phone and snapped a quick picture of Dean, capturing the moment without fully understanding why.

"Sweet dreams, Dean," Pharm whispered softly, his voice barely audible as he turned and walked away, his heart heavy with unspoken emotions.

Not long after Pharm left, Dean stirred, slowly waking up from his nap. He groggily reached for his phone to check the time before setting it back down. As he glanced around, his eyes fell on the paper beside him. Frowning slightly, he picked it up and noticed the blue sticky note attached.

Dean read the note, "I found this. Sorry for returning it late," and noticed the faint remnants of an erased name at the bottom. His brow furrowed as he studied it, curiosity and confusion flickering in his eyes. Who had left this for him?

He scanned the library, but it was mostly empty, the few remaining students buried in their work. With a sigh, Dean pocketed the note, deciding to think about it later. He gathered his things, feeling a strange sense of déjà vu that he couldn’t quite place, and left the library, the blue sticky note tucked safely in his shirt pocket.

In the dappled shade of the courtyard, Pharm set two Tupperware containers on the table, each filled with neatly arranged sandwiches. He was just adjusting the placement when Manaow approached with her usual bright energy.

"Good morning!" Manaow greeted cheerily.

"Good morning," Pharm replied, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips as he sat down.

Manaow settled into the seat opposite him, her eyes immediately drawn to the containers. "Let me see what you made today," she said, reaching out eagerly.

"Wait for Team first. He told me he was almost here," Pharm cautioned, gently pushing the containers slightly towards the center of the table.

Manaow’s face fell into an exaggerated pout, and she began to fake cry. "But I'm hungry," she whined playfully.

"Hold on," Pharm responded, trying not to laugh.

"Fine, I'll wait. Team, always Team. It's okay, I have something to do. I won't waste my precious time," Manaow grumbled, though her tone was light and teasing.

"Your precious time?" Pharm asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes. Work on my eyes," Manaow declared, pulling out her makeup kit. She began applying eyeshadow, her movements precise and practiced.

"You're already beautiful. Why do you wear more makeup?" Pharm queried, watching her transformation.

"I know I'm pretty. But I can be prettier," Manaow replied confidently.

Once she finished, she turned her face towards Pharm, her eyes shining. "How do I look?"

"Beautiful," Pharm affirmed sincerely.

"Aren't my eyes pretty?" Manaow pressed for further praise.

"So pretty. Just like a peacock," Pharm complimented, a playful edge to his voice.

"What peacock? Peacock? I'll do it again. Let me add more," Manaow said, slightly flustered but amused, reaching for more eyeshadow.

Just then, Team arrived, taking in the scene with a broad grin. "Wow, so pretty. Beautiful, Manaow. Now move!" he joked, nudging Manaow to make room for him at the table.

"Don't talk too much. You're late," Manaow shot back, but she scooted over to give Team space.

"Stop. Stop. I made a chicken-avocado sandwich and a tuna-tomato sandwich. Eat it so you both will have energy," Pharm interjected, hoping to redirect their attention to the food.

"I'll have this one, Pharm," Manaow declared, picking up a sandwich.

"Yes," Pharm responded, glad to see his efforts appreciated.

"Will you marry me? I promise I will take care of you. Just be my housewife, please," Manaow teased, half-serious.

"You want Pharm to be a housewife so that you can find a husband for him, right?" Team joked, joining in the banter.

"So rude! Actually that's what I was thinking," Manaow admitted, not missing a beat.

"Both of you stop it, just eat. Class will start soon," Pharm insisted, trying to keep the peace.

"You actually made this?" Team asked, impressed as he took a bite of his sandwich.

"Mmm, try it," Pharm encouraged.

"Pharm," Team started, then paused to pull out a bottle of orange juice. "Orange juice. Drink this, and you will feel fresh. I'll open it for you."

"You bought it for me? Thank you so much," Pharm said, touched by the gesture.

Pharm took a drink of the orange juice, but Team suddenly added, "No, Dean bought it."

Shocked, Pharm spat the juice out onto Team and Manaow, coughing and sputtering as Manaow burst into laughter.

"Stop joking," Pharm protested, wiping his mouth.

"It's all over my face now," Team complained, wiping his face.

"My face, too," Manaow chimed in, equally drenched.

"Who said I was joking? I went to the club this morning and met Dean. He told me to give this to the person who made the dessert," Team explained, pulling out a note from his shirt pocket.

Pharm was silent, his emotions conflicted as Team handed him the sticky note. He read it, his heart warming as he saw the words "Thank you, Dean" scrawled across it.

"Not there," Manaow said, looking at Team.

"Is my face still dirty?" Team asked, concerned about his appearance.

"No, it's clean," Manaow reassured him.

"I'm so sorry," Pharm apologized, feeling guilty about the earlier outburst.

"Just drink your orange juice," Team suggested with a forgiving smile, setting the tone back to normalcy as they continued their lunch in the courtyard. The tension dissipated with their laughter and chatter.

Later that day, Pharm and one of the girls from the cooking club headed to the supermarket, their mission clear: gather everything they needed to prepare the snack boxes for the swimming club. The two of them walked through the aisles, filling the cart with various ingredients and supplies. After paying for everything, they headed back to the parking lot, where they started loading the groceries into the trunk of Pharm’s car.

"Your car is so nice. There's so much space; we can fit everything in it," the girl remarked, impressed by the vehicle’s capacity.

Pharm smiled, nodding in agreement as they packed the last of the bags into the trunk. "Yeah, it’s pretty convenient for this kind of thing."

With everything secured, the girl dusted off her hands and smiled at Pharm. "Okay. I'll see you at the club."

"Okay, I'll go now," Pharm replied, closing the trunk.

"Okay, see you," the girl said, waving as she walked off.

Pharm stood by his car for a moment, mentally running through the checklist in his head. He opened his phone to double-check the list of ingredients and supplies they had purchased, just to make sure they hadn't missed anything.

"Did I forget to buy anything? Let me check," he muttered to himself, scanning the list quickly.

His eyes widened slightly as he realized his mistake. "Mung beans. How can I forget mung beans?" Pharm said, feeling a pang of frustration.

Without wasting another moment, he closed the trunk and headed back into the supermarket. As he wandered down the aisles, he searched for the elusive split mung beans without skin.

"Where’s split mung beans without skin?" Pharm mumbled to himself as he scanned the shelves. Finally, he spotted them—on the top shelf, just out of reach.

"Seriously?" he sighed, stretching up on his toes to try and grab the package. Despite his best efforts, he couldn’t quite reach them.

Just as he was about to give up, he overheard a familiar voice behind him.

"Did we forget to buy anything?" It was Win’s voice, clear and casual.

"We already bought the first aid kit. Definitely no alcohol," came Dean’s steady reply.

Pharm froze, recognizing Dean's voice immediately. He stayed still, not wanting to draw attention to himself, as he listened to their conversation.

"Can we just buy a few? Don’t be too strict?" Win asked, trying to negotiate.

"Who will be responsible if someone gets drunk and drowns? Just go buy some soft drinks and water," Dean responded, his tone firm.

"Fine. Water is over there," Win said, sounding resigned.

Pharm held his breath, waiting as Dean and Win walked past. Once they were out of sight, he let out a quiet sigh of relief. He turned back to the shelf, once again attempting to reach the mung beans, but it was no use—he just wasn’t tall enough.

Suddenly, a hand reached up from behind him, easily grabbing the package and placing it in his hand. Startled, Pharm turned around.

"Thank you," Pharm said, looking up to see Dean standing right there, their eyes locking in an instant.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. Pharm felt a strange sense of familiarity wash over him, as if he had been in this exact moment before. His heart pounded in his chest, and without understanding why, tears began to gather in his eyes.

A sudden flash of memories—or were they dreams?—flooded Pharm's mind. He saw two figures standing in a similar position, looking at each other with the same intensity. The image of a young man handing a star-shaped Look-Choup to another played out like a scene from a distant life.

The flashes continued: the two figures at the beach, their feet in the water, then by a pool. The emotions were overwhelming, raw, and unfiltered, as if they were Pharm's own, yet they were too foreign to be from his life.

Then, the most haunting image of all—a man holding a gun to his own head, tears streaming down his face. "I love you, In," the man said before pulling the trigger.

Pharm gasped, his tears spilling over as the memory crashed into him like a wave. He blinked rapidly, trying to understand why these visions were coming to him, why they felt so real.

Dean, noticing Pharm’s tears, instinctively reached out to wipe them away. His touch was gentle, comforting, and familiar in a way that left them both momentarily stunned.

"Dean! Where the hell are you? I can't carry all of these by myself!" Win’s voice called out, breaking the spell.

Startled, Pharm took the opportunity to escape. He turned and hurried away, his heart racing as he made his way back to the exit. Win appeared next to Dean, noticing his friend’s distracted state.

"What are you doing? What are you looking at?" Win asked, puzzled by Dean’s expression.

Dean didn’t answer right away, his gaze still fixed on the direction Pharm had fled. After a moment, he turned to Win with a look of frustration.

"Damn you! I finally got a chance to talk, and you ruined everything," Dean muttered, his eyes narrowing as he looked back down the aisle, as if hoping Pharm would reappear.

Win looked around, confused, but Dean shook his head and sighed before he could ask anything more. He turned away, grabbed his basket, and headed towards the checkout, still thinking about the strange encounter.

Meanwhile, Pharm reached his car and practically collapsed into the driver's seat. His hands shook as he gripped the steering wheel, the tears he had held back flowing freely. The images that had flooded his mind replayed over and over, refusing to let him find peace.

Another flashback hit him: a man sobbing over the body of someone he loved deeply. "You said you’d never leave me. Why did you do this to me?" the man’s voice echoed in his mind, full of pain and despair.

Pharm wiped at his eyes, trying to push the memories away, but they only came back stronger.

"We love each other, don’t we? Why did it turn out this way?" the voice continued, haunting him.

Pharm squeezed his eyes shut, trying to regain control of his emotions, but it was no use. The connection he felt to these memories was too strong, too intense. He didn’t know why this was happening, but the one thing he did know was that his life had just been irrevocably changed.

Pharm's vision was blurred with tears as he drove home, the memories—if that's what they were—still swirling in his mind. The encounter with Dean had left him shaken, the inexplicable connection between them pulling at something deep within him that he couldn't ignore. His heart ached with a pain that felt ancient, as though it had been buried for lifetimes.

By the time he reached his apartment, the tears had slowed, but his mind was still racing. Pharm entered his apartment, the familiar surroundings doing little to calm his troubled thoughts. He shut the door behind him and leaned against it for a moment, trying to steady his breathing. The weight of the emotions he was feeling was too much to bear alone. He needed to talk to someone.

With trembling hands, he pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts until he found the names of his friends back in America. They were the only people who knew him well enough to understand how out of character this situation was for him. He tapped on a name and started a video call.

After a few rings, the screen lit up with the familiar faces of his friends, their expressions quickly shifting from casual curiosity to concern when they saw the state he was in.

"Pharm, what’s going on? Are you okay?" asked Sarah, one of his closest friends, her voice full of worry.

"Pharm, you look like you’ve been crying. What happened?" added another friend, Jake, his brows furrowing with concern.

Pharm took a deep breath, trying to steady his voice. "Something happened today... and I don't know how to explain it. I was at the supermarket, and... I ran into someone from my university. His name is Dean."

Sarah and Jake exchanged glances, sensing there was more to this story. "Okay, and what happened with Dean?" Sarah prompted gently.

Pharm ran a hand through his hair, his mind racing as he tried to piece together the words. "I was trying to reach something on a high shelf, and he helped me get it. But when I turned around and saw him, it was like... I don’t know. I felt this overwhelming connection to him, like I knew him. But it wasn’t just that. I started having these... these flashes of memories, but they weren’t mine. At least, not from this life."

Jake leaned closer to the camera, his expression serious. "What kind of memories?"

Pharm swallowed hard, the images still vivid in his mind. "There were two men. They looked so much like me and Dean. They were... in love. I saw them standing together, by the beach, by a pool, and then... then I saw one of them... he had a gun, and he... he shot himself."

Sarah gasped softly, her hand covering her mouth. "Oh my god, Pharm..."

"I don’t know what’s happening to me," Pharm continued, his voice trembling. "These memories—they feel so real. And when I looked into Dean's eyes, it was like I knew him, like I loved him. But I've never met him before this year. It doesn't make any sense."

There was a heavy silence on the other end of the call as his friends processed what he was saying. Finally, Jake spoke up, his tone cautious but curious. "Pharm, have you ever considered... I don't know, maybe these are memories from a past life?"

Pharm blinked, his tears momentarily forgotten as he stared at Jake through the screen. "A past life?"

Jake nodded slowly. "I know it sounds crazy, but think about it. These memories you’re having, the intense emotions, the feeling like you know this guy even though you’ve just met him... It’s almost like you’re remembering something that happened to you a long time ago, in another life."

Sarah chimed in, her voice thoughtful. "It’s not as far-fetched as it sounds, Pharm. Some people believe that we carry memories and emotions from our past lives into our current one. Maybe that’s what’s happening to you."

Pharm shook his head slightly, the idea both terrifying and oddly comforting. "But why now? Why am I remembering all of this now?"

Jake shrugged. "Maybe something triggered it. Meeting Dean, for example. If he was part of your past life, seeing him again could have brought everything back."

Pharm sat down on the edge of his bed, his mind reeling. The idea of a past life was overwhelming, but it also seemed to explain the unexplainable. "So, you think that maybe... in a past life, I was this person who loved Dean, and he... he killed himself?"

Sarah nodded gently. "It’s possible, Pharm. And if that’s the case, maybe there’s something you need to remember, or something you need to resolve from that life."

Pharm sighed, running his hand over his face. "I just... I don’t know what to do with this information. How am I supposed to deal with something like this?"

Jake offered a sympathetic smile. "Take it one step at a time. Maybe try to talk to Dean, get to know him. See if he’s feeling anything similar. And don’t be afraid to reach out to us. We’re here for you, no matter what."

Pharm nodded, feeling a little more grounded after talking to his friends. "Thanks, guys. I really needed to talk to someone about this."

"Of course, Pharm," Sarah said warmly. "Just take care of yourself, okay? And keep us updated."

"I will," Pharm promised, his voice a little steadier now. "I’ll talk to you soon."

As the call ended, Pharm sat in the silence of his apartment, the weight of what he had just discussed settling over him. A past life. The idea still felt surreal, but it was the only explanation that made sense.

Pharm knew he couldn’t ignore this. He had to figure out what these memories meant, why they were surfacing now, and Dean's role in all of this. But for now, he just needed to rest and let the day's emotions settle. As he lay down on his bed, Pharm closed his eyes, the images of the past life still flickering in his mind, but now, they were accompanied by a new resolve to uncover the truth.

Chapter Text

Previously on Beautiful but Tragic

As the call ended, Pharm sat in the silence of his apartment, the weight of what he had just discussed settling over him. A past life. The idea still felt surreal, but it was the only explanation that made sense.

Pharm knew he couldn't ignore this. He had to figure out what these memories meant, why they were surfacing now, and Dean's role in all of this. But for now, he just needed to rest and let the day's emotions settle. As he lay down on his bed, Pharm closed his eyes, the images of the past life still flickering in his mind, but now, they were accompanied by a new resolve to uncover the truth.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The morning sun filtered through the curtains of Pharm's apartment, casting a soft golden light across the room. It was the weekend, and the campus was quiet, a rare lull in the usually bustling life of a university student. But for Pharm, the silence felt heavy, laden with the unresolved emotions and memories that had plagued him since his encounter with Dean in the supermarket.

He sat up in bed, the previous day's events replaying in his mind like a broken record. The images, the emotions, the inexplicable connection to Dean—they all swirled around in his thoughts, refusing to settle. It was as if his mind was trying to piece together a puzzle, but the pieces were scattered and incomplete.

Pharm knew he couldn't keep these feelings bottled up any longer. He needed to make sense of them, to lay everything out in front of him so he could see the whole picture. With a deep breath, he got out of bed, grabbed a notebook from his desk, and settled into the small nook by the window. He opened the notebook to a blank page, the emptiness of it both daunting and inviting.

For a moment, he hesitated, unsure of where to begin. But then, the memories started to flow, and he found himself writing, the pen moving almost of its own accord.

August 30th,

I don't know why I feel the way I do about this date. It's always been a day that fills me with unease, a day that I dread without understanding why. Ever since I was young, the end of August has brought with it a sense of impending doom, like something terrible is going to happen. I remember when I was a child, I would feel sick as this date approached, my anxiety skyrocketing for no apparent reason. I've never understood it, but the fear is real. It's like a shadow that follows me every year.

Pharm paused, staring at the words he had written. The date had always haunted him, but seeing it on paper made it feel more tangible, more real. He continued writing, letting his thoughts spill onto the page.

Fear of Loud Noises,

I've had this fear for as long as I can remember. Loud noises—especially sudden ones—make me feel like I'm about to fall apart. It's more than just being startled; it's like my entire body goes into panic mode. I remember when I was five years old, I was watching TV with my cousin Sin. There was an explosion in the show, and suddenly, I couldn't breathe. My ears were ringing, and all I could hear was the echo of a gunshot in my mind. I didn't understand what was happening to me, but it felt like I was reliving something terrible. Sin tried to touch me, to snap me out of it, but I screamed. I remember the panic on his face, and then my parents rushed into the room. They didn't know what to do either. It wasn't until later that I realized this wasn't a one-time thing. It kept happening, every time I heard a loud noise.

Pharm's hand shook slightly as he wrote, the memories vivid and unsettling. He could still feel the fear that had gripped him as a child, the way his heart would race and his breath would catch in his throat. It was as if the fear was etched into his very being.

Dislike of Rain,

Rain has always made me uneasy. Most people find it calming, but to me, it's always been a source of discomfort. The sound of rain against the windows, the way the sky darkens—it all feels oppressive. I remember when I was twelve years old, there was a storm, and the rain was so heavy it felt like the world was ending. I was home alone, and I remember feeling this overwhelming sense of dread. It wasn't just about the storm; it was like the rain was triggering something deep inside me that I couldn't understand. I spent the entire night huddled in my room, terrified of something I couldn't even name.

He paused again, the pen hovering over the page. The rain had always unsettled him, but it was more than just the weather. It was as if the rain carried with it the weight of something forgotten, something that lingered in the shadows of his mind.

Memories from Childhood,

I've always felt like I was different, like something about me didn't quite fit. When I was seven years old, I noticed a birthmark on my right temple. It's small, barely noticeable, but it's always been there. I've always felt like it meant something, like it was a mark of something important. I remember my little brother Phoom once joked that it looked like a bullet wound, and for some reason, that comment stayed with me. It's ridiculous, but sometimes I wonder if there's more to it than just a coincidence.

Pharm frowned as he wrote, the memory of Phoom's comment bringing with it a strange sense of unease. The birthmark had always been there, a small, innocuous mark on his skin, but it had always felt like something more.

Memories from In,

This is where things get confusing. Lately, I've been having these... flashes, these memories that don't belong to me. They're of another life, another person—someone named In. I see him in my mind, standing with someone who looks just like Dean. I don't know who they are, but the emotions are so strong. In was in love with this person, and the love they shared was intense, almost overwhelming. But there's also so much pain. I see them together at the beach, at a pool, and then... then I see In crying. There's so much sadness, and I don't know why, but I feel it too, like it's my own.

The pen trembled in Pharm's hand as he wrote, the memories of In coming in waves, each one more intense than the last. The connection he felt to this person was inexplicable, yet undeniable.

Korn,

The name came to me in one of the flashes. I don't know who Korn is, but I know he was important to In. In loved him, and there's this memory of Korn holding a gun to his head. I can hear his voice, so clear in my mind, saying, "I love you, In." And then... then he pulls the trigger. I don't know why I'm seeing this, why I'm feeling this, but it's tearing me apart. I don't understand what's happening to me.

Tears welled up in Pharm's eyes as he wrote the last words, the emotions overwhelming him. He set the pen down, unable to continue for a moment as the memories and feelings crashed over him like a tidal wave. He had always felt different, always sensed there was something more to his life, but this—this was beyond anything he could have imagined.

After a few moments, he wiped his eyes and picked up the pen again, his resolve strengthening. He needed to understand, to figure out what all of this meant.

The Encounter with Dean,

Yesterday, I saw Dean at the supermarket. I didn't expect to run into him, but when I did, everything came rushing back. The memories, the emotions—it was like seeing him unlocked something in me. When he handed me the mung beans, our eyes met, and I felt it again—that connection, that sense of knowing him. But I don't know how, or why. And then I started crying, right there in the supermarket. It was like I couldn't hold it in anymore. I had to get away, so I ran. But even now, I can't stop thinking about it. About him. About us, if there even is an 'us.' I don't know what's real and what's not anymore.

Pharm sighed, leaning back in his chair as he stared at the words he had written. He had laid everything out, every fear, every memory, every inexplicable feeling. But even with everything in front of him, the answers still eluded him.

He closed the notebook, his mind swirling with thoughts and emotions. He didn't know what to do next, but he knew one thing for sure: he couldn't ignore this any longer. He needed to understand what was happening to him, why he was remembering a life that wasn't his own, and what it all had to do with Dean.

Pharm stood up, his resolve hardening. He didn't have all the answers yet, but he was determined to find them. And somehow, he knew that Dean was the key to unlocking the truth.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Pharm sat back in his chair, the notebook still open in front of him, filled with the emotional outpouring of his thoughts and memories. The weight of everything he had written down hung heavy in the air, like a dense fog that refused to lift. He traced his finger along the edge of the paper, contemplating what to do next. The need to share his experiences, to talk to someone who could help him make sense of it all, gnawed at him.

His mind drifted to Team and Manaow. They were kind, supportive, and fun to be around, but something held him back from confiding in them about this. Maybe it was because their friendship was still in its early stages, still forming and finding its footing. This was something deeper that required a level of trust and understanding that he wasn't sure they had reached yet.

Pharm sighed, his gaze dropping back to the notebook. The memories of In and Korn, the overwhelming connection he felt with Dean, and the inexplicable emotions were all too intense to keep to himself. He knew he needed to talk to someone who knew him well, someone who could listen without judgment and help him navigate through this confusing time.

Pharm reached for his phone and scrolled through his contacts without much thought. His finger hovered over Jake's name, and then Sarah's, as memories of their late-night talks and the comfort they provided him during tough times surfaced. They were the friends who had seen him at his worst, who had been there for him through the ups and downs of his teenage years. They were the ones who would understand and they had listened to him the previous night with compassion and understanding. They knew him in a way that few others did.

Pharm sat at his small, wooden desk, the notebook in front of him filled with the outpouring of his thoughts and emotions. The words he had written were still fresh, raw, and staring back at him with a weight that pressed heavily on his chest. His fingers idly traced the edge of the notebook, his mind a whirlwind of confusion and uncertainty. Despite the catharsis of writing everything down, he still felt lost, adrift in a sea of memories and emotions that weren't entirely his own.

He thought about talking to someone, needing to hear a voice that could offer comfort or maybe just a sense of grounding. Team and Manaow came to mind first—they were his new friends here at university, and they had already shown how much they cared. But as much as he liked them, something held him back from confiding in them. Perhaps it was because their friendship was still so new, still in the early stages where everything felt light and easy, and he didn't want to burden them with something so heavy, so deeply personal. Or maybe it was because he feared that they wouldn't understand, that they might brush it off as nothing more than stress or overthinking.

No, he needed someone who knew him better, someone who had been there through the strange twists and turns of his life, someone who wouldn't dismiss what he was going through. His thoughts turned to Jake and Sarah, his friends from America. They had always been there for him, through thick and thin, and they had listened to him the previous night with compassion and understanding. They knew him in a way that few others did.

With that decision made, Pharm picked up his phone, his hands still a little shaky as he scrolled through his contacts. He found Jake's name first and tapped it, his heart pounding as the phone rang. After a few rings, Jake's face appeared on the screen, looking concerned as he immediately noticed Pharm's troubled expression.

"Pharm, hey," Jake said, his voice soft and full of worry. "How are you holding up?"

Pharm managed a weak smile, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Hey, Jake. I'm... I don't know. I've been writing everything down, trying to make sense of it all, but it's still just... It's still too much."

Jake nodded, his brow furrowed. "I get it. It's a lot to process, and it's not something you can just figure out overnight. Do you want to talk about what you wrote?"

Pharm hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Yeah, I think I need to. But can you get Sarah on the call too? I... I'd feel better with both of you here."

"Of course, just give me a sec," Jake said. He quickly added Sarah to the call, and soon enough, her familiar face appeared on the screen as well.

"Pharm!" Sarah's voice was full of concern. "Jake filled me in a bit last night. How are you doing?"

"I'm... hanging in there," Pharm replied, his voice quiet. "I've been writing down everything that's been happening, everything I've been feeling. But even after getting it all out, I'm still just as confused."

"That's understandable," Sarah said gently. "Sometimes writing it down helps, but it doesn't always give you the answers right away. It's a process."

"Yeah," Pharm agreed, though the knot in his chest didn't loosen. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself before continuing. "I wrote about my fear of loud noises, my dislike of rain, and why I've always hated August 30th. But I also wrote about the memories I've been having, the ones that don't feel like they're mine."

Jake and Sarah exchanged a glance, their faces reflecting a mixture of concern and curiosity.

"You mean the memories about In and Korn?" Jake asked carefully.

Pharm nodded, his throat tightening. "Yeah. I don't know who they are, but I feel like I know them, like I was them. I wrote down everything I could remember about them, and it's... it's intense. The love they had for each other, the pain, the sadness... It's like I'm reliving it, but it's not my life."

Sarah leaned forward, her voice soft but serious. "Pharm, when you talk about these memories, how do they make you feel? Do they feel real to you?"

Pharm hesitated, struggling to find the right words. "They feel... they feel like they belong to me, but at the same time, they don't. It's like I'm connected to these people, but I don't know how or why. And the emotions... they're so strong. When I think about Korn holding the gun, I feel this overwhelming sadness and love, like I'm losing someone who meant everything to me."

Jake nodded thoughtfully. "It sounds like these memories are more than just dreams or random thoughts. They're affecting you on a deep emotional level."

"That's what scares me," Pharm admitted, his voice trembling slightly. "I don't know why I'm feeling this way. I've never believed in past lives or anything like that, but now... I don't know what to believe."

Sarah's expression softened with empathy. "Pharm, I know this is a lot to take in, and I can't even imagine how confusing and scary this must be for you. But you don't have to figure it all out right now. You have us, and we're here to help you through this, whatever it turns out to be."

Pharm felt a surge of gratitude and relief at her words, but the uncertainty still gnawed at him. "Thank you, both of you. I really don't know what I'd do without you."

Jake smiled warmly. "We're in this together, Pharm. You don't have to go through this alone. If these memories are connected to a past life, maybe there's something you need to resolve, something that's trying to come through to the present. But you don't have to figure it all out on your own. We'll help you, every step of the way."

Pharm nodded, feeling a little more grounded with their support. "I've been thinking about what you said last night, about talking to Dean. But I'm scared. What if he doesn't remember anything? What if he thinks I'm crazy?"

"Pharm, you don't have to tell him everything right away," Sarah advised gently. "Maybe start by getting to know him better, see if he feels any kind of connection too. You might find that he's just as confused as you are, or maybe he has his own memories that he's trying to make sense of."

Jake nodded in agreement. "Yeah, just take it slow. There's no rush. If this is really about a past life, it's been waiting for you for a long time. It's okay to take your time figuring it out."

Pharm took a deep breath, their words giving him the courage to move forward. "You're right. I just need to take it one step at a time."

Sarah smiled reassuringly. "Exactly. And no matter what happens, we're here for you."

"Thank you," Pharm said again, his voice filled with gratitude. "I don't know what I'd do without you guys."

"You'd be fine," Jake teased lightly, trying to lift the mood. "But we're glad to be here for you anyway."

Pharm chuckled softly, the tension easing just a bit. "I'm really lucky to have you both."

"And we're lucky to have you too, Pharm," Sarah added warmly. "Just remember, you don't have to do this alone."

As they ended the call, Pharm felt a sense of relief. The uncertainty and fear were still there, but they didn't feel as overwhelming now that he had shared them with people who cared. He looked down at his notebook again, the words he had written feeling a little less daunting now.

Pharm knew there was still a long way to go before he could fully understand what was happening to him, but at least now he had a plan. He would take things slowly, get to know Dean better, and try to piece together the puzzle of his memories. And no matter what, he knew he wouldn't have to face it alone. Pharm closed the notebook with a deep breath and set it aside, ready to face whatever came next.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Pharm had spent the entire weekend wrestling with the overwhelming emotions and memories that had surfaced since his encounter with Dean in the supermarket. The more he thought about it, the more he realized that he needed to talk to Dean. Whether or not the memories were connected to some past life, there was something between them that Pharm couldn’t ignore. But knowing he needed to talk to Dean and actually doing it were two very different things.

As Monday arrived, Pharm felt a knot of anxiety tightening in his stomach. He had made up his mind to approach Dean, to try and make sense of the inexplicable connection he felt. But the very thought of walking up to him, of trying to find the right words, made his heart race with nerves.

He dressed carefully that morning, trying to focus on the routine tasks of getting ready for the day. But his mind kept drifting back to Dean, and the strange, intense feelings that had surfaced every time they had crossed paths. By the time he left his apartment, Pharm was already mentally exhausted from the inner turmoil.

At the university, Pharm went through his classes in a daze. His friends, Team and Manaow, noticed his distracted state but didn’t press him, assuming he was just tired or preoccupied with schoolwork. Pharm was grateful for their understanding, even based on a misunderstanding. He wasn’t ready to explain what was going on—not yet.

As the day wore on, Pharm’s anxiety only grew. He glanced around, half-hoping to run into Dean and half-terrified of the possibility. Every time he saw a tall figure out of the corner of his eye, his heart would leap into his throat, only to plummet when he realized it wasn’t Dean.

After his final class, Pharm knew he couldn’t avoid it any longer. He wasn’t sure he’d ever find the courage to do it if he didn't talk to Dean today. He headed toward the campus gym, where the swimming club often practiced. His steps felt heavy, as if his feet were weighed down by the gravity of what he was about to do.

When he arrived at the gym, he hesitated outside the entrance, his hand hovering over the door handle. His heart pounded in his chest, and his palms were slick with sweat. What was he supposed to say? How could he even begin to explain the strange connection he felt without sounding completely insane?

Pharm took a deep breath, trying to calm his racing thoughts. He didn’t have to spill everything all at once. He could start with something small, something simple. Just a conversation. That was all. But even that felt like an insurmountable challenge.

With another deep breath, Pharm pushed open the door and stepped inside. The sound of water splashing and the faint echo of voices reached his ears as he approached the pool. His eyes scanned the area, searching for Dean, but he didn’t see him right away.

Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe he should just turn around and leave. But before he could act on that impulse, Pharm spotted Dean standing by the edge of the pool, talking to another swimming club member. Dean looked relaxed, his posture casual as he listened to whatever the other person was saying. He looked so... normal, so grounded in the present, and Pharm felt a pang of envy. Why couldn’t he just feel that way too?

Pharm took a step forward, his mouth dry, but then he froze. What if Dean didn’t remember anything? What if this was all just in Pharm’s head, and Dean had no idea who In or Korn were? The thought made Pharm’s chest tighten with fear. He didn’t want to make a fool of himself, didn’t want to scare Dean off with talk of past lives and strange memories.

Pharm’s feet felt rooted to the spot, his body unwilling to cooperate with his mind’s command to move forward. He wanted to talk to Dean, but every step felt like an impossible hurdle.

Just then, Dean turned slightly, as if sensing someone was watching him. His eyes met Pharm’s across the room, and for a brief moment, everything else seemed to fade away. The noise of the gym, the presence of other people—it all fell into the background as their gazes locked. Pharm felt that familiar, inexplicable pull toward Dean, a connection that went beyond anything he could rationalize.

But instead of walking over to him, Pharm found himself frozen in place. His mind was a whirlwind of conflicting emotions—fear, confusion, longing—and he couldn’t seem to untangle them enough to take that crucial step forward.

Dean’s brow furrowed slightly in curiosity, and he raised a hand in a casual wave, a small, friendly gesture. It was the perfect opportunity for Pharm to approach, to initiate a conversation. But Pharm’s courage failed him. Instead of moving forward, he found himself turning away, his heart pounding in his chest as he quickly exited the gym.

Outside, Pharm leaned against the wall, his breath coming in short, uneven gasps. He had been so close, and yet, he had chickened out at the last moment. He felt a wave of frustration and disappointment in himself. How was he ever going to figure out what was going on if he couldn’t even talk to Dean?

As he stood there, trying to regain his composure, Pharm’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw that it was a message from Team.

Team: Where are you? We’re meeting at the café, remember?

Pharm let out a shaky breath, grateful for the distraction. At least he could focus on something else for a little while, something that didn’t involve unraveling the mysteries of his past.

Pharm: On my way. Be there soon.

He pocketed his phone and started walking toward the campus café where he was supposed to meet Team and Manaow. As he walked, he couldn’t help but replay the moment in the gym over and over in his mind. He had wanted to talk to Dean, but when it came down to it, he hadn’t been able to do it.

By the time he reached the café, he had managed to push most of the anxiety to the back of his mind. He spotted Team and Manaow sitting at a table by the window, waving him over with smiles on their faces. Pharm put on a smile of his own as he joined them, hoping they wouldn’t notice the turmoil still churning inside him.

"Hey, you made it!" Team said, giving Pharm a playful nudge. "We were starting to think you got lost."

"Yeah, sorry," Pharm replied, sliding into the seat across from them. "Just had some stuff to take care of."

Manaow gave him a curious look but didn’t press. "Well, you’re here now, so that’s what matters. We were just talking about this weekend’s club activities."

Pharm nodded along as they started discussing the upcoming plans, but his mind kept drifting back to Dean, to the connection he felt, and to the conversation that never happened.

He knew he needed to talk to Dean. But after today, he wasn’t sure if he could. The fear of what he might discover—or worse, what he might not discover—held him back, paralyzing him with doubt.

For now, all he could do was keep trying to push through the fear, hoping that eventually, he’d find the courage to take that step. Until then, he’d continue to navigate this strange, overwhelming journey as best he could, one small step at a time.

Chapter Text

Previously on Beautiful but Tragic

He knew he needed to talk to Dean. But after today, he wasn't sure if he could. The fear of what he might discover—or worse, what he might not discover—held him back, paralyzing him with doubt.

For now, all he could do was keep trying to push through the fear, hoping that eventually, he'd find the courage to take that step. Until then, he'd continue to navigate this strange, overwhelming journey as best he could, one small step at a time.

Third Person

Pharm, feeling adrift in the tides of his own unexplained memories and emotions, decided that before confronting Dean with his fragmented feelings and visions, he needed a foundation of understanding. These memories, reverberating with echoes of deep, profound emotions, were not his own, yet they insisted on their familiarity. It was a puzzle where he possessed only a few pieces—flashes of moments shared by In and Korn, two figures from what felt like another life, somehow entwined with his own essence.

In his small, orderly apartment, a quiet retreat from the world's bustle, Pharm set up a makeshift research station. His laptop open, notepads arrayed around it, and pens ready for jotting down any significant details, he began his quest for understanding. His first step was the Internet, a vast resource where he hoped to find anything that might resemble the scenes and emotions etched in his mind.

Sitting at his desk, he typed in queries about past lives, soul memories, and reincarnation. The concepts were foreign, wrapped in skepticism and mysticism. He read articles ranging from scientific skepticism to spiritual testimonials, each adding layers of complexity to his understanding. The notion that emotions and memories could transcend the boundaries of one life and spill into another was both fascinating and unnerving.

Yet, his search through these general topics yielded little that connected directly to the vivid personal memories he experienced. Frustrated but not deterred, Pharm decided to shift his approach. If direct information wasn't available, perhaps historical or cultural contexts might illuminate his understanding of In and Korn's lives. He started searching for historical records or any notable incidents involving individuals that could have lived through scenarios similar to what he remembered.

Hours passed as Pharm delved into archives, scanned through digital libraries, and even explored forums where people discussed historical love stories and tragic tales. It was during this meticulous search that he stumbled upon a small, nearly forgotten digital archive of personal histories collected from older generations, documenting their life stories during tumultuous times in history.

As he browsed through the archive, a particular entry caught his eye—a story from a man who recounted the tale of two young lovers in his village, whose bond was met with tragedy. The details were sparse, but the story's emotional resonance mirrored the intensity of the flashes Pharm experienced. It wasn't concrete evidence, but it was a thread, and for now, that was enough to tug at.

Realizing the limitations of digital traces, Pharm decided he needed more tactile, concrete sources. He planned visits to local libraries and archives, particularly those that held historical documents from the area where the lovers' tale might have unfolded. Each visit was prepared with a meticulous list of what to search for: personal diaries, local newspaper archives from specific decades, even academic works on regional history that might offer indirect clues.

In each location, Pharm pored over materials, sometimes finding just the whisper of the era he believed In and Korn might have belonged to, other times getting frustrated by the lack of relevant information. Yet, each piece of history he touched seemed to thread through his fingers into the tapestry he was slowly piecing together.

Parallel to his research, Pharm kept a detailed journal. Not only did he record factual findings and dead ends, but he also noted how each piece of information made him feel. Was there a pull, a sense of familiarity? Or was it just another historical fact, detached and distant? His journal became a map of his research and his emotional journey.

As days turned into weeks, Pharm's room was lined with stacks of photocopied documents, borrowed books, and his ever-expanding journal. Through this external search for understanding, he began to see patterns and themes of love and loss that transcended individual stories, resonating deeply with the emotional echoes he felt.

Yet, despite all this, the definitive link between In and Korn remained elusive. He realized that if he was ever to understand the full scope of his connection to these memories, he would eventually need to confront Dean. The potential for a shared past—or shared soul memory—loomed large over his research, suggesting that some secrets might only unlock in the presence of another who shared that past.

For now, though, Pharm continued his solitary quest, each day adding a little more to the intricate mosaic of history and emotion that he was determined to understand. This groundwork, he believed, would eventually lead him back to Dean, not just with questions, but with a context deep enough to bridge their shared past and present.

A few days had passed since Pharm immersed himself in his quest for understanding, but instead of feeling more grounded, he slipped further into a haze of confusion and melancholy. The energy that had driven him to research the past and explore the echoes of his memories had waned, leaving him feeling empty and adrift. He sat at his desk, surrounded by stacks of papers and books, but his eyes barely registered the words on the pages. The fight he had within himself seemed to drain every ounce of motivation he once had.

As he walked to campus, Pharm's thoughts were muddled, lost somewhere between his own struggles with depression and the overwhelming feelings tied to the memories of In and Korn. He had learned to wear a mask of normalcy around his friends, but the weight of his emotions felt heavier than ever. The brightness of the day outside contrasted sharply with the darkness he felt inside, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he was alone in a crowded room.

When he arrived at the university, he saw Team and Manaow waiting for him outside the library. They were animated, laughing and chatting, a picture of youthful exuberance that Pharm found hard to connect with at that moment. As he approached, he forced a smile, hoping it would mask the turmoil churning inside him.

"Hey, Pharm!" Team called out, waving him over. "You made it! We were just talking about our plans for the weekend."

"Yeah, I'm here," Pharm replied, trying to keep his tone light. "What's up?"

Manaow looked him over, her brow furrowing slightly. "You okay? You look a bit out of it."

"I'm fine," Pharm lied, his smile faltering. "Just tired, I guess."

"Yeah, right," Team said, crossing his arms playfully. "You can't fool us that easily. You've been quiet lately. Is something bothering you?"

Pharm shifted uncomfortably, the familiar weight of sadness pressing down on him. "No, really, I'm just busy with schoolwork and everything."

Manaow narrowed her eyes at him, unconvinced. "You know you can talk to us, right? If something's wrong, we're here for you."

"Yeah, you don't have to pretend," Team added, his voice softening. "We're your friends. Whatever it is, you can share."

Pharm wanted to reach out, to tell them about the memories that haunted him, about the feeling of loss he couldn't quite understand. But every time he opened his mouth, the words lodged in his throat, a knot of fear and shame. He had grown up learning to handle his depression in silence, burying his feelings beneath layers of indifference. Now, the thought of revealing the turmoil felt impossible.

"I'm really okay, I promise," Pharm said, forcing a chuckle. "Just a bit overwhelmed with everything. I'll be fine."

Team and Manaow exchanged concerned glances, but neither pressed him further. They changed the topic, talking animatedly about their upcoming weekend plans, discussing food, outings, and even the next club activities. Pharm nodded along, but inside, he felt detached, as if he were watching a movie instead of participating in real life.

As they walked toward the cafeteria, Pharm found his gaze drifting toward the ground, his mind racing with unarticulated thoughts. The laughter and chatter of his friends faded into the background, replaced by the echoes of his own insecurities.

During lunch, as they settled at their usual table, Team nudged Pharm playfully. "Hey, you should join us for swimming practice later. It might help you clear your head."

Pharm glanced up, forcing a smile. "Yeah, maybe."

"Come on, you used to love it!" Manaow chimed in. "Just think of all the fun we have. Plus, it's a great way to relieve stress."

"I'll think about it," Pharm replied, his heart heavy with uncertainty. The thought of swimming—of being in the water—did hold a certain appeal, but he feared how vulnerable he would feel surrounded by people, especially when his emotions felt so raw.

Throughout lunch, they continued to engage in light banter, and Pharm tried to match their enthusiasm, but the laughter felt distant, the joy others expressed barely grazing his consciousness. Every so often, he would catch snippets of conversation about Dean, or the swimming club, or plans for the weekend, and it sent a pang of longing through him. He wanted to be part of it, to feel as connected as they did, but the shadows of his thoughts kept pushing him away.

After lunch, they moved to a nearby table to study, and while Manaow pulled out her notes, Team was deep in his textbooks, Pharm sat blankly at his open book, words blurring together. The pressure to perform, to be "okay," weighed heavily on him, but he didn't know how to articulate that to anyone, not even his closest friends.

As the study session continued, Pharm felt the familiar waves of sadness rising, creeping in like an unwelcome fog. He glanced at Team and Manaow, their heads bent over their books, and a sudden rush of emotion surged within him. He wished he could be as carefree as they seemed, to share in the laughter and camaraderie without the shadows that loomed over him.

Just then, a notification pinged on his phone, breaking the silence. Pharm glanced down and saw a message from his friends back in America, a cheerful text from Jake checking in to see how he was doing. Even from afar, the warmth of their friendship tugged at his heartstrings. He typed a quick reply, trying to push through the heaviness in his chest, but it felt like a momentary distraction rather than a solution.

"Hey, are you good over there?" Team asked, lifting his head from his notes and looking at Pharm with concern.

"Yeah, just...thinking," Pharm replied, trying to sound casual, but the truth was that his thoughts were spiraling in circles.

"Thinking about what? You've been quiet all day. You sure you're okay?" Manaow asked, her eyes searching his face.

"I'm fine," Pharm insisted again, but the weariness in his voice betrayed him.

"Pharm, you know we care, right?" Team pressed gently, leaning forward.

Pharm opened his mouth to respond but found that words were escaping him again. Instead, he nodded, forcing a smile that felt too strained to be genuine. "I appreciate it. I really do. I just have a lot on my mind, I guess."

With that, the conversation shifted back to their studies, but his friends' underlying concern lingered in the air. Pharm could feel their eyes occasionally darting his way, checking on him, and it only deepened his sense of isolation.

After what felt like an eternity, Pharm finally excused himself, claiming he needed a break. He wandered the hallways, allowing the movement to distract him from the weight of his thoughts. He found himself standing outside, the sun shining brightly, but even the warmth did little to lift the heaviness in his heart.

He leaned against the wall, taking a moment to breathe deeply, trying to shake off the encroaching shadows. But it was useless; they clung to him like a second skin. He needed to talk to Dean, to connect with him and explore the strange, unexplainable feelings swirling in his heart. Yet, the thought of doing so felt like standing at the edge of a precipice, staring into an abyss he wasn't sure he could face.

At that moment, Pharm made a silent promise to himself. He wouldn't let this fear consume him. He would find a way to confront it, to bridge the gap between his emotions and the memories that haunted him. But for now, he needed to gather himself, to find the strength to reach out to Dean before the shadows swallowed him whole.

With a renewed sense of purpose, Pharm took a deep breath and headed back inside, ready to face whatever came next, even if it meant confronting the turmoil within him head-on.

The cacophony of splashing water and the sharp whistles from the coach filled the swimming complex as Pharm and Manaow settled into the bleachers. They were there ostensibly to support Team, but Pharm's gaze was repeatedly pulled to the far side of the pool, where Dean was. Dean's commanding presence as he coached some of the newer team members was hard to miss. His proficiency and the respect he commanded were evident, even from a distance.

Manaow, munching on a snack, leaned over to Pharm. "He's good, isn't he?" she remarked, following Pharm's gaze to Dean. "I mean Team is great too, but Dean has this... vibe."

Pharm nodded, his mouth dry. "Yeah, he does," he managed to say, feeling a strange mix of anticipation and anxiety just from watching Dean. Every shout of encouragement or gesture Dean made seemed amplified in Pharm's mind, filling him with a longing to just walk up and start a conversation.

As they watched, Team executed a particularly difficult turn, drawing cheers from the few spectators. Pharm clapped, his cheer more subdued than Manaow's exuberant shouts. His eyes flicked back to Dean, catching him smiling at Team's performance—a genuine, proud smile that made Pharm's heart skip a beat.

"You should go talk to him," Manaow whispered suddenly, her voice conspiratorial. "You've been watching him more than you've watched Team."

Pharm felt his cheeks warm with a blush. "I don't know what to say," he admitted softly, the sound of splashing water nearly drowning out his words.

"Just say hi," Manaow suggested with a shrug. "You know, 'Hi Dean, great practice today.' Or ask him for some swimming tips. That's a good icebreaker."

Pharm mulled it over. He knew Manaow was right; he needed to start somewhere, and a simple greeting was harmless enough. But as he prepared to stand, his nerves threatened to anchor him in place.

"Come on, I'll go with you," Manaow offered, standing and pulling on his arm. "Let's just say hi."

Together, they made their way around the pool, closer to where Dean was instructing a swimmer. Pharm's heart raced, each step feeling heavier than the last. As they approached, Dean turned, his eyes inadvertently meeting Pharm's. Surprised but not unwelcoming, Dean paused his instruction.

"Hey, Dean," Manaow called out brightly, waving a hand. "Great practice today!"

Dean smiled, nodding in acknowledgment. "Thanks, Manaow. Glad you guys could come watch."

Pharm swallowed, stepping forward. "Hi, Dean," he said, voice slightly shaky. "Yeah, it's impressive what you're doing with the team."

Dean's attention shifted fully to Pharm, his expression open and curious. "Thanks," he replied, his tone friendly. "You're Pharm, right? I've seen you around."

"Yeah, that's me," Pharm managed to say, a small smile playing on his lips. The direct acknowledgment from Dean sent a warm thrill through him. "I've been thinking of improving my swimming. Maybe I could join some sessions?"

"Absolutely," Dean responded, his enthusiasm genuine. "We're always looking for more people to join. Just let me know when you're free, and we can get you started."

"Great, I'll do that," Pharm said, feeling a bit more confident. Dean's approachability made the conversation easier than he had anticipated.

Manaow, sensing that the ice had been broken, chimed in with her usual flair. "And if you need a cheering squad, you know where to find us," she joked, earning a laugh from Dean.

As they parted ways, with promises to catch up again soon, Pharm felt a lightness he hadn't experienced in days. The simple act of talking to Dean, of interacting with him as just another student, had dispelled some of the mystique and fear that had built up around him in Pharm's mind. While it didn't solve the deeper mysteries of his memories or emotions, it was a start—a connection made, however small.

As they returned to their seats, Manaow nudged him playfully. "See? That wasn't so bad."

Pharm nodded, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "Yeah, it wasn't," he agreed, feeling a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, he could navigate this strange new reality after all. With each small step, perhaps he would find the answers he was looking for or, at the very least, learn to live with the questions.

Pharm had barely closed the door to his apartment when the familiar weight of sadness began to creep back in. It had been a good day at the pool, better than expected. Even briefly, Talking to Dean had been a small victory, a moment where he felt like he could finally start breaking down the walls of fear and uncertainty surrounding his memories and emotions. But now, as he stood in the dim light of his apartment, the quiet consumed him, and the positive mood that had buoyed him at the pool slowly slipped away, leaving behind the same heavy emptiness.

He leaned against the kitchen counter, staring at the sink as if it held answers. The memories—both his and the ones that felt like someone else's—swirled together in his mind, a constant reminder of the confusion and pain he couldn't shake. His battle with depression had started long before these strange memories began resurfacing, but now it felt like they were feeding off each other, amplifying the sadness that had haunted him since he was fourteen.

Pharm rubbed his temples, feeling the familiar tightness in his chest. He knew what was happening; he had been down this road too many times before. The spiral was starting again, that slow descent into a place where everything felt bleak and overwhelming, where the weight of his thoughts became too much to bear.

Instinctively, he reached for his phone. Jack and Sarah—his friends from America—had been his lifeline through these battles before. They knew about his struggles with depression, about the dark places his mind could go, and they had always been there to pull him back when he couldn't do it himself.

Without thinking twice, he dialed Jack's number, pressing the phone to his ear as he paced around the small living room. It rang a few times before Jack's voice answered, sounding slightly groggy, probably from the time difference.

"Pharm? Hey, what's up?" Jack's voice immediately shifted from sleepy to concerned, the tone Pharm had grown used to over the years.

Pharm hesitated for a moment, unsure of where to begin. "I... I'm not feeling great," he finally admitted, his voice quiet.

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Pharm could almost hear Jack sitting up, his focus sharpening. "What's going on? Did something happen?"

"I don't know," Pharm said, sinking onto the couch, his legs suddenly too heavy to hold him up. "I mean, today was fine. I even talked to Dean—finally. But now, I just... I feel like all that good stuff just disappeared, and I'm left with this... emptiness again. Like it doesn't even matter."

Jack's sigh was soft, but Pharm could hear the concern in it. "Pharm, you know this happens sometimes. It's not that what you did today doesn't matter—it does. You made progress. But depression doesn't care about good days. It can still creep in, even when things are going well."

"I know," Pharm whispered, staring at the floor. "I just... I hate feeling like this. It's like no matter what I do, it's always there, waiting to pull me back down."

"I get it," Jack said gently. "But you've been through this before, and you've come out of it before. This feeling isn't forever. It's just part of the process."

Pharm nodded, though Jack couldn't see him. "I thought talking to Dean would help. And it did, for a little while. But now I'm just... back here. And I feel so alone."

"You're not alone," Jack reminded him firmly. "You have us. You have your friends at university. And you have yourself—you're stronger than you think, Pharm."

Pharm closed his eyes, letting Jack's words wash over him. He wanted to believe them, but the heaviness in his chest made it hard to hold onto hope. "I just don't understand why this keeps happening. I thought if I could just talk to Dean, maybe things would start making sense. But I'm still so confused."

"Have you talked to Sarah about this?" Jack asked. "You know she's always good at helping you work through stuff like this."

Pharm shook his head, even though Jack couldn't see. "Not yet. I didn't want to bother her."

"You're not bothering anyone, Pharm," Jack said firmly. "You need to stop thinking that your problems aren't important. They are. And we want to help."

Pharm felt a lump form in his throat. "I just don't want to drag you guys into all this again."

"Too late," Jack said, trying to lighten the mood a little. "We're already here. And we're not going anywhere."

There was a beat of silence before Jack spoke again, his voice softer this time. "Pharm, you're going to get through this. You always do. It's hard now, but you're not facing this alone. And about Dean... you'll figure it out. One step at a time, right?"

Pharm nodded again, even though he knew Jack couldn't see it. "Yeah... one step at a time."

"Do you want me to call Sarah? I'm sure she'd want to talk to you too," Jack offered.

Pharm hesitated for a moment but then nodded. "Yeah. I think that would help."

"Okay, hang tight. I'll add her to the call."

A moment later, Sarah's voice chimed in, her tone immediately concerned. "Pharm? What's going on?"

"I just..." Pharm began, unsure of how to explain. "I'm not feeling great. I thought things were getting better, but now... it's just hard again."

Sarah's voice softened, the compassion in her words immediate. "It's okay, Pharm. Sometimes it feels like that, even after a good day. It doesn't mean you're not making progress. It's just how depression works—it's unpredictable."

"I know," Pharm whispered, his voice breaking slightly. "But it's so frustrating. I don't want to feel like this anymore."

"I know you don't," Sarah said gently. "And we're here to help you through it. Have you been writing? Sometimes that helps you process things."

"I wrote some stuff down," Pharm admitted, glancing at his notebook on the desk. "But it didn't help as much as I thought it would."

"That's okay," Sarah said. "It doesn't always help right away. Sometimes it takes time to figure out what's going on inside your head."

Pharm nodded, feeling a little comforted by her words. "I talked to Dean today. It was... nice. But now I just feel empty again."

"It's normal to feel that way after something big like that," Sarah reassured him. "You've been carrying a lot on your shoulders—these memories, these emotions. It's going to take time to untangle all of it."

"I guess I just thought... if I could talk to him, maybe it would all make sense," Pharm admitted. "But it didn't."

"It will," Sarah said confidently. "Maybe not right away, but you'll get there. You've already taken a huge step by talking to him. That's something to be proud of, even if it doesn't feel like it right now."

Pharm let out a shaky breath, feeling some of the tension in his chest begin to ease. "Thanks. I just... I needed to hear that."

"Anytime," Sarah replied. "We're here for you, Pharm. And remember, you don't have to figure everything out right now. Just take it one day at a time."

"One step at a time," Jack echoed, his voice full of warmth.

Pharm smiled faintly, the reassurance of their words slowly seeping into his heart. "Yeah. One step at a time."

Pharm felt a little lighter, a little more anchored as they continued to talk. He wasn't sure what the future held or how he would navigate the confusion and pain of his memories, but for now, he knew he wasn't alone in the fight. And that, at least, was something.

Chapter Text

Previously on Beautiful but Tragic

Pharm smiled faintly, the reassurance of their words slowly seeping into his heart. "Yeah. One step at a time."

Pharm felt a little lighter, a little more anchored as they continued to talk. He wasn't sure what the future held or how he would navigate the confusion and pain of his memories, but for now, he knew he wasn't alone in the fight. And that, at least, was something.

Pharm lay in his bed, the soft glow of the moon filtering through his curtains, casting shadows on the walls of his quiet apartment. The night was still, but a storm of thoughts raged inside his mind. He turned on his side, clutching the pillow tighter as his thoughts wandered to the day when everything had started—when he was just 14 and first diagnosed with depression. He hadn't understood it then, and even now, at 19, it still felt like something foreign, something lurking just below the surface, waiting to pull him under.

As Pharm stared blankly at the ceiling, vivid and sharp memories of that time began to unfold in his mind.

Flashback to age 14:

Pharm sat on the edge of his bed, his heart pounding in his chest, his palms clammy. He didn't know how to explain his feelings or why every day felt like he was walking through thick, heavy fog. It had been weeks, maybe months since the sadness began creeping in, and at first, he thought it was just normal. Everyone got sad sometimes, right? But this was different. It wasn't sadness—it was more like a void, a dull numbness that consumed him from the inside out.

His mom had noticed, of course. She always did. She had asked him, over and over again, what was wrong, but Pharm didn't know how to answer her. How could he tell her that he didn't feel anything, that sometimes it was hard to even get out of bed? He was 14—wasn't he supposed to be full of energy and life? But instead, all he felt was empty.

One afternoon, after he had spent yet another day locked in his room, his mom had gently sat beside him on the bed, her hand resting on his shoulder.

"Pharm, honey, talk to me," she had said, her voice soft but filled with concern. "I know something's wrong. You haven't been yourself lately."

Pharm had kept his eyes downcast, staring at the floor. He couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze. "I'm just tired, Mom. That's all," he had mumbled, the words feeling hollow even as he said them.

"Tired? Sweetheart, you're always tired. You don't want to hang out with your friends anymore. You're not eating. You're not even cooking, and I know how much you love cooking." Her voice had cracked a little, making Pharm's chest tighten with guilt.

"I don't know," he had whispered. And that had been the truth. He didn't know why he felt like this or like the world was closing in on him. "I just feel... off."

His mom had looked at him for a long moment, her hand squeezing his shoulder gently. "I think we need to talk to someone," she had said carefully, and Pharm had nodded, too tired to argue. In some small way, he had felt relieved. Maybe someone would be able to tell him why he felt so lost.

The memory shifted to his first visit with the therapist. He had sat on a plush chair in the office, his hands fidgeting nervously in his lap as the therapist, a kind-looking woman with a gentle smile, had asked him how he was feeling.

"I don't know," Pharm had said, the same answer he'd given his mom. "I just... feel nothing. Sometimes, I feel sad for no reason. It's like there's a weight on me all the time, and I can't get it off."

The therapist had listened patiently, nodding as she wrote something down in her notebook.

"Pharm, what you're describing sounds like depression," she had said after a few minutes. "It's not uncommon, especially in teenagers your age. It can make everything feel overwhelming, like there's no joy in anything anymore. But I want you to know that we can work through this. There are ways to manage it, and I'm here to help you."

Depression. Pharm had heard the word before, but hearing it directed at him had felt like a punch to the gut. It made everything feel more real, more permanent. He hadn't known whether to feel relieved or terrified. But at least now there was a name for what he had been feeling.

The flashback shifted again, to the weeks following his diagnosis. Pharm had started therapy sessions, and the therapist had encouraged him to journal his feelings, to keep track of his mood swings, and to talk about what triggered his worst days. Some days were better than others, but on the bad days, it felt like all the progress he had made disappeared.

He remembered one particular afternoon when he had tried to confide in his friends at school. They had been sitting around during lunch, and Pharm had hesitated, unsure of how to bring it up. Eventually, he had just blurted it out.

"I think I have depression," he had said quietly, his eyes fixed on his tray of untouched food.

His friends had gone silent, the usual laughter and teasing evaporating in an instant. One of them had awkwardly patted him on the shoulder and said, "You'll get over it, right? I mean, it's just a phase."

That had been one of the hardest things to hear. It wasn't a phase. It wasn't something he could just snap out of. The realization that even his friends didn't understand had made him feel more isolated than ever.

Back to the present:

Pharm's eyes flickered open, the weight of the memories pressing down on him. He stared at the ceiling, the darkness of his room mirroring the heaviness in his heart. He had thought he had learned how to cope with the depression, but some days, like today, it felt as though it was stronger than ever, pulling him back into that suffocating emptiness.

It wasn't just the depression that haunted him now—it was the memories. The flashes of In and Korn, the overwhelming sadness and longing he felt without knowing why. It was like his mind was caught between two worlds—his own and a past he didn't fully understand.

Pharm's phone buzzed softly on the nightstand, and he reached for it, hoping for a distraction. It was a message from Team, asking if he was okay. He stared at the message for a long time, his fingers hovering over the screen, unsure of how to respond.

He wasn't okay. But how could he explain that to Team? How could he tell him about the depression, the memories, the confusion? It all felt too big, too heavy to share with anyone. So instead, he typed out a quick reply: I'm fine. Just tired.

He set the phone back down, rolling over to his side and pulling the blanket up to his chin. The silence of the room felt oppressive, but it was also familiar. He had lived in this space, this mental darkness, for so long that it was like an old, unwelcome friend.

Pharm closed his eyes, hoping sleep would take him away from the weight of it all. But he knew that even in sleep, the memories might come back. And when they did, they would bring with them the same feelings of loss, sadness, and confusion that had followed him for as long as he could remember.

He just didn't know how long he could carry it alone.

Pharm was 15, and the world's weight had settled into his chest, growing heavier with every passing day. The depression had been persistent since his diagnosis at 14, but this day, it felt unbearable, as if the air around him was too thick to breathe. The familiar sadness had now turned into a suffocating despair that left him feeling numb and disconnected from everything and everyone.

He sat on his bed, his back against the wall, staring blankly at the small orange bottle of sleeping pills in his hand. His bedroom was quiet, the late afternoon sunlight filtering through the blinds, casting long shadows across the room. The light felt mocking, as if the world outside was too bright, too alive for the darkness he carried within him. His heart ached, but the pain was dull, as though he had been feeling it for so long that it had become a part of him.

Pharm's mind was a whirlwind of thoughts—memories of when life felt lighter, moments when he could laugh without effort. But now, every day was a struggle, every breath felt like a battle he wasn't sure he wanted to fight anymore. The sleeping pills weren't supposed to be an option, not really. But there they were, in his hand, full and untouched.

He hadn't slept well in months, and the doctor had prescribed them as a last resort to help him rest. Pharm had taken them once or twice, but tonight, the bottle felt different in his hand. It wasn't just a remedy for sleeplessness anymore—it had become something else. A way out, maybe. A way to stop feeling this overwhelming sadness. A way to silence the relentless voice in his head telling him he wasn't enough.

His phone buzzed on the bed next to him, breaking through the fog of his thoughts. He glanced at the screen—it was a text from Jack. He hadn't spoken to his friends much that week, retreating further into himself. But Jack and Sarah had always been persistent, checking in on him when they sensed something was wrong.

Hey, are you okay? Haven't heard from you in a bit.

Pharm stared at the message, feeling a pang of guilt. Jack and Sarah were his best friends. They had been there for him during the darkest moments, always reminding him that he wasn't alone. But tonight, even their words felt distant, like they couldn't understand what he was feeling.

He set the phone aside without responding and returned his gaze to the bottle. He wasn't sure how long he sat there, just staring at it. Time seemed to blur, and the thoughts in his head grew darker. Maybe this was the answer. Maybe this would finally give him the peace he had been searching for, the release from the constant ache that never seemed to go away.

Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Pharm barely registered the sound at first, lost in his own thoughts. Then it came again, louder this time.

"Pharm?" Jack's voice called from the other side of the door. "Hey, man, open up."

Pharm blinked, Jack's voice pulling him out of the haze. He hadn't realized Jack and Sarah were coming over. He hadn't invited them. But somehow, they always knew when something was wrong.

"Pharm?" Sarah's voice now, softer, more concerned. "Please open the door. We're worried."

Pharm looked at the door, then back at the bottle in his hand. He felt frozen, unsure of what to do. Part of him wanted to open the door, to let them in, but the other part—the part that had been whispering dark thoughts into his mind all evening—kept him glued to the spot.

After a few moments, the door creaked open slightly. Jack had found the spare key under the doormat. Pharm hadn't even thought to lock the door.

Jack and Sarah stepped inside, their faces instantly filled with worry as they took in the scene before them. Pharm, sitting on his bed, the bottle of pills clutched in his hand, his expression blank, his eyes distant.

"Pharm," Sarah breathed, her voice trembling as she moved toward him. "What are you doing?"

Jack followed closely behind her, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced with alarm. He sat down on the edge of the bed next to Pharm, gently prying the bottle from his hand. "Pharm, man, talk to us," he said softly, but there was a tension in his voice that betrayed how scared he really was.

Pharm blinked, finally tearing his gaze away from the bottle. He looked at Jack, then at Sarah, both of them staring at him with concern and fear in their eyes.

"I..." Pharm started, but his voice cracked, and he didn't know what to say. The words felt trapped in his throat. What could he possibly tell them? That he didn't want to feel this way anymore? That he didn't know how to make the sadness go away?

Sarah knelt in front of him, taking his hands in hers, her eyes filled with unshed tears. "Pharm, you don't have to do this," she said softly. "You're not alone. We're here. We'll get through this together."

Pharm's chest tightened, a lump forming in his throat. He wanted to believe her, he really did. But the darkness inside him felt so all-consuming, like nothing could reach him, not even the people who cared about him the most.

Jack placed the bottle on the nightstand, far out of reach, and then returned to Pharm. "We're not going anywhere," he said firmly. "I don't care how long it takes, but we're going to sit here with you until you feel like you can talk. Okay?"

Pharm swallowed hard, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. He felt so tired, so worn out from fighting this battle inside his own mind. But as he looked at Jack and Sarah—his friends who had shown up, who had always been there for him, even when he couldn't be there for himself—he felt a flicker of something. It wasn't hope exactly, but it was something.

"I'm sorry," Pharm whispered, his voice breaking.

"You don't have to be sorry," Sarah said gently, squeezing his hands. "You're hurting, and that's okay. We're going to help you through this."

Pharm's tears finally spilled over, and he released a shaky breath, his chest heaving with the weight of his emotions. Jack reached over and touched his shoulder, offering silent support.

"We've got you," Jack said quietly. "You don't have to go through this alone."

For the first time in what felt like forever, Pharm allowed himself to believe that maybe, just maybe, he didn't have to fight this battle on his own. Jack and Sarah weren't going to let him disappear into the darkness. They were here, and they would help him find his way back.

Lying in bed now, years later, Pharm still felt the weight of that memory. It was a moment that had changed everything. If Jack and Sarah hadn't shown up that day, if they hadn't found him when they did, he wasn't sure what would have happened. He wasn't sure he'd still be here.

Pharm rolled onto his side, staring at the wall, the familiar heaviness settling in his chest once more. The memories of In and Korn, the flashes of emotions that weren't his, the overwhelming sadness that had been creeping back in—it all felt like too much sometimes. But he knew one thing for certain: he wasn't alone. He had people who cared about him and would be there for him, just like they had been that day when he was 15.

And that, at least, was something to hold onto.

In the stillness of his apartment, with only the soft hum of the city night filtering through his window, Pharm lay awake, his thoughts spiraling into the depths of his own consciousness and the fragments of memories that didn't entirely belong to him. The image of Korn, holding a gun, haunted him—not just the action, but the palpable despair that seemed to echo through his memories, reverberating in the silence of his own struggles. It was a chilling reminder of his darkest moments, and it stirred a profound empathy within him for Korn, a man he had never met, yet felt inexplicably connected to.

Pharm's own battle with depression had been a labyrinthine journey through shadowed thoughts and moments of stark fear, where the idea of ending it all seemed like a whisper from the darkness itself. Now, as he lay there, he couldn't help but wonder if In or Korn had faced similar despair. The memories that flickered through his mind—snippets of their lives, love, and ultimate tragedy—painted a picture of profound emotional turmoil.

Korn's final act, one of definitive desperation, suggested a depth of suffering that Pharm recognized. It was not just the pain of a moment but perhaps a culmination of unspoken, unaddressed agonies. He pondered whether Korn had experienced the relentless grip of depression, the kind that colored your entire world in hues of gray, where each day felt like an impossible challenge. Had he felt the inexorable pull towards the abyss, convinced that the only escape was through such a tragic finality?

And what of In? Had he, too, been burdened by similar shadows? Pharm's visions showed that the bond they shared was intense and deep, marked by a passion that defied their circumstances. Yet, such profound connections often meant that one's pain was shared by the other. Had In felt the weight of Korn's despair, compounded by societal pressures and the external conflicts that their relationship had endured?

As these questions churned in his mind, Pharm felt a kinship with these past lives that went beyond mere curiosity. It was as if their experiences, their emotions, were imprinted within him, stirring a well of understanding and sorrow for what they might have endured. This empathy was not born of mere speculation but of a shared experience with the darkest facets of mental health struggles.

The clock ticked on, marking the passage of time in the quiet of the night. Pharm considered the silence that often surrounded mental health issues, especially in contexts and times when such discussions were taboo or misunderstood. How many had suffered in silence, he wondered, without the language or the support to express their pain? How many had felt as isolated as he had before he found his way to therapy and acceptance in his circle?

Pharm's thoughts drifted to the present, to his own journey of managing depression, bolstered by therapy, medication, and the unwavering support of friends like Jack and Sarah. He reflected on the importance of this support, the lifesaving grace of having someone to talk to, someone to intervene when the darkness felt too dense to navigate alone.

Resolved, Pharm made a silent vow to continue exploring these memories, to honor them by acknowledging their pain and recognizing their struggles. He understood now more than ever the importance of mental health awareness and the impact of compassion and empathy towards those battling unseen battles.

With a deep, steadying breath, Pharm finally allowed himself to drift towards sleep, a plan forming in his mind. He would seek more understanding for his peace and as a tribute to In and Korn. Perhaps, in his journey to unravel the mysteries of his past lives, he could find ways to bring awareness and change in the present, making the conversation about mental health a little less daunting for someone else who might be suffering in silence.

Pharm felt a renewed sense of purpose as dawn crept through the curtains, painting his room with the first light of morning. It wasn't just about coping with his own depression anymore; it was about connecting the dots between past and present, pain and healing, despair and hope. This understanding, he realized, was the first step toward not just surviving but truly helping others along the way.

The morning sun filtered through the curtains of Pharm's apartment, casting soft rays of light across the room. Pharm felt a chill in his chest despite the day's warmth outside. The night before had been heavy with thoughts of Korn, In, and the memories that weren't entirely his. But now, in the clarity of morning, he knew one thing for certain: he needed help.

Pharm had faced his battle with depression for years, back in America with the support of Jack, Sarah, and his family. He had found a therapist there, someone who had helped him understand and manage the dark clouds that sometimes hung over him. But here in Thailand, things were different. The memories of his past life—or what he believed were fragments of someone else's life—complicated everything. The weight of these memories, coupled with his own emotional struggles, made it clear to him that he couldn't continue like this. He needed to find a therapist, someone who could help him navigate not just his depression, but the confusing and overwhelming memories that seemed to bubble up more frequently.

Sitting at the edge of his bed, Pharm glanced at his phone. He had a full day of classes ahead—Economics and then Cooking Club later in the afternoon. The thought of trying to squeeze in time to find a therapist felt overwhelming. But the knot of anxiety that had settled in his stomach told him he couldn't afford to wait much longer.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I need to get through today first," he whispered to himself, trying to push the overwhelming feelings aside. He needed to focus on what was directly in front of him.

Gathering his books, Pharm got dressed and made his way out of the apartment, heading toward the university. The campus was already bustling with students, and for a moment, Pharm felt the familiar hum of normalcy. He walked past groups of friends chatting on their way to class, and for a moment, it grounded him, pulling him out of his thoughts. But the weight of what was swirling in his mind lingered.

His first class of the day was Economics. Pharm slid into his seat and unpacked his books, trying to focus on the lecture. The professor droned on about market dynamics and supply chains, but Pharm's mind kept wandering. He kept thinking about the memories of Korn, the flashes of sadness, of the gunshot. The more he tried to push the thoughts away, the more insistent they became, until they were all he could think about.

After what felt like an eternity, the class finally ended, and Pharm packed up his things quickly, eager to get out of the room. As he stepped outside, he was greeted by Manaow, who had been waiting for him.

"Pharm! How was class?" she asked brightly, her usual energy radiating off of her.

"It was okay," Pharm said, offering her a small smile, though he felt far from okay. "Just a lot to think about."

Manaow narrowed her eyes, studying him. "Are you sure? You've been looking really tired lately. Is everything okay?"

Pharm hesitated, unsure of how much he wanted to share. He wasn't ready to talk about the memories with her, not yet. But the weight of it all was suffocating him.

"I'm just... a little overwhelmed," he admitted, which wasn't entirely a lie. "There's a lot going on. Classes, Cooking Club... and I think I need to find a therapist here in Thailand."

Manaow's face softened with concern. "A therapist? Are you okay?"

Pharm nodded quickly, trying to reassure her. "I've just been feeling a bit off since I got here. I think it's the adjustment, and... some other things," he said, trailing off. "I had a therapist back in America, and it really helped. I think I need to find someone here too."

Manaow placed a hand on his arm, squeezing it gently. "That's a good idea, Pharm. It's important to take care of yourself. I can help you look, if you want."

Pharm smiled, feeling a little lighter. "Thanks, Manaow. I'll look into it after class today. I just need to get through the rest of the day first."

Manaow nodded, but there was still concern in her eyes. "Let me know if you need anything. I'll be here."

Pharm couldn't help but feel grateful for her support as they walked to their next class together. Admitting that he needed help again wasn't easy, but he knew it was the right step. He had felt this way before, and ignoring it had only made things worse.

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Pharm tried his best to focus on his classes, to stay present in the discussions and activities, but his mind kept drifting. He felt drained when he reached the Cooking Club in the afternoon. Aum had given him some dessert recipes to experiment with, but his heart wasn't in it today. His hands moved mechanically as he prepared the ingredients, his mind far away.

Eventually, after the club ended, Pharm made his way back home. He sat down at his desk, opening his laptop. The thought of finding a therapist felt daunting, but he knew it was something he had to do. He typed in a search: Therapists in Bangkok.

Dozens of results popped up, and Pharm scrolled through them slowly. He wasn't sure where to start or who to trust, but he knew that finding someone who understood him—who could help him navigate the complexities of both his depression and the memories of In and Korn—was crucial.

After a while, he found a few potential therapists who specialized in both depression and past-life experiences, something that intrigued him. Pharm bookmarked their contact information, feeling a small sense of relief. He wasn't alone in this—there were people who could help him, who understood what he was going through.

Pharm leaned back in his chair, letting out a long breath. The journey to healing wasn't easy, but at least he had taken the first step. Now, he just needed to make that call.

As the night crept in, Pharm sat in the quiet of his apartment, the list of therapists on his screen. He picked up his phone, dialing one of the numbers he had saved. His heart pounded in his chest as the phone rang, and for a moment, he thought about hanging up.

But then, a calm voice answered on the other end. "Hello, how can I help you?"

Pharm swallowed, gathering his courage. "Hi... I'm looking for a therapist, and I was wondering if you have availability."

He listened as the therapist explained their process, how they could schedule a session for the following week. It wasn't immediate, but it was a step in the right direction.

"Thank you," Pharm said quietly after they had set the appointment. "I'll see you next week."

As he hung up the phone, Pharm felt the tension in his shoulders ease slightly. It wasn't much, but it was something. He had classes to get through, friends who cared about him, and now a plan to find the help he needed. Maybe, just maybe, things would start to make sense soon.

Chapter Text

Previously on Beautiful but Tragic

He listened as the therapist explained their process, how they could schedule a session for the following week. It wasn't immediate, but it was a step in the right direction.

"Thank you," Pharm said quietly after they had set the appointment. "I'll see you next week."

As he hung up the phone, Pharm felt the tension in his shoulders ease slightly. It wasn't much, but it was something. He had classes to get through, friends who cared about him, and now a plan to find the help he needed. Maybe, just maybe, things would start to make sense soon.

The days leading up to Pharm's first therapy session passed in a blur of classes, club activities, and moments where he tried to keep himself as busy as possible to avoid thinking too much. He went through the motions, showing up to his courses, spending time with Team and Manaow, even texting Jack and Sarah back in America. But despite his efforts, the weight of his unresolved feelings and the flashes of memories from In and Korn gnawed at him.

Finally, the day of his appointment arrived. Pharm stood outside the small, nondescript office building, staring up at the sign that simply read "Therapist's Office." His heart pounded, a mix of nerves and anticipation swirling inside him. He wasn't sure what to expect, but he knew he needed this. He had been spiraling, and the darkness would only pull him further down if he didn't address it.

Taking a deep breath, Pharm stepped inside the building, the quiet hum of the air conditioning the only sound in the lobby. He approached the receptionist, who greeted him with a warm smile.

"Hello, how can I help you?" she asked.

"I have an appointment with Dr. Sutthida," Pharm replied, his voice quieter than he intended.

The receptionist checked her schedule, then nodded. "Ah, yes. You're right on time. Please take a seat, and Dr. Sutthida will call you in shortly."

Pharm nodded and made his way to a small waiting area, where he sat down, his hands fidgeting in his lap. His mind raced with thoughts about what he would say, how he would explain everything. Would she believe him about the memories? Would she think he was just going crazy?

He didn't have long to dwell on those thoughts before a door at the far end of the hall opened, and a woman in her late thirties stepped out. She had a calm, soothing presence about her, with soft, shoulder-length black hair and kind eyes that immediately put Pharm a little more at ease.

"Pharm Triwinij?" she called, her voice gentle but firm.

Pharm stood, his legs feeling slightly unsteady as he walked toward her. "That's me," he said quietly.

"Hi, Pharm. I'm Dr. Sutthida. Come on in," she said with a welcoming smile, stepping aside to let him enter her office.

The room was small but cozy, filled with warm lighting, comfortable chairs, and a few potted plants that added a sense of tranquility. Dr. Sutthida motioned for Pharm to sit in one of the chairs, and he did so, feeling the soft fabric cushion beneath him as he settled in.

"How are you feeling today?" she asked, sitting down in a chair across from him, holding a small notebook in her hands but keeping her focus on him.

Pharm hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to start. "I'm... okay, I guess. A little nervous," he admitted.

"That's completely normal," Dr. Sutthida said with a nod. "First sessions can feel a bit overwhelming, especially when you're not sure what to expect. But this is your space, Pharm. Whatever you want to talk about, we can go at your own pace."

Pharm appreciated her reassurance, but there was still a knot of anxiety in his chest. He glanced down at his hands for a moment before finally speaking.

"I've been dealing with... a lot," he began. "I've had depression since I was 14. I saw a therapist back in America, but since moving here, things have gotten more complicated."

Dr. Sutthida nodded, her expression attentive but non-judgmental. "Complicated how?"

Pharm swallowed, trying to find the right words. "It's not just the depression anymore. I've been having these... memories. And I don't think they're mine. They feel like someone else's memories, but I feel them like they're my own. I know how crazy that sounds."

Dr. Sutthida didn't react with shock or disbelief. She simply leaned forward slightly, her voice calm and steady. "It doesn't sound crazy, Pharm. A lot of people experience things that are difficult to explain or that feel out of place. Can you tell me more about these memories?"

Pharm hesitated again but then nodded. He had come here to talk about this, and if anyone could help him make sense of it, maybe it would be her. "They're memories of two people. I think... I think their names were Korn and In. They were in love, but something bad happened. In the memories, I can feel how much they loved each other, but I also feel a lot of pain."

Pharm took a deep breath, the most difficult part of his story still lodged in his throat. "One of the memories... it's of Korn... killing himself. He shot himself in front of In. And I don't know why, but I can feel it, like it's real. I don't know if this is just some weird part of my depression or something else."

Dr. Sutthida watched him closely, her eyes soft with understanding. "That sounds incredibly difficult to carry, Pharm. Have you experienced these memories for a long time?"

Pharm shook his head. "Not until I came back to Thailand. At first, it was just flashes, like dreams. But now they're becoming clearer, and I can feel the emotions more. It's... scary."

"That sounds like a lot to process," Dr. Sutthida said thoughtfully. "It's not uncommon for people to experience vivid memories or emotions that seem disconnected from their own lives, especially during times of emotional stress. You mentioned your depression. Do you feel like it's gotten worse since these memories started?"

Pharm nodded slowly. "Yeah. I've had good days, but lately, it's been hard. Some days, I don't know if it's my own depression or if it's something I'm carrying from these memories. Like... maybe Korn had depression too. Maybe that's why he did what he did."

Dr. Sutthida took a moment to jot down a few notes before looking back at him. "It's possible that these memories, real or symbolic, are your mind's way of processing something deeply emotional. Whether these memories are tied to past experiences, your imagination, or something else entirely, it's important to explore how they're affecting you in the present. How do you feel when these memories come up?"

Pharm let out a shaky breath. "It depends. Sometimes I feel really sad, like I'm mourning someone I never met. Other times, I feel guilty, like I could've done something to stop it, even though I don't know why I feel that way. But it's always intense. And sometimes... sometimes I'm scared. I'm scared I'll end up like Korn."

Dr. Sutthida's eyes softened even more. "Pharm, I hear you. It sounds like these memories are bringing up a lot of unresolved feelings, and that's something we can work through together. You don't have to carry all of this on your own."

Pharm nodded, feeling a mixture of relief and vulnerability. "I just want to understand what's happening to me," he said quietly. "I don't know how to make sense of it all."

"We'll take it step by step," Dr. Sutthida reassured him. "The most important thing is that you've already taken a huge step by coming here and talking about it. That shows a lot of strength, Pharm."

They continued talking for the next hour, with Dr. Sutthida asking questions and helping Pharm explore the connections between his depression, the memories, and the emotions they stirred up. She didn't try to offer immediate solutions or dismiss his experiences. Instead, she listened, guiding him through the confusion with patience and empathy.

As the session ended, Pharm felt emotionally exhausted, but for the first time in a while, he also felt a glimmer of hope. There was still so much he didn't understand, but at least now, he had someone willing to help him make sense of it all.

Dr. Sutthida smiled at him as they wrapped up. "We'll continue to explore these memories in our sessions, but remember, you're not alone in this. It's okay to feel what you're feeling, and we'll work through it together."

Pharm nodded, standing up to leave. "Thank you," he said quietly, meaning it more than he could express.

"Take care, Pharm. I'll see you next week," she replied, her voice gentle but reassuring.

As Pharm stepped out of the office and into the afternoon sunlight, he felt the weight on his chest ease just a little. There was still a long road ahead, but now he had a path to follow. And for the first time in what felt like forever, he didn't feel quite so lost.

The next day, Pharm found himself back on campus, surrounded by the familiar sounds of students chatting in the courtyard, books being opened and closed, and the general hum of university life. But despite the normalcy around him, he couldn't shake the heavy thoughts that clung to his mind, just as they had for so many years.

Sitting outside under the large tree in the courtyard, Pharm was waiting for Team and Manaow. He glanced down at his phone, scrolling through his messages, hoping to distract himself from the tension building in his chest. He had something to tell them that had been gnawing at him for a while now. He wanted to be honest with his friends about his struggles with depression, but there was so much more he wasn't ready to share—like the memories of Korn and In.

He tapped his foot nervously as he thought about what to say. Maybe he'd just start by telling them about the depression, not everything. He wasn't ready for that, especially when he still didn't understand it all himself.

Pharm looked up when he saw Manaow approaching with Team by her side, both of them laughing about something. Manaow's laughter was infectious, as always, and Team had a grin on his face. They made everything seem so simple, so light. Sometimes, Pharm envied that about them.

"Pharm!" Manaow called out, waving enthusiastically as she approached. "We thought we lost you for a second. What's with that serious look?"

Pharm forced a smile, trying to shake off the nerves that had settled in his chest. "Just thinking," he said, scooting over on the bench to make room for them.

"Thinking? It's too early for that!" Team joked, dropping his backpack on the ground and sitting down beside Pharm. "You're supposed to save your brainpower for class."

Pharm chuckled lightly, but the weight in his chest hadn't lifted. He glanced between his two friends, wondering if he should just come out and say it, wondering if they would even understand. He knew they cared about him, but depression wasn't something easy to explain.

"So, what's going on?" Manaow asked, sitting down on Pharm's other side. "You look like you've got something on your mind."

Pharm shifted in his seat, his fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. "I've... been meaning to talk to you guys about something," he said slowly, his voice quieter than usual.

Team and Manaow immediately stopped their playful banter, sensing the shift in Pharm's tone. They both turned to look at him, concern flashing across their faces.

"Is everything okay?" Team asked, his voice steady but laced with worry.

Pharm nodded, though his heart pounded in his chest. "Yeah, it's just... I've been dealing with something for a long time now, and I think it's time I tell you both. But... it's not easy to talk about."

Manaow leaned in, her expression soft and supportive. "You can tell us anything, Pharm. We're here for you, no matter what."

Pharm took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. He knew he couldn't tell them everything—not yet. He wasn't ready to talk about the memories, Korn and In, or the weight of their sadness pressing down on him. But he could start with his own battle. His depression.

"I've been dealing with depression for a while now," Pharm finally said, his voice barely above a whisper. "Since I was 14."

There was a brief pause as the words hung in the air, and Pharm could feel the concern radiating off of both of them. He wasn't sure what reaction he had expected, but their silence felt heavier than he had anticipated.

Manaow reached out, gently placing a hand on Pharm's arm. "Pharm... I had no idea," she said softly. Why didn't you tell us sooner?"

Pharm shrugged, not really sure how to answer that. "I guess I didn't want to burden anyone. And, I don't know, it just felt... easier to keep it to myself."

Team was quiet for a moment, but then he spoke, his voice gentle in a way that Pharm hadn't heard from him before. "You're never a burden, Pharm. We're your friends. We'd rather know what's happening with you than be kept in the dark."

Pharm felt a lump in his throat, but he pushed it down. He wouldn't cry in the middle of the courtyard, not when he still had so much to figure out. "I appreciate that," he said quietly. "It's just... hard to talk about sometimes. Some days, I feel okay, but other days, it's like there's this cloud over everything, and I can't shake it."

Team and Manaow exchanged a glance before Manaow nodded slowly. "I get that," she said softly. "Even if I can't fully understand what you're going through, I know that feeling. Like you're stuck, and no matter how hard you try, you can't pull yourself out."

Pharm looked at her, surprised. Manaow didn't usually talk about serious things like this, but her words made him feel a little less alone.

Team chimed in, his voice filled with determination. "You don't have to go through this by yourself anymore. If you're feeling low, you call us. No more hiding it, okay?"

Pharm smiled, a genuine one this time, though it was small. "Okay. Thanks, guys."

But even as he said it, Pharm knew there was still so much more he hadn't told them. He hadn't mentioned the memories of In and Korn, or the flashes of their lives that seemed to invade his thoughts more and more. That part of his life felt too complicated to explain and entangled in his own emotions to unravel. How could he tell them about the intense grief and love he felt for people he had never met? People whose lives had ended in tragedy?

As they chatted lightly about plans for the weekend, Pharm felt a strange mixture of relief and unease. He was glad that he had told them about his depression, but the shadows of In and Korn still loomed in the back of his mind. He had opened up, but only a little. He wasn't ready to share everything, and he wasn't even sure he understood it all himself.

Pharm listened as Team and Manaow laughed about something trivial, their carefree voices a balm to his weary heart. But even as he sat with them, part of him felt distant, detached. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was more he needed to confront—about his past, about his memories, and about the way his depression intertwined with it all.

As the conversation continued, Pharm glanced at his phone, a reminder of the therapist appointment he had scheduled for later in the week. Maybe Dr. Sutthida could help him make sense of everything, both the depression and the memories that weighed so heavily on him. For now, though, he was content to sit with his friends, letting their laughter wash over him, even if it couldn't quite reach the darkest corners of his mind.

Pharm knew this was only the beginning. There was still so much he hadn't shared, so much he hadn't worked through. But at least now, his friends knew part of the truth. It was a start, and that was all he could manage for now.

As they got up to head to their next class, Pharm felt a hand on his shoulder—Team's familiar grip. "We've got your back, okay?" Team said with a grin, his usual playful tone masking the sincerity in his eyes.

"Yeah," Manaow added, nudging Pharm lightly. "You don't have to go through any of this alone."

Pharm nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Thanks, guys. I really appreciate it."

And as they walked toward class, Pharm felt a flicker of hope. He wasn't ready to share everything yet, but at least he had started. And maybe, just maybe, things would get easier from here.

As Pharm walked through the courtyard toward his next class, his mind drifted. His thoughts still lingered on the conversation he'd had with Team and Manaow earlier in the day. Opening up about his depression had been a huge step, and though he didn't regret it, he still felt that strange weight—like something was unfinished.

Ahead of him, a group of students were talking loudly, their voices carrying in the open space. Pharm didn't think much of it at first, but as he walked closer, he caught a snippet of their conversation that made him freeze mid-step.

"Yeah, I heard his name's Pharm. He's in the Economics faculty, right? He seems so innocent."

Innocent? Pharm's heart skipped a beat, and he slowed his pace, his curiosity piqued.

"Yeah, like, so pure. He's always smiling, super polite. I bet he's never done anything rebellious in his life."

A soft chuckle followed the comment, and Pharm's steps faltered even more. He stood there, just out of sight, listening to the conversation unfold.

"I know, right? He looks like the kind of guy who probably spent his whole life following the rules. Super sweet, no drama, no mess."

Pharm bit his lip, a flood of memories from his teenage years flashing through his mind. It was almost laughable, the image these people had of him. If only they knew how far from "innocent" he had been just a few years ago.

His friends back in America would never describe him that way. Not after his rebellious phase, the one he'd entered around the age of 16, right after his depression had started to get worse. It had been a dark time for him, and in his confusion and anger, he had pushed boundaries—hard.

Pharm could remember it so clearly. The way he had thrown himself into the rebellion, almost like he was trying to break free from the crushing sadness that had settled over him. He had dyed his hair every outrageous color he could think of—electric blue, neon green, even bright pink once, to see if anyone would care. It wasn't just about standing out; it had been about feeling something other than the numbness inside him.

He'd started staying out late, sometimes not coming home at all, crashing at friends' places after long nights of partying. There had been alcohol—underage drinking at those house parties, where he and his friends would sneak in bottles of cheap liquor and take shots until the world blurred around them.

Jack and Sarah had been there through most of it, though they had tried to keep him grounded. Jack, especially, had been the one to pull him back from the edge more than once. Pharm smiled faintly as he remembered the night he'd gotten his first and only tattoo. Jack had sat in the waiting room of the tiny tattoo parlor, flipping through an old magazine while Pharm got inked in the back.

The tattoo itself wasn't huge, but it was something meaningful to him, something he had kept hidden from most people. Only those closest to him—Jack, Sarah, and a few others—knew about the discreet design nestled just below his collarbone, hidden beneath his shirt.

He also had piercings—a couple on his ears and one on his eyebrow that he had later removed, though the faint scar remained. Those piercings had been another part of his rebellion, a way to express the turmoil he had felt on the inside.

But here, in Thailand, none of that seemed to follow him. People saw him as the "innocent" one, the one who smiled and kept his head down and was always so polite. It starkly contrasted who he had been during those wild years in America, and Pharm wasn't sure if he found it amusing or unsettling.

He walked past the group, his mind still racing. As he made his way to class, he thought about how far he had come since that time. He had grown up and learned to manage his depression better, but the shadows of his past hadn't completely left him. He still carried the weight of those rebellious years, even if no one else saw it.

In a way, it was a part of him he hadn't fully acknowledged since coming back to Thailand. He had tried to start fresh here, to be a version of himself that felt more stable, more in control. But listening to those people talk about him as if he had never broken a rule in his life stirred something in him—a reminder that he wasn't just one thing. He wasn't just the quiet, polite guy everyone saw on the surface.

As Pharm walked into the classroom and found his seat, he couldn't help but smile, thinking of that tattoo, hidden under his clothes. Maybe someday he'd tell his friends here about that part of his life—the hair dye, the late nights, the tattoo, and all the rebellion that had once defined him.

Maybe he wasn't innocent, but he had learned how to find peace. Or at least, he was trying to. He couldn't help but think of those late nights in America and how far he had come since then. Maybe he wasn't the person everyone thought he was, but that was okay. He didn't have to fit their image of him. He had his own path to walk, his own journey to navigate.

And as he sat down in his next class, Pharm felt a quiet resolve settling over him. His past didn't define him, but it was still part of who he was. Whether people knew it or not, he had been through things that made him stronger, and that strength was something he carried with him every day—even if the world only saw the surface.

Pharm sat in the quiet waiting room of Dr. Sutthida's office, the soft hum of the air conditioner the only sound accompanying the rhythmic ticking of a clock on the wall. The scent of lavender lingered in the air, intended to soothe anxious minds, but Pharm felt his nerves buzzing beneath his skin. He absently thumbed through an old magazine, not registering the images or words on the pages. His mind was elsewhere—replaying the conversation he'd overheard the day before.

"Innocent." The word echoed in his thoughts, carrying with it a weight that pressed heavily on his chest. It wasn't the first time he'd heard people describe him that way since he returned to Thailand. His gentle demeanor, polite manners, and quiet nature projected an image of purity and simplicity. But the truth was far more complicated.

"Pharm?" a gentle voice called.

He looked up to see Dr. Sutthida standing at the doorway to her office, a warm smile on her face. "You can come in now."

Pharm nodded, returning her smile weakly as he stood up and followed her into the familiar space. The office was cozy, filled with natural light from the large windows overlooking a small garden. Soft, neutral tones decorated the room, creating an atmosphere of safety and calm.

"Please, make yourself comfortable," she said, gesturing to the plush armchair opposite her own.

Pharm settled into the chair, adjusting a cushion behind his back. He watched as she took her seat, her notepad resting on her lap, pen poised but not yet writing.

"How have you been since our last session?" she asked, her eyes meeting his with genuine interest.

Pharm took a deep breath, considering how to begin. "I've been... okay, I guess. There's something I wanted to talk about today."

"Of course," she encouraged. "What's on your mind?"

He hesitated, fingers picking at an invisible thread on his jeans. "Yesterday, I overheard some classmates talking about me. They said I seemed... innocent."

Dr. Sutthida nodded slowly. "And how did that make you feel?"

"Conflicted," he admitted. "I mean, they weren't saying anything bad. In fact, they seemed to think it was a good thing. But it just... didn't sit right with me."

"Can you tell me more about why it didn't feel right?"

Pharm sighed, his gaze drifting to the window where he could see the leaves of a tree rustling gently in the breeze. "I feel like they don't really know me. Like they're only seeing this one side of me that isn't the whole picture."

"What side do you think they're seeing?"

"The quiet, polite student who follows the rules," he said with a faint smile. "The one who doesn't cause trouble and seems... harmless."

"And do you feel that's an inaccurate portrayal?"

"Incomplete, maybe," he clarified. "There's so much more to me than that."

Dr. Sutthida leaned forward slightly. "Tell me about the parts they don't see."

Pharm looked down at his hands, the memories of his teenage years flooding back. "When I was living in America, I went through a rebellious phase. I dyed my hair all sorts of crazy colors—blue, red, purple. I stayed out late, partied, drank alcohol even though I was underage. I got piercings." He touched his earlobe unconsciously. "I even have a tattoo."

Her expression remained open and nonjudgmental. "That sounds like quite the transformation from how you present yourself now."

He nodded. "It was a difficult time. I was struggling with my depression, trying to find ways to cope or maybe just escape. My friends Jack and Sarah—they were there for me, but I still felt lost. Doing those things made me feel... alive, I guess. Like I had control over something in my life."

"Do you feel that people here wouldn't accept that part of you?" she asked gently.

"Maybe," he admitted. "But more than that, it's like I'm hiding who I really am. Or was. And when people call me 'innocent,' it feels like they're erasing all those experiences that shaped me."

"Do you wish they could see that side of you?"

He thought for a moment. "I don't know. Part of me does. But another part is afraid of how they'd react. What if they think less of me? What if they don't understand?"

"Understanding and acceptance are important to you," she observed.

"Yes," he agreed softly. "I want to be seen for who I really am, not just the parts that are easy or comfortable for others."

"Have you considered sharing some of your past with your friends here?"

Pharm hesitated. "I told them about my depression, but I didn't go into details. I didn't mention the rebellious stuff. It didn't seem relevant at the time, and I didn't want to burden them."

"Do you think sharing more would help them understand you better?"

"Maybe," he said uncertainly. "But I'm not sure how to bring it up."

"Sometimes, sharing pieces of ourselves with others can strengthen relationships," she suggested. "It can also alleviate the feeling of carrying secrets or wearing a mask."

Pharm looked up, meeting her gaze. "I'm just scared they'll see me differently."

"That's a valid fear," she acknowledged. "But consider this: if they truly care about you, they'll accept all parts of you—the light and the dark, the past and the present."

He sighed, a mixture of relief and anxiety swirling within him. "I guess I'm just tired of feeling like I'm hiding."

"That's understandable," she said kindly. "You've carried these experiences alone for a long time. Sharing them might help lighten the burden."

He nodded slowly. "I hadn't thought of it that way."

"Tell me more about how you view your past," she prompted. "Do you feel ashamed of the things you did?"

Pharm considered her question carefully. "At times, yes. I know some of the choices I made weren't the best. Drinking underage, staying out all night—it was reckless. But at the same time, those experiences taught me a lot about myself. They helped me grow."

"Growth often comes from our mistakes as much as our successes," she agreed. "It's important to acknowledge that every part of our journey contributes to who we are."

"I just don't want people to think I'm a bad person," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

"Do you believe you're a bad person?" she asked gently.

He shook his head. "No. I've made mistakes, but I try to be kind, to do the right thing."

"Then trust in that," she encouraged. "Your past doesn't define you, but it is a part of you. Embracing it can lead to greater self-acceptance."

Pharm let her words sink in, a sense of clarity beginning to form. "I think I've been holding onto this idea that I have to be perfect now to make up for the past."

"Perfection is an impossible standard," she reminded him softly. "Allowing yourself to be human—to have flaws and strengths—is a healthier goal."

He smiled faintly. "I suppose you're right."

They sat in comfortable silence for a moment before she spoke again. "How do you think you might start to share more of yourself with others?"

"I'm not sure," he confessed. "Maybe start small. Tell Team or Manaow about some of the things I used to do."

"That sounds like a good plan," she said encouragingly. "Remember, you don't have to reveal everything at once. Take it at your own pace."

He nodded, feeling a bit more at ease. "I think I can do that."

"Good," she replied. "How are you feeling now compared to when you first came in today?"

"Better," he admitted. "Less anxious. Talking about it helps."

"I'm glad to hear that," she said warmly. "Our time is almost up for today, but I want you to know that you're making progress, Pharm. It's not easy to confront these feelings, but you're taking important steps."

"Thank you," he said sincerely. "For listening and for understanding."

"That's what I'm here for," she assured him. "Before we wrap up, is there anything else you'd like to discuss?"

He thought for a moment, then shook his head. "Not today. I think this was enough."

She smiled. "Very well. I look forward to seeing you at our next session."

As they stood, Pharm felt a sense of lightness he hadn't expected. He gathered his things and headed toward the door, pausing before he left.

"Doctor Sutthida?" he began.

"Yes, Pharm?"

"I'm grateful for these sessions. I feel like I'm finally starting to understand myself better."

"That's wonderful to hear," she replied. "Remember, self-discovery is a journey. Be patient and kind to yourself along the way."

He nodded, offering her a genuine smile before stepping out into the hallway.

Outside, the afternoon sun bathed the street in a warm glow. Pharm took a deep breath, the air fresh and invigorating. As he began walking, he considered how he might approach the conversation with his friends. The idea still made him nervous, but there was also a hint of excitement at being more open.

He decided to text Team and Manaow, inviting them to meet at their favorite café later that evening. It would be a comfortable setting, and perhaps over a cup of tea, he could begin to share more of himself.

Later that evening, Pharm sat at a corner table in the cozy café, the aroma of coffee and baked goods enveloping the space. He fiddled with his mug, watching the steam rise as he waited.

"Hey, Pharm!" Manaow's cheerful voice called out as she and Team approached.

"Hey," he greeted them with a smile. "Thanks for coming."

"Of course," Team said, taking a seat across from him. "Everything okay? You sounded... serious in your message."

Pharm took a sip of his tea, gathering his thoughts. "Yeah, everything's fine. I just wanted to talk to you guys about something."

Manaow leaned forward, concern in her eyes. "You're not moving back to America, are you?"

He chuckled softly. "No, nothing like that."

"Good," she sighed in relief. "You had me worried."

Pharm took a deep breath. "I've been thinking a lot about how you both see me. How everyone sees me, really."

Team raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

"People tend to think I'm... innocent," he said, the word tasting different as he spoke it aloud. "That I always follow the rules and never do anything unexpected."

"Well, you are pretty well-behaved," Team teased lightly.

Manaow nudged him. "Let him speak."

Pharm smiled appreciatively. "The thing is, that's not the whole story. There's a lot about me that you don't know."

"Like what?" Manaow asked gently.

He hesitated for a moment, then decided to just say it. "When I was living in America, I went through a rebellious phase. I dyed my hair crazy colors, stayed out all night, partied, drank when I wasn't supposed to. I even have a tattoo."

Their eyes widened in unison.

"Seriously?" Team exclaimed. "You have a tattoo?"

Pharm nodded, pulling the collar of his shirt to the side just enough to reveal a glimpse of the ink beneath. "It's small, but it's there."

Manaow's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "That's so cool! I never would have guessed."

"That's kind of the point," he said. "I feel like people only see the surface. I wanted you both to know the real me, or at least more of me."

Team leaned back in his chair, processing the information. "Why didn't you tell us sooner?"

"I guess I was afraid," Pharm admitted. "Afraid you'd think differently of me."

Manaow reached across the table to place her hand over his. "Pharm, we're your friends. Knowing more about you doesn't change how we feel."

"Yeah," Team agreed. "If anything, it makes things more interesting. I can't believe you had blue hair! I need to see pictures."

Pharm laughed, relief flooding through him. "Maybe I'll show you some time."

They continued talking, the conversation flowing easily as Pharm shared stories from his past—funny anecdotes about misadventures with Jack and Sarah, the time he accidentally dyed his hair green instead of blue, the night he and his friends got lost in the city and ended up at an all-night diner sharing life stories until dawn.

As the evening wore on, Pharm felt a warmth spreading within him that had nothing to do with the tea. It was acceptance, pure and simple. His friends embraced every part of him without hesitation.

"Thanks for trusting us with this," Manaow said as they prepared to leave. "It means a lot."

"Yeah, man," Team added, clapping him on the back. "And if you ever feel like going on another rebellious streak, let me know. I could use some excitement."

Pharm grinned. "I'll keep that in mind."

As they parted ways, Pharm walked home with a lightness in his step. The fears he'd held onto for so long seemed less daunting now. He realized that by opening up, he'd allowed his friends to truly see him, and in doing so, he'd strengthened their bond.

Back at his apartment, he stood in front of the mirror, looking at his reflection. He traced the outline of his tattoo through his shirt, a symbol of a time when he'd been searching for himself. Now, he felt a step closer to understanding who he was—a blend of past and present, mistakes and lessons learned.

Pharm smiled softly. He knew there were still challenges ahead, but for tonight, he was content. He had taken a risk and found acceptance. Perhaps embracing all parts of himself was the key to moving forward.

He recalled his session with Dr. Sutthida and her words about self-acceptance. She was right—it wasn't about being perfect but about being genuine. In sharing his true self with others, he was also learning to accept himself.

As he prepared for bed, Pharm felt a sense of peace. The journey was far from over, but he no longer felt alone on the path. With supportive friends and a growing understanding of himself, he was ready to face whatever came next.

Chapter Text

Previously on Beautiful but Tragic

He recalled his session with Dr. Sutthida and her words about self-acceptance. She was right—it wasn't about being perfect but about being genuine. In sharing his true self with others, he was also learning to accept himself.

As he prepared for bed, Pharm felt a sense of peace. The journey was far from over, but he no longer felt alone on the path. With supportive friends and a growing understanding of himself, he was ready to face whatever came next.

The morning sun bathed the university campus in a warm, golden light, heralding a day filled with anticipation. Pharm stood outside the cooking club's kitchen, surveying the neatly arranged snack boxes lined up on the table. Each box was a testament to hours of meticulous work by the club members, filled with an assortment of treats for the swimming club's upcoming trip.

He adjusted the messenger bag strap, ensuring that the special box he had prepared was secure inside. Unlike the others, this box was meant specifically for Dean. Pharm's heart fluttered at the thought of Dean discovering the surprise he had crafted just for him—a star-shaped Look-Choup, his favorite Thai dessert.

"Hey, Pharm!" Team's cheerful voice pulled him from his thoughts. Turning, he saw his friend approaching, duffel bag slung over his shoulder and a bright grin on his face. "Ready to head to the bus?"

Pharm smiled softly. "Yeah, everything's set." He gestured to the stack of snack boxes. "Thanks for helping me carry these."

Team waved a dismissive hand. "No problem at all. The guys are going to love this. You're seriously the best for organizing it."

Pharm's cheeks warmed slightly. "It was a team effort," he replied modestly, though he had indeed taken the lead on the project.

They began loading the snack boxes into large bags for easier transport. As they worked, the campus buzzed with activity around them—students heading to classes, friends chatting animatedly, the distant sound of a guitar being strummed under a tree.

"Manaow wishes she could be here," Team mentioned as they hoisted the bags. "But she had an early class."

Pharm nodded. "I hope she doesn't feel left out."

"Nah, she knows she's always part of the fun," Team assured him. "Besides, she'll be cheering us on from here."

With everything packed, they made their way across the campus toward the parking lot where the bus awaited. The swimming club members milled about, some loading luggage while others exchanged excited chatter about the trip ahead.

As they approached, several team members spotted them. "Hey, snacks have arrived!" one called out, prompting a ripple of enthusiasm.

Team laughed. "Looks like we're the heroes of the day."

Pharm smiled, though his gaze instinctively searched for Dean among the crowd. It didn't take long to find him—Dean stood near the bus entrance, clipboard in hand as he went over last-minute details with the coach. His tall frame and composed demeanor made him stand out, his dark hair slightly tousled by the morning breeze.

Gathering his courage, Pharm took a deep breath. "I'll go give these to Dean," he said, lifting the bags.

"Go for it," Team encouraged, a knowing glint in his eye. "I'll start handing these out to the rest of the guys."

Pharm approached Dean slowly, his heart beating a tad faster with each step. As if sensing his presence, Dean looked up from the clipboard, his deep eyes meeting Pharm's.

"Pharm," Dean greeted, a subtle smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "Good morning."

"Good morning," Pharm replied, his voice gentle. "We brought the snack boxes for the trip." He held up the bags slightly.

Dean's smile widened. "Thank you. That's really thoughtful of you and the cooking club."

Pharm shifted the bags, feeling a mix of nerves and excitement. "Everyone was happy to help. We wanted to make sure you all had something good to eat on the way."

Dean reached out to take the bags, their fingers brushing briefly. "We appreciate it," he said sincerely.

"Oh, and..." Pharm hesitated for a moment before reaching into his messenger bag. He pulled out the special box, neatly wrapped with a simple ribbon. "This is for you."

Dean raised an eyebrow, curiosity evident in his gaze. "For me?"

Pharm nodded, a faint blush coloring his cheeks. "Yes. It's something I made just for you."

Taking the box, Dean's fingers lingered over the smooth surface. "Thank you, Pharm. That means a lot."

Before either could say more, the coach called out to Dean. "We need to finalize the headcount!"

Dean glanced over his shoulder, then back at Pharm. "I should go, but I'll see you when we get back?"

Pharm smiled softly. "Of course. Have a safe trip."

"Thanks," Dean replied, giving a small wave before heading toward the coach.

As Dean walked away, Team sidled up next to Pharm, having finished distributing the other snack boxes. "So, how'd it go?" he asked with a teasing grin.

Pharm glanced at him, trying to play it cool. "It went fine. I gave him the snacks."

"And the special box?" Team prodded.

Pharm's blush deepened. "Yes, and the special box."

Team chuckled, nudging him lightly. "Good job. I'm sure he'll love it."

They stepped back, watching as the team began boarding the bus. The air was filled with the sounds of laughter and the hissing of the bus doors opening. Team turned to Pharm. "Well, that's my cue. Time to hit the road."

"Take care of yourself," Pharm said earnestly. "And have fun."

"Will do," Team replied, hoisting his bag over his shoulder. "Don't miss me too much."

Pharm laughed softly. "I'll try."

With a final wave, Team boarded the bus, disappearing inside. Pharm stood there for a moment, hands in his pockets, watching as the last of the swimmers settled in. The driver started the engine, and a low rumble filled the air.

Dean appeared at one of the windows, sliding it open slightly. "Pharm!"

Pharm looked up, surprised. "Yes?"

"Thanks again," Dean called out over the noise. "For everything."

Pharm's heart skipped a beat. "You're welcome!"

With that, the window closed, and the bus began to pull away. Pharm watched until it turned the corner and was out of sight, a mix of emotions swirling within him—hope, nervousness, and a hint of something deeper.

On the bus, Team settled into a seat beside Dean, stretching his legs out in front of him. "Long ride ahead," he commented.

Dean nodded, his gaze distant.

Team noticed the box resting on Dean's lap. "Pharm gave you that, huh?"

"Yeah," Dean replied, his fingers tracing the edge of the box thoughtfully.

"Well, aren't you going to open it?" Team prompted with a sly smile.

Dean glanced at him, then back at the box. "I suppose now's a good time."

Carefully, he untied the ribbon and lifted the lid. Inside, nestled in delicate tissue paper, was a beautifully crafted Look-Choup shaped like a star. The dessert glistened with a colorful sheen, the artistry evident in its flawless form.

Dean's eyes widened slightly. "It's a star," he murmured.

Team peeked over, nodding appreciatively. "Wow, that's impressive. Pharm really outdid himself."

Dean felt a warmth spread through his chest. The star-shaped Look-Choup held a significance he couldn't quite put into words. Gently, he lifted it from the box, admiring the intricate details.

"He's got talent," Team continued. "Makes me wish I'd gotten a special box too."

Dean smiled faintly. "He put a lot of effort into this."

"Well, he did make all the snack boxes," Team pointed out. "But that one seems... extra special."

Dean glanced at his friend, noting the teasing tone. "Maybe," he conceded.

Team leaned back, a satisfied grin on his face. "You know, Pharm's a great guy."

"I agree," Dean said quietly.

Silence settled between them for a moment as Dean carefully placed the Look-Choup back into the box, closing the lid securely.

"Aren't you going to try it?" Team asked.

"I think I'll save it for later," Dean replied. "It's almost too perfect to eat right now."

Team chuckled. "Fair enough. Just don't forget about it."

Dean nodded, his thoughts drifting. Pharm's gesture stirred something within him—an unfamiliar but not unwelcome sensation. The sincerity of Pharm's actions resonated deeply, leaving Dean both curious and intrigued.

Back at the university, Pharm made his way across the campus, the morning's excitement gradually giving way to the day's routine. He headed toward the cooking club room, intending to clean up after the snack preparation.

The familiar scents of spices and baked goods greeted him as he entered the kitchen. The room was quiet now, starkly contrasting to the flurry of activity that had filled it earlier. Pharm began tidying up, his movements methodical.

"Pharm?" A voice called from the doorway.

He turned to see Aum, entering with a stack of aprons. "I thought I'd find you here," she said with a smile.

"Just cleaning up," Pharm replied. "Thanks for bringing those."

She set the aprons down on a table. "The snack boxes were a big hit, I hear."

Pharm nodded. "Everyone seemed to like them."

Aum studied him for a moment. "You seem... happy."

He paused, considering her observation. "I suppose I am."

"Did something special happen?" she asked, a hint of curiosity in her tone.

Pharm hesitated before answering. "I gave Dean a box I made just for him."

Aum's eyes lit up. "Oh? That's wonderful!"

He felt a shy smile spread across his face. "I hope he likes it."

"I'm sure he will," she assured him. "You put a lot of care into your cooking. It shows."

"Thank you," Pharm said sincerely.

They continued chatting as they cleaned, the conversation light and comfortable. As they finished, Aum gathered her things. "Well, I should get going. See you at the next club meeting?"

"Definitely," Pharm replied.

After she left, Pharm lingered in the kitchen for a while longer. He gazed out the window at the students passing by, his thoughts returning to Dean and the Look-Choup.

He wondered what Dean thought when he opened the box. Did he understand the significance of the star shape? It was a symbol that had always held meaning for Pharm—a representation of hope and guidance.

With a sigh, he gathered his belongings and headed out. As he walked through the campus, the afternoon sun casting a warm glow, Pharm felt content. He had taken a small step in expressing his feelings, and that was enough for now.

The bus rumbled along the highway, the cityscape gradually giving way to stretches of greenery and open sky. Inside, the atmosphere was relaxed—some of the swimmers chatted animatedly, while others listened to music or dozed off.

Dean sat by the window, the scenery passing by in a blur. His thoughts kept drifting back to the star-shaped Look-Choup. Something about Pharm's gesture stirred a deep sense of familiarity within him, as if it resonated with a part of him he couldn't quite grasp.

He reached into his bag and retrieved the box once more. Opening it, he studied the dessert carefully. The craftsmanship was impeccable, each detail thoughtfully executed.

"Still admiring it?" Team's voice pulled him from his reverie.

Dean glanced over to see his friend watching him with a curious expression. "It's impressive work," he replied.

Team nodded. "Pharm has a real gift."

"Yes, he does," Dean agreed.

They fell into a comfortable silence before Team spoke again. "You know, I think he put a lot of thought into that. It's not just a random treat."

Dean considered his words. "What makes you say that?"

"Well, the star shape, for one," Team pointed out. "It's unique. Maybe it means something."

Dean looked back at the Look-Choup, turning it gently in his hands. "Perhaps."

"You should talk to him about it when we get back," Team suggested.

Dean nodded slowly. "I think I will."

Team grinned. "Good. Communication is key, after all."

Dean chuckled softly. "Since when did you become so insightful?"

"I have my moments," Team replied with a wink.

Dean carefully wrapped the Look-Choup and returned it to his bag as the journey continued. He gazed out the window, his thoughts a mix of curiosity and a faint, inexplicable longing.

Days passed, and the swimming club's productive and enjoyable trip. They returned to the university with stories to tell and a renewed sense of camaraderie. As the team bus pulled into the parking lot, the sun began to set, casting hues of pink and orange across the sky.

Pharm stood near the entrance, hands clasped in front of him as he watched the bus come to a stop. He felt nervous, wondering if he would have the chance to speak with Dean.

After the long ride, the swimmers began disembarking, laughing, and stretching. The team spotted Pharm immediately. "Pharm!" he called out, enthusiastically waving.

"Welcome back," Pharm greeted as Team approached.

"Good to be back," Team replied, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "It was a great trip."

"I'm glad," Pharm said with a smile.

Dean descended the bus steps, his gaze scanning the area until it landed on Pharm. He made his way over, his expression unreadable but his eyes intent.

"Hi, Dean," Pharm said softly.

"Hello, Pharm," Dean replied. There was a moment of silence before he continued. "Thank you again for the Look-Choup. It was... exceptional."

Pharm's cheeks warmed. "I'm happy you liked it."

Dean hesitated, then added, "The star shape—it was unique."

Pharm nodded, his heart beating faster. "It's a symbol of guidance and hope."

Dean considered his words, a subtle smile touching his lips. "It seems fitting."

They stood there momentarily, the world around them fading into the background. Team watched from a distance, a satisfied grin on his face.

"Perhaps we could talk more sometime," Dean suggested, his tone measured but hopeful.

"I'd like that," Pharm replied, his eyes meeting Dean's.

"Great," Dean said softly. "I'll see you soon."

With a final nod, Dean headed off to help unload the equipment. Pharm watched him go, a mix of relief and anticipation filling him.

Team approached, clapping a hand on Pharm's shoulder. "See? That wasn't so hard."

Pharm laughed lightly. "Maybe not."

"You two are impossible," Team teased. "Just talk to each other already."

"We are," Pharm pointed out.

"True enough," Team conceded. "Come on, let's grab something to eat. I'm starving."

"Sounds good," Pharm agreed.

As they walked away from the bus, the sky above them dotted with emerging stars, Pharm felt renewed optimism. The small steps he'd taken were leading somewhere, and for the first time in a long while, he felt like he was exactly where he was supposed to be.

That night, as the soft glow of moonlight filtered through his bedroom curtains, Pharm drifted into a deep sleep. Weary from the day's events and the lingering emotions stirred by his interactions with Dean, his mind sought refuge in dreams. But tonight, his dreams carried him to a familiar and unknown time and place.

In the dream, Pharm found himself standing on a serene beach, the golden sand warm beneath his bare feet. The ocean stretched out before him, its gentle waves lapping rhythmically against the shore. The sky was painted with hues of pink and orange as the sun began its descent, casting a tranquil glow over the entire scene.

A short distance away, two young men laughed together as they walked along the water's edge. Pharm recognized them instantly—In and Korn. They moved with an ease and joy that was palpable, their hands occasionally brushing against each other as they walked. In's eyes sparkled with mirth as Korn playfully splashed water in his direction.

"Hey! That's cold!" In exclaimed, laughing as he tried to dodge the droplets.

Korn grinned mischievously. "You started it," he teased, his voice carrying a lightness that Pharm hadn't heard in his previous visions.

In shook his head, a fond smile spreading across his face. "I guess I did." He paused, gazing out at the horizon. "It's beautiful here, isn't it?"

Korn stepped closer, their shoulders nearly touching. "Not as beautiful as you," he said softly.

In turned to look at him, his eyes reflecting the warm colors of the sunset. "You're such a charmer," he replied, though his tone was affectionate.

They stood there for a moment, the world around them fading into the background as they shared a quiet, intimate gaze. The air was filled with unspoken promises and the comfort of being in each other's presence.

Pharm watched from a distance, his heart swelling with a mix of happiness and longing. He could feel the depth of their connection, the pure and untainted love they shared. It was a stark contrast to the flashes of pain and tragedy that had haunted his previous memories of them.

The scene shifted gently. Now, In and Korn sat beneath a large tree in a peaceful garden, dappled sunlight filtering through the leaves above. They were engrossed in conversation, laughter bubbling up between them as they shared stories and dreams for the future.

"I want to travel the world," In said, his eyes alight with excitement. "See all the places we've only read about."

Korn leaned back against the tree trunk, a soft smile playing on his lips. "I'd go anywhere with you."

In looked at him thoughtfully. "Do you mean that?"

"Of course," Korn replied earnestly. "As long as we're together, it doesn't matter where we are."

In reached out to take Korn's hand, their fingers intertwining effortlessly. "You always know what to say."

Korn squeezed his hand gently. "I just speak the truth."

Pharm felt a warmth spread through him as he observed their interaction. Their happiness was pure, and their cherished moments together were simple. It was as if the rest of the world ceased to exist when they were with each other.

The dream shifted once more. Now, In and Korn stood on a balcony overlooking a bustling city at night. The lights twinkled below like a sea of stars, and distant music drifted up to them. In rested his head on Korn's shoulder, a contented sigh escaping his lips.

"Do you ever think about what life will be like in the future?" In asked softly.

Korn wrapped an arm around him, pulling him closer. "All the time."

"And what do you see?" In pressed gently.

Korn was silent for a moment before he replied, "I see us. Together. Happy."

In smiled, closing his eyes as he savored the moment. "That's all I want."

"Me too," Korn murmured, pressing a kiss to In's temple.

Pharm felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. The tenderness between them was overwhelming, and he wished desperately that this happiness could last forever.

As the first light of dawn began to seep into his bedroom, Pharm stirred awake. For a moment, he lay there, the remnants of the dream clinging to his consciousness like a delicate web. The images of In and Korn's joy lingered vividly in his mind—their laughter, affectionate glances, and unwavering love.

He sat up slowly, pulling his knees to his chest as he gazed out the window. The sky was painted with soft shades of lavender and pale gold, a new day unfolding before him. Yet, despite the beauty of the morning, a heaviness settled in his heart.

"Where did it all go wrong?" he whispered to himself.

The dream had shown him a side of In and Korn he hadn't fully seen before—a time when they were blissfully happy, unburdened by the weight of the tragedy that would eventually befall them. It was a stark contrast to the haunting visions of sorrow and loss that had plagued him.

Pharm's thoughts churned as he tried to piece together the fragments of their story. What had happened to shatter their happiness so completely? What forces had driven Korn to such a desperate act, ending his own life in front of the person he loved most?

He remembered the flashes of pain—the echoes of arguments, the looming presence of external pressures, the suffocating feeling of hopelessness. But the specifics remained elusive, like shadows just out of reach.

"Was it their families?" he wondered aloud. "Society? Fear?"

Pharm felt a pang of empathy deep within him. He knew all too well the crushing weight of despair, the feeling of being trapped with no way out. But to imagine that kind of pain consuming someone like Korn, who had once been so full of life and love—it was almost too much to bear.

He thought of Dean and the uncanny resemblance he bore to Korn. Their connection felt stronger than ever, as if their fates were intertwined across time. Did these memories also haunt Dean? Did he feel the same inexplicable pull, the same unanswered questions?

Pharm ran a hand through his hair, frustration mingling with sorrow. "I need to understand," he said softly. "I need to know what happened to them."

He considered reaching out to his therapist, Dr. Sutthida. Perhaps she could help him delve deeper into these memories, to uncover the truth hidden within them. Or maybe he needed to talk to Dean, to see if he felt any of the same echoes of the past.

The uncertainty gnawed at him. Part of him feared what he might discover—that the pain of their story would be too much to handle. But another part felt a resolute determination. If he could understand where things went wrong for In and Korn, perhaps he could find a way to heal, both for himself and for the lingering spirits of the two lovers.

Pharm rose from his bed, the cool floor grounding him as he crossed the room to his desk. He opened his notebook—the one where he'd been recording his dreams and memories—and began to write down every detail he could recall from the dream. The way the sun had set over the ocean, the sound of their laughter, the warmth of their shared moments.

As he wrote, tears blurred his vision. "They deserved to be happy," he whispered. "They deserved a future together."

He paused, the pen hovering over the page. "I won't let their story end in tragedy," he vowed softly. "Not this time."

The weight of his words hung in the air, a silent promise to the past and to himself. Pharm didn't fully understand how or why he was connected to In and Korn, but he knew he couldn't ignore it any longer. He had to find answers, not just for his own peace of mind, but to honor the love that had transcended time to reach him.

Wiping away his tears, Pharm closed the notebook and took a deep breath. The morning light filled the room, chasing away the shadows of the night. A new day had begun, and with it, a renewed sense of purpose.

He resolved to speak with Dr. Sutthida about the dream and his lingering questions. Perhaps together they could unravel the mysteries of the past. And maybe, just maybe, he could find the courage to talk to Dean, to share what he was experiencing and see if there was a shared connection.

Pharm prepared for the day, and his movements were deliberate as he prepared himself mentally and emotionally. The journey ahead was uncertain, but he no longer felt as lost. The dream had given him a glimpse of the happiness that once was, a beacon of light guiding him forward.

Pharm felt a subtle shift within himself as he stepped out into the crisp morning air. Hope fluttered in his chest, delicate but persistent. He glanced up at the sky, the sun now fully risen, casting its golden rays over the campus.

"Maybe it's not too late," he thought. "Maybe their story can find a different ending."

With renewed determination, Pharm headed toward the university, ready to face whatever the day—and the future—held.

Pharm hurried across the bustling university campus, his thoughts a swirl of uncertainty and determination. The afternoon sun cast long shadows over the walkways, but Pharm hardly noticed the beautiful day. His mind was preoccupied, as it had been since the dreams and fragmented memories of In and Korn had taken over his thoughts.

After classes had ended for the day, Pharm made his way to the university library. He had resolved to do more research on In and Korn, desperate to understand the details of their lives—how their love had bloomed, and more importantly, where it had all gone so tragically wrong. But there was one significant problem: he didn't have their last names. Without that, searching for their story was like trying to find a needle in a haystack.

Entering the quiet, cool space of the library, Pharm made his way to the computers. Rows of shelves filled with books surrounded him, but today he would be focusing on digital archives. He logged into one of the public terminals, breathing deeply as he braced himself for the challenge ahead.

"Where do I even start?" he muttered to himself, leaning back slightly in his chair.

He typed "In and Korn" into the university's archival search engine, but the search results were predictably vague. There were too many entries with those common names, and most of the records were irrelevant.

He narrowed his search: "In and Korn, tragedy."

This time, fewer results popped up, but none seemed to reference any sort of romantic tragedy between two people named In and Korn. Pharm let out a sigh, rubbing his eyes. It wasn't as if he had expected an immediate answer, but the lack of progress made him feel like he was grasping at straws. He needed more information, but how could he find it?

Pharm took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. There had to be something out there—some clue. Maybe an old news article, or a piece of writing that chronicled what happened between In and Korn. But without last names, even this new determination felt hopeless.

He glanced around the library, watching students studying in hushed silence or flipping through textbooks. He felt somewhat isolated in his search; this was something only he could understand. His friends didn't know the depth of his memories, and even his therapist could only help him so much. This was a mystery that was haunting him, calling to him to solve it, but he had no idea where to go next.

"Maybe it wasn't in the news," Pharm whispered to himself. "What if it wasn't something people knew about?"

Pharm searched for events that happened in the area about thirty years ago, thinking that maybe some tragic incident might lead him in the right direction. He typed "tragic deaths, love, thirty years ago," and filtered it for the location he suspected—somewhere in Bangkok or the surrounding areas. But still, no direct leads appeared. Most of the tragedies he found were completely unrelated.

Frustrated, Pharm pushed away from the desk. He stood and wandered the library, passing by the old newspapers and archives sections, but there was no sense in searching physically if he didn't know what he was looking for.

He stopped in front of a bulletin board where students posted announcements and events. Tacked onto it were several articles about love and loss—romanticized stories about students from years past, memorialized in various ways. He scanned the titles, but none of them seemed to relate to the story of In and Korn.

"Why can't I find anything?" Pharm muttered.

The more Pharm searched, the more he realized how difficult this task was without last names. He hadn't even considered that detail's importance, and now it felt like his search had hit a wall.

"Intouch and Korn...but what else?" He thought about his dreams and the feelings associated with them. He could recall the looks in their eyes, the desperation in their voices when everything had spiraled out of control. "There has to be something more."

Sitting back down at the computer, Pharm hesitated before starting his next search. Maybe he had been going about this all wrong. If he couldn't find anything about In and Korn specifically, perhaps he could try searching for patterns. He started researching incidents of tragic love stories—focusing not on the names, but on the nature of the stories. Star-crossed lovers, doomed relationships, cases of suicides, or unrequited love that ended in tragedy.

Hours passed, and Pharm still found nothing that matched what he was looking for. His eyes grew tired from staring at the screen, and he slumped in his chair, defeated for the moment. He couldn't shake the feeling that something was out there, something waiting for him to find it, but every direction he turned seemed to lead to dead ends.

As he leaned back, Pharm's thoughts drifted. His mind wandered back to the visions of In and Korn—their happiness, the joy they had shared in the beginning, and then the abrupt end that had left him with so many unanswered questions. Pharm's heart ached, the memories—his memories—were so vivid, but also incomplete. What had really led Korn to shoot himself? What had driven their love story to such a devastating conclusion?

He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated with himself and the entire situation. "I just need to know," he whispered, staring blankly at the search bar on the screen.

He had been here for hours now, and his mind was growing more fatigued by the minute. Pharm saved the few articles he had found, even though they didn't seem relevant. He would read them later, in case there was a hidden clue he hadn't noticed.

Reluctantly, Pharm logged out of the computer and stood, his body stiff from sitting in the chair for too long. He stretched, casting one last glance around the library. It felt like a place where answers should be, yet it had offered him nothing concrete.

As Pharm gathered his things and prepared to leave, a thought crossed his mind. "Maybe I'm looking in the wrong place," he murmured to himself. "Maybe the story wasn't documented in the usual ways. What if it was kept hidden?"

He thought of asking elders or locals who might remember something about a tragic love story from decades ago. He knew the chances were slim—people tended to forget such stories, or perhaps no one had ever really known about In and Korn outside of their immediate circle. But it was still worth considering.

As he left the library, the cool evening air greeted him. Pharm's head was buzzing with thoughts of the dream, the memories, and the questions that seemed to be leading him nowhere. Yet, despite the lack of results, something inside him refused to give up.

"In and Korn..." he whispered into the night, hoping that somewhere, somehow, the universe would provide him with the missing pieces.

Chapter Text

Previously on Beautiful but Tragic

He thought of asking elders or locals who might remember something about a tragic love story from decades ago. He knew the chances were slim—people tended to forget such stories, or perhaps no one had ever really known about In and Korn outside of their immediate circle. But it was still worth considering.

As he left the library, the cool evening air greeted him. Pharm's head was buzzing with thoughts of the dream, the memories, and the questions that seemed to be leading him nowhere. Yet, despite the lack of results, something inside him refused to give up.

"In and Korn..." he whispered into the night, hoping that somewhere, somehow, the universe would provide him with the missing pieces.

Pharm stared at his laptop screen, the cursor blinking steadily, a constant reminder of his inability to find anything concrete. The library had proven fruitless. His search for any trace of In and Korn, their last names, their story—had yielded nothing but frustration. Each search felt more hopeless than the last.

He hadn't expected answers to come easily, but the silence from the universe was deafening. The more he dug into their names—Intouch Chatpokin, Korn Ariyasakul—the more elusive the truth became. They had to be someone. Somewhere. But no matter how many variations of searches he ran, every road seemed to end at a dead end.

"Why can't I find anything?" Pharm muttered, closing his laptop with a soft click. The weight of unanswered questions pressed heavily on his chest, and for a moment, Pharm considered the possibility that he might never find what he was looking for. What if their story was lost, a tragedy buried by time?

His eyes wandered over the few papers scattered across his desk. His notebook lay at the corner, filled with his scrawled thoughts and fragmented memories. Even though the answers remained out of reach, Pharm couldn't stop feeling that In and Korn were still out somewhere between dreams and reality.

Pharm's thoughts returned to that night he had spent in the library. The dream of In and Korn—so vivid, so real—had lingered in his mind, like a film replaying on loop. Their smiles, their shared love, it was all so clear. But then, there were those flashes of pain, of regret, the sorrowful image of Korn holding a gun. Pharm shuddered at the memory, his pulse quickening. What had happened to them? How had they ended up so broken, so lost?

It felt as though the universe had given him just enough to catch his breath and feel their love and joy—but no more. The rest, the aftermath, was still a mystery he couldn't quite grasp.

A knock at his door startled him, and Pharm blinked, trying to ground himself in the present.

"Pharm? Are you in there?" Team's voice called from the other side.

Pharm pushed his chair back, his body stiff from sitting so long in front of the screen. "Yeah, come in," he called.

The door creaked open, and Team stepped in, his grin wide and infectious. "Hey, I thought I'd find you here," he said, plopping down on the bed. "I was starting to think you were living in this room now."

Pharm offered a half-smile, feeling a slight weight lift from his chest. "I'm just... looking for something," he said quietly, unsure if he should share his ongoing search for In and Korn.

Team didn't seem to notice the hesitation. "Something, huh? Anything exciting?" He leaned back, resting his arms behind his head.

Pharm glanced over at the desk, the papers still laid out. His thoughts flitted to the truth he was hiding but he shook it off. It wasn't time to share that just yet. "Not really. Just... some research for the cooking club," Pharm said, his voice sounding lighter than it felt.

"Cooking club, huh? So, you've been spending all this time researching recipes?" Team smirked. "Didn't know you were so into it."

"Yeah, well, there's a lot to learn," Pharm replied, moving toward the window. He glanced out at the campus below, watching as students hustled by, oblivious to the tangled thoughts spinning in his head. "It's just... kind of complicated sometimes."

Team studied Pharm, his gaze sharpening for a moment. "Complicated?" he asked. "Everything okay?"

Pharm stiffened but didn't want to lie, even though part of him wanted to brush it off. He swallowed and leaned against the desk, tapping his fingers against the wood. "It's just... I don't know," he started, trying to understand what was happening in his head. "I've been feeling... a lot of things lately. And not all of them make sense. I'm not sure if it's me, or something else."

Team's face softened. "You're talking about what happened with your memories, right?"

Pharm met Team's eyes, surprised by his insight. "Yeah," Pharm admitted, his voice quiet. "I've been trying to figure things out. My memories... they feel like they belong to someone else sometimes. But they're not. And now, I don't know how to make sense of all of it."

Team leaned forward, his expression sincere. "Pharm, it's okay. You don't have to figure it out all at once. We're here for you, man. Whatever you need."

Pharm nodded, grateful but still unsure. "I don't even know where to start anymore."

Team stood up and walked over to him, clapping him on the back with a grin. "Hey, we're not in a rush. Whatever's bothering you, just let it out when you're ready. I'm sure you'll figure it out."

Pharm offered a small smile, but inside, the conflict lingered. He didn't know how to explain that the answers he sought weren't just for himself but for someone who seemed lost in time—a past life, a tragedy that still haunted him. But how could he share that with Team or anyone else when he wasn't even sure what it meant yet?

"Thanks," Pharm said softly. "I'll... think about it."

"That's all I ask," Team said, giving him a friendly nod. "Just remember, you're not alone in this. If you need someone to talk to, you've got me. And you've got Manaow."

Pharm nodded, but his thoughts remained tangled. He glanced at the clock on the wall and then back at the research papers strewn across his desk. A part of him wanted to dive deeper into the mystery of In and Korn, but he knew he couldn't ignore his own well-being either. The weight of it all, the emotions, the uncertainty—it was taking its toll.

Team seemed to sense Pharm's inner turmoil and stood up, stretching. "Alright, well, I'll let you get back to it. Just don't shut yourself in here too long, okay? Come out and join us once in a while."

Pharm smiled faintly. "I'll try."

With a final wave, Team left the room, and Pharm was left alone with his thoughts again. He sat down at his desk, staring at the papers and the computer screen that had yet to provide him with answers.

Pharm thought about the dream again—the images of In and Korn laughing together, holding hands, their love so pure, so tangible. It felt like a lifetime ago, yet the memories still hung heavy in his heart. And then there was Korn's final act—the gunshot, the tragedy that ended everything.

Pharm closed his eyes, breathing deeply. "What happened to you two?" he whispered to himself. "What went wrong?"

But the answers were still hidden, somewhere in the depths of the past, just beyond his reach.

The weight of the question pressed down on him. His heart longed for answers, for closure, for something that could make sense of it all. But the more he searched, the more he realized that some things—some stories—might never fully unravel.

Pharm opened his notebook and began writing once again. This time, not just about his memories or the love of In and Korn, but about himself. His feelings, his confusion, his struggles. He couldn't remain in the dark forever. He had to find a way to move forward, even if the answers he sought were never fully given.

With the pen in his hand, Pharm wrote the words: "Maybe some stories are meant to stay incomplete."

The morning sun filtered softly through Pharm's curtains, casting gentle patterns on the walls of his room. He sat up slowly, the remnants of the vivid flashback of Intouch still lingering in his mind. The dream had felt so real—In's laughter, his expressions, the way he moved—it was as if Pharm had been transported back in time. Yet, the frustration remained: he still didn't know In and Korn's last names, making his search for answers feel like chasing shadows.

Determined to make progress, Pharm decided to try a different approach. If traditional research methods weren't yielding results, perhaps personal connections might help. He recalled that his grandmother had lived through the era that matched the setting of his flashbacks. Maybe she knew stories or rumors that could provide a clue.

After his classes, Pharm made his way to his grandmother's house, a quaint home nestled among blooming frangipani trees. The scent of jasmine greeted him as he entered the garden. His grandmother was seated on the porch, knitting a delicate scarf.

"Pharm, what a pleasant surprise!" she exclaimed, her eyes lighting up.

"Hi, Grandma," he replied with a warm smile. "I was hoping we could talk. I have some questions about the past."

She gestured to the chair beside her. "Of course, dear. What's on your mind?"

Pharm took a deep breath. "I've been curious about stories from when you were young—especially about people named Intouch and Korn. Did you ever know anyone by those names?"

His grandmother's knitting needles paused mid-click. A fleeting expression crossed her face, but it was gone so quickly that Pharm wondered if he'd imagined it.

"Intouch and Korn," she repeated softly. "Those are names I haven't heard in a long time."

Pharm's heart quickened. "So you did know them?"

She gazed out into the garden, her eyes distant. "They were students, just like you. Full of life and dreams. Their story was... well, it was quite something."

"Grandma, please, anything you can tell me would help," Pharm urged gently.

She looked at him thoughtfully. "Why the sudden interest?"

He hesitated. "I've been having dreams—memories, almost—about them. It feels important, but I can't piece it all together."

She reached over and patted his hand. "Sometimes the past has ways of reaching out to us. Intouch Chatpokin and Korn Ariyasakul were indeed real. Their families were prominent, but there was tension between them."

"Do you know what happened to them?"

She sighed heavily. "Their love was forbidden, and tragically, they couldn't find a way to overcome the obstacles. It's said that Korn took his own life, and Intouch was heartbroken."

Pharm felt a lump in his throat. "That's so sad."

"It was a different time," she replied softly. "Societal pressures were strong. But why do you feel so connected to them?"

He contemplated revealing everything but decided to keep it vague for now. "I just feel like their story shouldn't be forgotten."

She smiled gently. "Perhaps you're right. Maybe it's time their tale is remembered."

As the afternoon wore on, they talked more about the past. While his grandmother didn't have all the answers, knowing their full names was a significant breakthrough.

Leaving her house, Pharm felt a mix of sorrow and determination. With Intouch's and Korn's last names—Chatpokin and Ariyasakul—he finally had the keys to delve deeper into their history. He resolved to honor their memory and perhaps, in understanding their past, find peace in his present. 

Pharm returned to his apartment, his mind racing with his grandmother's revelation. Intouch Chatpokin and Korn Ariyasakul—finally, he had names, tangible pieces of the puzzle that had haunted him. But the weight of their tragic love story and its eerie resemblance to his dreams left him restless.

Sitting at his desk, Pharm opened his laptop, ready to dive back into his search. This time, with their full names, he hoped to uncover more about their lives. He typed "Korn Ariyasakul" into the search bar, followed by "family." Several articles and genealogy sites appeared, and Pharm began combing through them meticulously.

An article caught his eye: The Ariyasakul Family Legacy. He clicked on it, his pulse quickening.

The article detailed the Ariyasakul family's history, influence in business, and the various members who had played significant roles in their community. It mentioned Korn Ariyasakul, the youngest son, who had tragically passed away in his youth. But what struck Pharm most were the names of Korn's brothers—Kann and Krit.

Pharm froze. His father's name was Kann. Kann Ariyasakul.

The thought made his head spin. Could it be a coincidence? Was it possible that his father, Kann, was the same Kann Ariyasakul mentioned in the article? But his family name had always been Triwinij, his mother's maiden name. Why would his father change it?

Pharm sat back in his chair, his mind racing through the possibilities. His father had never spoken much about his past. Sometimes, Pharm sensed that his dad was carrying burdens he couldn't share. Could this be why?

He reached for his phone, his hands trembling slightly. He needed to talk to someone—his mom. She might have answers. Dialing her number, he waited as the phone rang.

"Pharm, sweetheart! How are you?" his mother's cheerful voice greeted him.

"Hi, Mom," Pharm said, trying to steady his voice. "I'm okay. I just... I have some questions about Dad."

There was a brief pause on the other end. "What kind of questions, dear?"

Pharm took a deep breath. "Did Dad ever mention the name Ariyasakul to you?"

His mother was silent for a moment, then sighed. "Pharm, why are you asking about this now?"

"I've been researching, and I came across the Ariyasakul family. They had a son named Kann. Mom... was Dad Kann Ariyasakul?"

Another heavy pause followed. When his mother spoke again, her voice was soft, almost cautious. "Yes, Pharm. Your father was born Kann Ariyasakul."

Pharm's heart pounded in his chest. "Why did he change his last name? Why didn't he ever tell me?"

His mother sighed again. "It wasn't an easy decision for him. When your father and I married, he wanted to leave his past behind. The Ariyasakul name carried a lot of weight and pain for him. He wanted a fresh start for our family, so he took my maiden name, Triwinij."

"But why? What happened that made him want to leave it all behind?" Pharm pressed.

His mother hesitated. "Pharm, there were things your father went through that he didn't want to burden you with. Losing his brother Korn was a tragedy that affected him deeply. And there were... family issues that complicated things further."

Pharm felt a lump in his throat. "So he never talked about Korn? About what happened?"

"No," his mother said quietly. "It was too painful for him. He wanted to protect you from that part of his life."

Pharm's mind reeled with this new information. His father had been Korn's brother. The tragedy he had been trying to uncover was intimately connected to his family. But the pieces still didn't fully fit. Why had his father distanced himself so completely from the Ariyasakul name?

"Mom," Pharm said softly, "did Dad ever talk about Intouch Chatpokin?"

His mother's voice was laced with sadness. "Only once. He said Korn and Intouch were deeply in love, but their families didn't accept their love. When Korn died, it broke your father's heart. He never forgave himself for being unable to protect his younger brother."

Pharm's chest tightened. The story he had been piecing together suddenly felt much heavier and more personal. His father had carried the weight of Korn's death all these years, and Pharm had never known.

"Thank you for telling me, Mom," he said, his voice thick with emotion.

"Of course, sweetheart," she replied gently. "I wish your father were still here to explain everything himself."

After ending the call, Pharm sat silently, processing everything he had just learned. His father's past, his connection to Korn and Intouch, the weight of their tragedy—it all felt overwhelming, but it also brought new clarity.

Pharm opened his notebook and began writing again with renewed purpose. He wrote about his father, the Ariyasakul family, and the love story of Korn and Intouch. The pieces were finally coming together, but there was still so much he didn't understand.

Why had the love between Korn and Intouch been so vehemently rejected? What had truly driven Korn to take his own life? And most importantly, what had happened to Intouch after Korn's death?

Pharm knew the answers wouldn't come easily, but he was determined to find them. His journey wasn't just about uncovering the past but about healing the wounds passed down through generations.

And as he stared at the name Korn Ariyasakul written in his notebook, Pharm made a silent vow. He would honor their story, no matter how painful it was, and ensure that the love they shared would never be forgotten. The puzzle pieces began falling into place, but he still didn't know everything. And he knew that until he did, he wouldn't be able to move on.

He needed more information to understand why his father had left behind Korn's family, why he had changed his name, and what had truly happened between them all those years ago. Pharm knew one thing for sure: his journey into the past had only just begun.

Pharm sat on his bed, his notebook on his lap, filled with pages of thoughts, revelations, and questions. The weight of everything he had learned about his father and the connection to Korn Ariyasakul was almost too much to bear. Yet, beneath the heaviness, there was also a sense of clarity. For the first time in weeks, the puzzle pieces were starting to form a picture, even if some parts were still missing.

But Pharm couldn't shake the lingering thought of Dean. Since their brief encounters, Pharm had felt an inexplicable pull toward him. It wasn't just about the past; it was about something deeper that felt like it belonged to this life.

"I need to talk to him," Pharm murmured, closing his notebook. "Even if it's just to get to know him better."

The decision felt right, even if Pharm wasn't ready to share everything about Korn and Intouch. He wanted to build a connection with Dean first, without the burden of past lives looming over them.

The next day, Pharm arrived early for his appointment with Dr. Sutthida. The waiting room was quiet, and the soft hum of air conditioning was the only sound. He sat on the couch, fiddling with the strap of his bag. His thoughts swirled, but he reminded himself why he was here—to unpack what he had learned about his father and perhaps gain some guidance on moving forward.

"Pharm," the receptionist called softly, "Dr. Sutthida will see you now."

Pharm stood, taking a deep breath before walking into the familiar office. Dr. Sutthida greeted him with a warm smile, her presence as calm and grounding as ever.

"Good to see you, Pharm," she said, gesturing for him to sit. "How have you been since our last session?"

Pharm settled into the chair, his hands resting on his knees. "A lot has happened," he admitted. "I've been digging into my dad's past, and I found out some things I wasn't prepared for."

Dr. Sutthida nodded, her expression encouraging him to continue. "What did you learn?"

Pharm hesitated for a moment, then began. "My dad wasn't always Kann Triwinij. He was born Kann Ariyasakul and changed his last name when he married my mom. I discovered his younger brother was Korn Ariyasakul, the same Korn I've been dreaming about."

Dr. Sutthida's eyes softened with understanding. "That's a significant discovery, Pharm. How do you feel about it?"

"I'm not sure," Pharm admitted. "It explains a lot—why my dad never talked about his family, why he seemed to carry so much pain. But it also makes me feel... connected to Korn and Intouch in a way I didn't expect. Like their story is part of my family's story now."

Dr. Sutthida leaned forward slightly. "It sounds like this connection brings clarity and a new set of questions. What do you feel you need to do next?"

Pharm thought for a moment. "I want to learn more about their story but also focus on the present. I've been thinking a lot about Dean. I need to talk to him, to build a connection, even if I'm not ready to tell him everything about Korn and Intouch."

"That sounds like a thoughtful approach," Dr. Sutthida said. "Building trust and a relationship with Dean could provide the foundation you need, both for understanding your connection and for grounding yourself in the present."

Pharm nodded. "It feels right. But I'm also scared. What if I'm wrong? What if getting closer to Dean makes everything more complicated?"

"Fear is natural, especially when stepping into unknown territory," Dr. Sutthida said gently. "But from what you've shared, this connection with Dean sounds important to you. Taking things one step at a time, without the pressure to have all the answers, can help you navigate these feelings."

Pharm felt a sense of relief wash over him. "That makes sense. I've been putting so much pressure on myself to figure everything out simultaneously. Maybe it's okay to take it slow."

"It is," Dr. Sutthida affirmed. "And remember, you don't have to do this alone. Whether it's talking to your friends, leaning on your mom, or continuing our sessions, there's support available to you."

Pharm smiled, feeling lighter than he had in days. "Thank you, Dr. Sutthida. I think I needed to hear that."

They spent the rest of the session discussing strategies for managing Pharm's anxiety and how he could approach his growing friendship with Dean without overwhelming himself. By the time the session ended, Pharm felt more grounded and had a clearer path forward. Pharm sat at his desk, staring at his phone back in his apartment. He had Dean's number—Team had shared it with him after their first club meeting—but he hadn't mustered the courage to use it yet.

"This is silly," Pharm muttered to himself. "It's just a message."

He opened his messaging app and typed out a simple text:

Hi Dean, it's Pharm. I was wondering if you'd like to meet up sometime? Maybe grab a coffee or something? Let me know if you're free.

He stared at the message momentarily, his finger hovering over the send button. His heart pounded, but he reminded himself of Dr. Sutthida's advice. Take things one step at a time.

With a deep breath, he hit send.

A few minutes later, his phone buzzed. Pharm's heart leapt as he saw Dean's name pop up on the screen.

Hey, Pharm. I'd like that. How about tomorrow afternoon? We can meet at the café near campus.

Pharm smiled, a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling up inside him.

Sounds great. See you tomorrow, he replied.

Pharm felt a strange sense of peace as he set his phone down. For the first time in weeks, he wasn't just searching for answers about the past but also stepping toward the future. And that, he realized, was just as important.

Chapter Text

Previously on Beautiful but Tragic

A few minutes later, his phone buzzed. Pharm's heart leapt as he saw Dean's name pop up on the screen.

Hey, Pharm. I'd like that. How about tomorrow afternoon? We can meet at the café near campus.

Pharm smiled, a mix of excitement and nervousness bubbling up inside him.

Sounds great. See you tomorrow, he replied.

Pharm felt a strange sense of peace as he set his phone down. For the first time in weeks, he wasn't just searching for answers about the past but also stepping toward the future. And that, he realized, was just as important.

The next day arrived far sooner than Pharm had expected. The morning sunlight filtered softly through his window as he awoke with a flutter of nerves in his stomach. His hand hovered over the phone on his nightstand. He had agreed to meet Dean at a café near the campus, but the thought of seeing him in person made his pulse race.

Pharm ran his hands through his hair and stood up, the cold floor under his feet grounding him momentarily. He’d thought about what to say all morning, and now, with the meeting looming ahead, it all felt surreal.

He glanced at the clock. He had time and was determined to make the most of it.

The memories of the past few days were still fresh. The haunting connection between him and In and the discovery of his father's painful history had left him feeling more exposed than ever. Yet, he knew he couldn’t keep living in the past. If meeting Dean was the first step toward facing the present, he had to take it.

Pharm arrived at the café early, the usual hum of the campus filling the air. He found a quiet corner with a good view of the door and settled down at a small table. His phone buzzed in his pocket, and he pulled it out, expecting a message from Dean. Instead, it was a message from Team.

Are you meeting Dean today?

Pharm hesitated for a moment before responding.

Yeah, just grabbing coffee. Why?

Just wanted to make sure you're not freaking out came the quick reply. I know you’re not exactly the most comfortable around him.

Pharm chuckled to himself, setting the phone down. I’ll be fine, he typed back, but he felt uncertain even as he said it. He was more nervous than he’d like to admit.

A few minutes later, Dean walked in, his tall frame easily noticeable in the crowded space. He looked around, his eyes landing on Pharm almost immediately. A warm smile spread across his face, and he made his way over to the table.

"Hey," Dean greeted him, his voice calm, but there was something in how his eyes met Pharm’s—something kind, yet careful. "Hope I’m not late."

Pharm smiled back, standing to greet him. "No, you’re fine. I just got here."

They both sat down, and an awkward silence hung between them for a moment. Pharm wasn’t sure how to start. He had imagined this moment a thousand times, but now that it was real, the words seemed to escape him.

Dean took the initiative, his tone light. "So, you’ve been at this university for a while now, right?"

Pharm nodded, grateful for the opening. "Yeah. A few months. It’s... been a lot to adjust to, but I’m getting the hang of it."

Dean’s expression softened, as if he could sense Pharm’s underlying tension. "It’s always a bit overwhelming at first. But it gets easier. I’m sure you’re doing fine."

Pharm appreciated the sentiment. He could feel himself starting to relax a little, but the undercurrent of anxiety still lingered. "Yeah, I think so."

Dean gave him a reassuring smile before glancing at the menu. "You’ve been to this café before, right? What do you usually get?"

Pharm looked at the menu before him, though he had already decided. "The iced latte here is really good. You?"

Dean laughed lightly. "I’m not picky. I’ll take whatever you’re getting."

Pharm waved over the server, and their drinks were ordered soon. As they waited for their coffee, their silence wasn’t uncomfortable anymore. Pharm found himself becoming more at ease with Dean's easy-going nature. There was something simple and unpretentious about him—something that made Pharm want to open up. But he wasn’t sure how much he could share just yet.

"So," Dean started, his fingers tapping the table lightly, "what do you like to do when you’re not buried in schoolwork?"

Pharm paused, trying to think of something that wouldn’t sound too boring. "I like to cook," he said finally. "Mostly Thai desserts. I’ve been trying to perfect some recipes."

Dean's eyes lit up. "Really? Thai desserts? That’s awesome! I’ve had some before, but never homemade. I’d love to try some sometime."

Pharm smiled, his heart lifting just a little. "Yeah, I could make some for you if you want. I... kind of enjoy it. It’s one of the few things that calms me down when stressed."

Dean nodded, his expression understanding. "Cooking sounds like a good way to unwind. I get it. Swimming does the same for me."

Pharm raised an eyebrow. "Swimming?"

Dean laughed, a playful spark in his eyes. "Yeah. I’m on the swimming team here. I’m sure you’ve heard of it."

Pharm’s pulse quickened slightly, but he kept his expression neutral. "I know of it. But I didn’t realize you swam. That’s impressive."

Dean shrugged, clearly not one to boast. "It’s just something I’ve always loved doing. I guess it’s my escape from everything else."

Pharm was fascinated by Dean’s easy manner and how he spoke about his passions. He had always admired people who could be so unapologetically themselves.

As the conversation continued, Pharm started to feel more at ease. They talked about school, life, and the small things that brightened their days. Dean had a natural charm, and getting lost in the conversation was easy. But in the back of his mind, Pharm couldn't stop thinking about the connection he felt. It was subtle, something he couldn’t quite put into words, but it was there.

They talked for over an hour, exchanging stories and ideas, and it felt like time had slipped away unnoticed. Pharm realized, with some surprise, that he was enjoying himself. He hadn’t felt this relaxed in a long time.

Eventually, Dean looked at his watch as the conversation started to wind down. "Well, I should probably get going. Practice starts soon."

Pharm nodded, a bit reluctant to end their time together. "Yeah, of course. Thanks for meeting up with me."

Dean smiled, standing up. "No problem. It was nice talking to you, Pharm. Let’s do this again sometime."

Pharm stood up as well, feeling the familiar tug in his chest. "Yeah, definitely."

Dean hesitated momentarily before walking toward the door, giving Pharm one last, warm smile. "See you around."

As Pharm watched Dean leave the café, he felt something unspoken between them—a feeling beyond mere chance. There was something there, something that Pharm couldn't fully grasp yet. He wasn’t sure where it would lead, but he felt he was on the right path for the first time in a while.

Pharm returned to his apartment, his thoughts racing as he replayed the conversation. He couldn't help but wonder if Dean felt the same pull and connection. But Pharm wasn't ready to label it—not yet.

When he arrived back at his apartment, he sat down at his desk, his mind whirling with thoughts and emotions. He thought about what Dr. Sutthida had said in their last session: "Take things one step at a time." He knew that Dean wasn’t the answer to all his questions, but he was a part of something bigger—something that Pharm didn’t fully understand yet. But that was okay.

Pharm closed his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath. His future was no longer a blur. It was unfolding slowly, and with every step, he was learning to navigate it. The journey wasn’t over yet, but for the first time, Pharm felt ready to take it.

The days following Pharm’s meeting with Dean passed quietly. Life at the university moved at its usual pace—lectures, assignments, cooking club activities, and casual moments spent with Team and Manaow. Yet, beneath the calm surface, Pharm’s mind churned ceaselessly. He carried the knowledge his mother had reluctantly confirmed with him: his father, Kann Triwinij, was once Kann Ariyasakul. The younger brother of Korn Ariyasakul. The same Korn whose tragic love with Intouch Chatpokin had fueled Pharm’s mysterious memories and dreams.

Knowing that his father’s past was intricately bound up with the story of In and Korn changed everything. He wasn’t uncovering just some distant tragedy; it was part of his family’s history, a legacy of heartbreak that his father had tried to leave behind by changing his surname and forging a new life.

Pharm felt the weight of generations pressing on him. He wanted to find meaning, to comprehend why this sadness had passed down to him and how it connected to the flashes of memory that seemed to surface whenever he dreamed. He also found himself returning, time and again, to thoughts of Dean—the way Dean’s presence seemed to resonate with something deep within him, something that felt both old and new at the same time.

He had spoken with Dr. Sutthida about his revelations, and her guidance had helped calm the storm inside him. She encouraged him to take things slowly and approach Dean as a friend first, without trying to force the entire burden of his inherited past upon him. She reminded Pharm that he had his healing to do, and that understanding his father’s decision and acknowledging his family’s pain would be a journey in itself.

Now, a few days later, as the late afternoon sun descended, Pharm walked alone along a quiet street that led to the cemetery where his father was buried. The sky was painted with soft hues of pink and orange, the air mild and still. The hustle and bustle of the campus and the city beyond felt distant here as if this place existed in a separate, gentler reality. He rarely came here—visiting his father’s grave had always been difficult. The loss had happened years ago, when Pharm was just a child, and while he missed his father, the details of their time together had grown hazy. He remembered the warmth of his father’s smile, the gentleness in his eyes, the patient way he explained small wonders of life to a curious young boy. But never had his father spoken of the Ariyasakul name nor Korn.

Yet, here he was, seeking a connection with a man who could no longer answer him. The cemetery was peaceful, with well-tended lawns and neat rows of graves marked with weathered headstones. A few scattered visitors placed flowers or stood silently to remember their loved ones. Pharm moved carefully down the pathways, feeling a strange mix of anxiety and resolve. As his mother once told him, he carried a small bouquet of white lilies—his father’s favorite flower.

He reached the grave and stood there, his heart pounding softly. The headstone bore the name Kann Triwinij, along with his birth and death dates. There were no hints here of the past he had left behind, no mention of the Ariyasakul name—just his father’s chosen identity, the life he had built with Pharm’s mother, and the memory of their family that existed now only in memories and stories.

Pharm knelt and arranged the lilies at the foot of the grave, trembling fingers. The silence around him felt comforting and profound, as if the world held its breath, waiting for him to speak.

"Hi, Dad," Pharm said softly, his voice almost swallowed by the hush of the cemetery. "It’s been a while since I came here." He paused, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I’ve learned some things—about you, about our family—that I didn’t know before. I know that your real surname was Ariyasakul, and that you had a brother named Korn."

He looked down at his hands, fingers curling into the fabric of his pants. "I know why you never told me. I think I understand. It must have been so painful, losing him like that. Losing someone you loved so much, someone you couldn’t save. I’m sorry you had to carry that pain."

Pharm closed his eyes, trying to imagine his father’s face, to recall the warmth of his hand, the timbre of his voice. "I’ve been having these dreams, these memories—of Korn and Intouch. They were in love, but something went wrong. I know Korn took his own life, and it destroyed Intouch. I don’t know all the details yet, but it must have affected you too. He was your brother, after all."

He paused, his voice trembling slightly. "I wish you could tell me why you changed your name. I mean, I understand why you wanted a fresh start. But I wish we could have talked about it. Maybe if I knew earlier, I could have understood you better, and myself better."

The silence stretched out, and Pharm allowed himself to feel the grief of acknowledging this hidden family history. He’d learned from Dr. Sutthida that it was okay not to have all the answers and to acknowledge the pain of what was unknown. The important thing was that he was trying and taking steps forward, one at a time.

A gentle breeze stirred the leaves of a nearby tree, and Pharm imagined it might be his father’s silent acknowledgment, a subtle encouragement from beyond. The rational part of him knew better, but in that quiet moment, he allowed himself the comfort of that thought.

"I’ve met someone," Pharm said softly. "His name is Dean. I don’t know if he’s connected to all this, but I feel something when I’m around him. I won’t tell him about Korn and Intouch, anyway. But I want to get to know him. I want to find my path, separate from all the previous pain."

Pharm brushed away a tear that threatened to escape. "I guess I’m trying to say that I’m sorry I couldn’t have asked you all this when you were still here. I’m sorry I didn’t know sooner. But I’m going to keep looking, keep trying to understand. I think that’s what you would have wanted—for me to be curious, to seek the truth, and to find my happiness."

He took a shaky breath, looking up at the sky. The colors had shifted to a deeper orange, the sun inching closer to the horizon. "Dad, I miss you," Pharm whispered. "I know I won’t get any answers from you here, but I hope you’re at peace. And I hope that, wherever Korn and Intouch are, they’ve found peace too."

The enormity of what he’d just done—speaking openly to his father’s grave—left Pharm feeling both lighter and more fragile. He lingered longer, lost in thought, before finally rising to his feet. He cast one last look at the headstone, then turned and walked away, each step echoing softly in the late afternoon stillness.

Back in his apartment, Pharm sat at his desk, notebook open. He wrote down every detail he could remember, not just from his visit to the grave, but from his dreams, his sessions with Dr. Sutthida, and his conversation with his mother. Now that he had more pieces—Intouch Chatpokin, Korn Ariyasakul, his father Kann Ariyasakul—the puzzle felt more tangible, even if not complete.

He replayed the conversation with Dr. Sutthida in his mind: how she encouraged him to find balance, to not rush into telling Dean everything. He had followed that advice, meeting Dean as just Pharm, a young man with interests, friends, and a budding curiosity about this intriguing swimmer. That meeting had gone well, and now Pharm felt more confident he could continue building a friendship with Dean without needing to spill all the secrets haunting his mind.

Pharm also considered going back to Dr. Sutthida soon to share what had happened at his father’s grave—how it had felt and what it meant. She’d likely tell him that acknowledging his father’s pain and legacy was an important step toward healing, and he believed her. He would make an appointment and talk it through, knowing her guidance had helped him steady himself.

In the quiet of the evening, Pharm’s phone buzzed with a message from Team:

How did it go with Dean? You alive?
Pharm smiled faintly and replied: I survived. It was good. We’ll talk more tomorrow.

Setting the phone aside, Pharm considered his next steps. He wanted to learn more about the Ariyasakul family and why their love story ended in tragedy. Now that he knew his father’s original surname, perhaps he could find family records or references in old publications. He also wondered if there were still people who remembered Korn and Intouch—older alumni, perhaps, who might share stories if asked the right questions.

Yet, he didn’t want to become consumed by the past. Dr. Sutthida had warned him about letting these mysteries overshadow his well-being. He needed to pace himself. Maybe he’d dedicate a few hours each week to research, and spend the rest of his time focusing on his classes, his cooking club, and nurturing friendships—especially with Dean.

Pharm recalled Dean’s smile and their easy conversation at the café. It had been so normal, so human, free from the burden of secrets and sorrow. He longed to maintain that normalcy, to let something pure and uncomplicated grow between them before risking it with all the weighty truths he carried.

"One step at a time," Pharm reminded himself, echoing Dr. Sutthida’s words. He wrote that phrase down in his notebook, underlining it. One step at a time—to heal, discover the past, and forge a path forward without losing himself.

His gaze drifted to the window, where the night sky stretched over the city, countless stars scattered across the darkness. Maybe somewhere out there, Intouch and Korn’s story existed in another form, another time. Maybe their love was written in the stars, or it had left invisible scars that resonated in descendants like him.

Pharm sighed, his heart heavy yet hopeful. Tomorrow, he would continue with his life—attend classes, meet with friends, and consider making another therapy appointment with Dr. Sutthida. Perhaps he’d text Dean again, ask if he wanted to try another café, or show him some of his cooking skills. The thought brought a faint smile to his lips.

There was so much he didn’t understand; maybe he never would fully. But he was learning to live with the questions, to find strength in the mystery rather than despair. His father’s past, Korn’s tragedy, Intouch’s sorrow—they were chapters in a story older than him. Still, now that he knew about them, he felt a responsibility to carry their memory forward and maybe, in some small way, to give them the peace that had eluded them in life.

Pharm closed his notebook, stood up from his desk, and stretched. He felt tired, but not defeated. He walked to the kitchen and inhaled the fragrant steam and brewed a cup of chamomile tea. In that quiet moment, he allowed himself to feel the complexity of his emotions without judgment.

It was enough for now to know that he was making progress, forging ahead through uncertainty. He had faced his father’s grave, acknowledged the painful past, and vowed to move forward. He had taken the first steps toward understanding Dean, forging a connection in the present that might anchor him in reality and prevent him from drifting too far into the realm of memory and longing.

And so, as the night deepened, Pharm carried a sense of resolve with him. There would be more questions, conversations with Dr. Sutthida, and subtle hints in dreams and old records. There would be more quiet moments by his father’s grave and hopefully more bright afternoons with Dean. Step by step, he would navigate this delicate path.

In the silence of his room, Pharm whispered to himself: "I’m doing the best I can." And somehow, that felt like a truth he could hold on to.

A quiet determination marked the days following Pharm’s visit to his father’s grave. He felt a subtle shift within himself, a fragile but firm resolve to move forward—not by pushing the past away, but by understanding it and finding his place amidst the chaos of inherited pain and unanswered questions.

It wasn’t easy. The revelations about his father, Kann Ariyasakul, and his connection to Korn and Intouch still weighed heavily on his mind. The memories and dreams that surfaced without warning continued to haunt him, sometimes making him question where his emotions ended and theirs began. And then there was Dean—Dean, who seemed to stir something deep within him, something inexplicable yet familiar.

Pharm sat at his small kitchen table, the early morning sunlight streaming through the window. A steaming cup of tea sat untouched beside him as he flipped through the pages of his notebook. Each entry chronicled his journey: his fears, his questions, his conversations with Dr. Sutthida, and his growing awareness of the ties between his life and those of Korn and Intouch.

The notebook had become a lifeline where he could express his thoughts without fear of judgment. He lingered on the page he’d written the night after visiting his father’s grave.

"I know I’ll never get answers from him, but I feel closer to understanding why he changed his name and left that life behind. It must have been unbearable to lose Korn, to carry that pain into a new family and try to shield us from it. I hope he knew I would have loved him no matter what."

Pharm sighed, closing the notebook. Today, he felt the need to share some of these thoughts with his therapist and someone who had seen him through his darkest moments.

Picking up his phone, Pharm scrolled through his contacts until he found Jack’s name. He hesitated for a moment before pressing the call button. It wasn’t long before Jack’s familiar voice came through.

"Pharm! Long time no call. How are you?"

Pharm smiled faintly, hearing the warmth in his friend’s tone. "Hey, Jack. I’m okay... sort of. Are you free to talk?"

"Of course," Jack said immediately. "What’s on your mind?"

Pharm hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "I’ve been learning a lot about my dad recently. It's stuff I didn’t know before. It’s... heavy, Jack. It’s connected to these dreams I’ve been having about this couple—Korn and Intouch. And now I know they’re part of my family’s past. My dad’s past."

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line. "Wow," Jack said finally. "That sounds... intense. Are you okay?"

"I don’t know," Pharm admitted. "I’m trying to make sense of it all. But the more I learn, the more questions I have. And it’s hard because my dad isn’t here to explain anything."

Jack’s voice softened. "That’s tough, man. But you’re doing the right thing by trying to understand. Have you talked to your therapist about this?"

"Yeah," Pharm said. "Dr. Sutthida’s been helpful. She reminds me to take things one step at a time and not to get lost in the past. But it’s hard, Jack. Sometimes I feel like I’m carrying all this weight—my dad’s pain, Korn and Intouch’s tragedy, my struggles—and I don’t know how to let it go."

"You don’t have to carry it all alone," Jack said firmly. "You’ve got people who care about you—Sarah, me, your friends in Thailand. We’re here for you, Pharm. Don’t forget that."

Pharm felt a lump in his throat but managed a small smile. "Thanks, Jack. That means a lot."

"Anytime," Jack said. "And hey, if you ever need to vent or talk, you know where to find me."

"Yeah, I do," Pharm said. "Thanks again."

Later that afternoon, Pharm found himself in Dr. Sutthida’s office. The familiar, calming space felt like a sanctuary from the storm of emotions swirling inside him.

Dr. Sutthida greeted him warmly and motioned for him to sit. "How have you been, Pharm?"

Pharm hesitated before answering. "It’s been... a lot. I went to my dad’s grave a few days ago. I talked to him about everything I’ve been feeling and learning. It helped, but it also left me with more questions."

Dr. Sutthida nodded, her expression thoughtful. "That’s often the case with loss and unresolved family history. What questions are weighing on you the most?"

Pharm took a deep breath. "I keep wondering why my dad never told me about Korn or our connection to the Ariyasakul family. I understand wanting a fresh start, but he was running away from something. And now I’m left to piece it all together."

"Do you feel anger toward your father for not telling you?" she asked gently.

Pharm shook his head quickly. "No, not anger. Just... sadness. I wish I could have talked to him about it, that’s all."

Dr. Sutthida leaned forward slightly. "It’s okay to feel that sadness, Pharm. It’s a natural part of grieving, even years after a loss. But it’s also important to acknowledge how your father tried to protect you. His decision to leave the past behind may have been his way of giving you a chance to grow up without the weight of that pain."

Pharm nodded slowly. "I think I understand that now. It’s just... hard."

"It is," Dr. Sutthida agreed. "But you’re doing the work, Pharm. You’re facing these feelings, trying to make sense of them. That takes courage."

Pharm managed a small smile. "Thanks. That means a lot to hear."

As the session ended and Pharm went home, his thoughts drifted to Dean. His connection with him was undeniable, but he hesitated to tell Dean everything. He decided to focus on building their friendship, letting it develop naturally.

Later that evening, Pharm texted Dean: Hey, are you free this weekend? I was thinking of trying out that new dessert recipe I told you about. Maybe you could taste-test it for me?

The reply came quickly: Sounds great. Let me know when and where.

Pharm smiled to himself, a flicker of warmth cutting through the heaviness of the past few days. One step at a time, he reminded himself. And for now, that was enough.

Chapter Text

Previously on Beautiful but Tragic

As the session ended and Pharm went home, his thoughts drifted to Dean. His connection with him was undeniable, but he hesitated to tell Dean everything. He decided to focus on building their friendship, letting it develop naturally.

Later that evening, Pharm texted Dean: Hey, are you free this weekend? I was thinking of trying out that new dessert recipe I told you about. Maybe you could taste-test it for me?

The reply came quickly: Sounds great. Let me know when and where.

Pharm smiled to himself, a flicker of warmth cutting through the heaviness of the past few days. One step at a time, he reminded himself. And for now, that was enough.

Pharm sat at his desk later that night, carefully flipping through his notebook. The steady hum of his desk lamp provided a comforting backdrop as he reviewed the recipes he had copied down earlier. His plan to invite Dean over for a dessert tasting felt both exhilarating and nerve-wracking. He wanted to make something special, something meaningful, but he wasn't sure what that should be.

The sticky note Dean had written was tucked neatly between the pages. He stared at it for a moment, the neatly written "Thank you, Dean" sparking a soft smile. It wasn't much, but it had been the first tangible connection between them—one that Pharm hoped to build on.

After a few more moments of deliberation, he decided on a recipe for pandan jelly. Simple yet elegant, it was a Thai dessert that Pharm had always loved making. Its soft texture and delicate flavor felt like the right choice—not too overwhelming, but still enough to leave an impression. Satisfied, Pharm closed his notebook and started gathering the ingredients from his small kitchen pantry.

The next morning, sunlight streamed into Pharm's apartment as he stood in his kitchen, meticulously preparing the pandan jelly. He loved the process of cooking—it grounded him, giving him something tangible to focus on. The rhythm of measuring, mixing, and pouring helped quiet the thoughts that so often spiraled in his mind.

As he poured the vibrant green liquid into small molds, his phone buzzed on the counter. Wiping his hands on a towel, he picked it up to see a message from Dean.

What time should I come over?

Pharm's heart skipped a beat. Even though this wasn't anything grand—a simple dessert tasting between acquaintances—it felt monumental to him. He quickly typed back: Around 3 PM. Hope that works for you.

Dean's response was almost immediate: Perfect. See you then.

Pharm stared at the screen for a moment, a nervous smile tugging at his lips. This was happening. He was taking a step toward connecting with Dean, even if it was just through dessert.

By 2:45 PM, Pharm's apartment was spotless. He had arranged the pandan jelly neatly on a serving platter and set the table with care. His heart raced as he checked the time again, the minutes ticking by far too slowly.

When the knock finally came at his door, Pharm nearly jumped. Taking a deep breath, he smoothed his shirt and opened the door to find Dean standing there, casual and effortlessly handsome in a simple T-shirt and jeans.

"Hey," Dean said with a small smile, holding up a bag. "I brought some drinks. Hope you don't mind."

Pharm shook his head, stepping aside to let Dean in. "Not at all. Thanks for bringing them."

As Dean walked in, he glanced around the apartment, his gaze lingering on the small kitchen where the aroma of pandan and coconut still lingered. "It smells amazing in here."

"Thanks," Pharm said, his cheeks flushing slightly. "I just finished making everything. I hope you'll like it."

Dean set the bag of drinks on the counter and turned back to Pharm. "If it's anything like the desserts you made for the club, I'm sure it'll be incredible."

Pharm's smile grew, a small surge of confidence building within him. "Well, let's find out."

They sat at the small table, the platter of pandan jelly between them. Dean picked up one of the pieces with a spoon, studying the translucent green dessert for a moment before taking a bite. His expression shifted immediately, his eyebrows raising in pleasant surprise.

"This is really good," Dean said, his voice warm. "The texture is perfect, and the flavor is so light but rich at the same time."

Pharm exhaled a quiet breath of relief. "I'm glad you like it. It's one of my favorites to make."

Dean nodded, taking another bite. "You've got a real talent for this. Have you ever thought about pursuing cooking professionally?"

Pharm hesitated, caught off guard by the question. "I've thought about it, but I chose to study economics because I wanted to keep my options open. Cooking has always been more of a passion for me—something that feels personal, you know?"

Dean nodded thoughtfully. "That makes sense. But if you ever change your mind, I think you'd be amazing at it."

Pharm looked down at his plate, his cheeks warming again. "Thanks. That means a lot."

As they continued talking, the initial nervousness between them began to fade. Pharm found himself relaxing in Dean's presence, surprised by how easy it was to talk to him. They spoke about university life, their favorite foods, and even some childhood memories, though Pharm carefully avoided anything too personal.

Dean, too, seemed at ease, his usual stoic demeanor softening as they shared stories. At one point, he chuckled softly at something Pharm said, and the sound filled the small apartment like sunlight breaking through clouds.

"You're a lot different than I expected," Dean said suddenly, his tone thoughtful.

Pharm tilted his head, curious. "What do you mean?"

Dean shrugged, his gaze steady. "When I first saw you, I thought you were... quiet, maybe even shy. But now I see that there's more to you than that. You're passionate, confident in your own way. It's... refreshing."

Pharm blinked, caught off guard by the compliment. "I don't think anyone's ever described me like that before."

"Well, it's true," Dean said simply, a small smile tugging at his lips.

Pharm smiled back, feeling a warmth in his chest that he couldn't quite explain. For the first time in weeks, the weight of his worries felt lighter, as if sharing this moment with Dean had somehow lifted a part of the burden.

As Dean prepared to leave later that afternoon, he paused at the door, turning back to Pharm. "Thanks for inviting me over. I had a great time."

"Me too," Pharm said, his voice sincere. "Thanks for coming."

Dean hesitated for a moment, his gaze meeting Pharm's. There was something in his eyes—something searching, almost as if he were trying to piece together a puzzle that only Pharm could solve.

"If you ever need someone to talk to," Dean said finally, "I'm here. Just so you know."

Pharm's breath caught, the offer catching him off guard. But he nodded, his heart swelling with gratitude. "Thank you, Dean. That means a lot."

With a final smile, Dean stepped out into the hallway, leaving Pharm standing at the door. As the quiet settled back over the apartment, Pharm felt an unexpected sense of hope blooming within him. He didn't know what the future held—whether he would ever find the answers he was searching for or how his connection to Dean would unfold—but for now, he felt like he was on the right path.

One step at a time, he reminded himself. And for today, that was enough.

Pharm stood at the door for a moment after Dean left, the faint sound of the elevator doors closing echoing down the hall. He let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding, the smile lingering on his face as he closed the door and leaned against it. The afternoon had gone better than he could have hoped—Dean had enjoyed the dessert, they'd had a real conversation, and, for once, Pharm had felt like the past wasn't overshadowing his present.

As the evening settled in, Pharm found himself sitting at his desk, his notebook open in front of him. He flipped through the pages, his fingers brushing against the worn edges of the paper. Today's meeting with Dean had sparked a sense of clarity, a feeling that perhaps he was beginning to create something meaningful outside of the tangled memories of Korn and Intouch.

He picked up his pen and started to write:

"Today, I spent time with Dean. It wasn't about the past or the dreams—it was just us, two people sharing a moment. It felt... good. Normal. I think I needed that more than I realized. It's strange, though. There's this pull I feel toward him, like I've known him forever, even though we've only just started to talk. Maybe that's what makes it feel easy, like we're picking up a conversation we paused long ago."

He paused, tapping the pen against his lips. His thoughts drifted to the way Dean had looked at him before leaving, his words still echoing in Pharm's mind: "If you ever need someone to talk to, I'm here."

Pharm wrote again: "It's comforting, knowing he's there. But I wonder... what would he think if he knew the whole story? Would he understand, or would it push him away? I'm not ready to tell him yet. Maybe I'll never be. For now, it's enough just to have him in my life."

Satisfied, Pharm closed the notebook and set it aside. He stretched, his body aching slightly from sitting too long, and decided to make himself a light dinner. As he worked in the kitchen, chopping vegetables and boiling noodles for a quick stir-fry, his thoughts wandered to his next steps.

He still didn't know everything about Korn and Intouch's story or how it connected to his father's decision to leave the Ariyasakul name behind. But the questions no longer felt as overwhelming. He could take his time piecing the puzzle together, balancing it with his classes, his friendships, and his own healing.

The next morning, Pharm woke early to sunlight streaming through his curtains. The air felt crisp and fresh, as if the world itself were encouraging him to move forward. After his usual morning routine, he grabbed his backpack and made his way to campus, his mind already buzzing with plans.

First, he'd focus on his studies. There were assignments due next week, and he wanted to stay on top of things. Second, he'd make time to research Korn and Intouch further. Now that he knew his father's original surname, he had a starting point—perhaps university records or archives could reveal more about the Ariyasakul family.

Finally, he resolved to spend more time with Dean. Their meeting yesterday had reminded him how important it was to nurture connections in the present, to build relationships that weren't tied to the weight of the past.

During a break between classes, Pharm sat with Team under a shady tree near the courtyard. Team was scrolling through his phone, a mischievous grin on his face.

"What's so funny?" Pharm asked, taking a sip of his iced coffee.

Team turned his phone toward Pharm, showing him a meme about professors assigning impossible deadlines. "This is literally my life right now. I swear they think we're robots or something."

Pharm chuckled, shaking his head. "You'll survive. You always do."

"Speaking of surviving," Team said, leaning closer, "how did things go with Dean yesterday? Did he like the dessert?"

Pharm nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "He did. We had a good time."

Team smirked, his eyes gleaming with curiosity. "Good time, huh? Was it just dessert, or did you two... you know, talk?"

"We talked," Pharm admitted, rolling his eyes at Team's suggestive tone. "It was nice. We're starting to get to know each other better."

Team gave him a knowing look. "You like him."

Pharm's cheeks flushed, but he didn't deny it. "Maybe. I don't know. It's still early."

"Early, my ass," Team said with a laugh. "You've been blushing every time his name comes up since the orientation. Just go for it, Pharm. Life's too short to overthink everything."

Pharm sighed, though a part of him appreciated Team's straightforwardness. "I'm not overthinking. I just... I want to take my time with this. Dean's important to me, and I don't want to mess it up."

"Fair enough," Team said, his tone softening. "But if you need a push, you know I'm here."

Pharm smiled. "Thanks, Team."

After class, Pharm made his way to the university library. He'd decided to start his research with old yearbooks and student records, hoping to find something about Korn Ariyasakul and Intouch Chatpokin. Though he still didn't know their exact timeline, he guessed they'd been students around thirty years ago, based on what he remembered from his dreams and his father's age.

The library was quiet, the scent of old books and polished wood filling the air. Pharm approached the archives desk, where a kind-looking librarian greeted him.

"Hi," Pharm said hesitantly. "I'm looking for information about two former students. They would've been here around thirty years ago."

The librarian nodded, gesturing to a set of shelves in the corner. "We have yearbooks and some student directories from that time. You're welcome to browse through them."

"Thank you," Pharm said, his heart beating a little faster as he made his way to the shelves.

He spent the next hour flipping through yearbooks, scanning pages filled with black-and-white photographs and neatly printed names. He found several mentions of the Ariyasakul family—mostly in reference to Korn, who seemed to have been a prominent figure during his time at the university. There were pictures of him at formal events, smiling alongside other students, his expression calm and composed.

Intouch's name was harder to find, but Pharm eventually came across a group photo from a theater club. There, among the smiling faces, was a young man with bright eyes and an easy smile—Intouch Chatpokin. Seeing him brought a pang of emotion that Pharm couldn't quite explain.

He jotted down the page numbers and details, planning to revisit them later. For now, it was enough to know that he was making progress, however small.

As Pharm walked home that evening, his phone buzzed with a message from Dean.

Hey, I wanted to say thanks again for yesterday. The dessert was amazing, and it was nice talking to you. Let me know if you ever want to hang out again.

Pharm's heart lifted as he read the message, a smile spreading across his face. He quickly typed back: Thanks, Dean. I'd like that too. I'll let you know when I'm free.

With each step, Pharm felt a little lighter. He was still navigating the complexities of his past and his emotions, but he was also building something new—something that felt bright and hopeful. And for now, that was enough to keep him moving forward.

The cool night air drifted through Pharm's open window as he settled onto his couch, his laptop balanced on the cushion beside him. It had been a long day, and although he felt physically tired, his mind was restless. He needed to talk to someone—someone who knew him beyond the walls of the university, someone who could understand the weight he carried without judgment.

He logged into the video call app and clicked on the group chat he shared with Jake and Sarah. It was late in Thailand but early morning in America. Knowing his friends' habits, they would likely be awake.

The ringing tone filled the quiet room, and after a moment, Sarah's cheerful face appeared on the screen. Her red hair was tied in a messy bun, and she was nursing a mug of coffee.

"Pharm!" she greeted, her smile widening. "What's up? It's been a while since we had a proper call."

A second later, Jake joined the call, his face still groggy but smiling nonetheless. "Morning, buddy. You look... contemplative. What's going on?"

Pharm chuckled softly, appreciating how easily they could read his mood. "Hey, guys. Thanks for picking up. I just—" He paused, searching for the right words. "I needed to talk to someone."

Sarah leaned closer to her screen, her expression shifting to one of concern. "What's wrong? Are things okay over there?"

Pharm nodded, though the movement felt tentative. "Yeah, things are fine. I mean, I'm doing okay with school and everything. But... there's been a lot on my mind."

Jake rubbed his eyes, his voice softening. "We're here. Whatever it is, you know you can talk to us."

Pharm took a deep breath and began to explain. He started with the basics—the cooking club, his classes, and the friendships he was slowly building with Team and Manaow. Then, cautiously, he mentioned Dean. As he spoke, he noticed Sarah and Jake exchanging knowing glances.

"Wait, wait," Sarah interrupted, raising a hand. "Let me get this straight. You've been spending time with this Dean guy, and you feel a connection to him? Like, a deep connection?"

Pharm nodded, his cheeks warming. "Yeah. It's hard to explain. It's not just that he's... I don't know, kind or good-looking. There's something familiar about him, like I've known him forever. But I barely know him at all."

Jake whistled low. "That's intense, man. Do you think it has anything to do with... you know, the dreams and memories you've been having?"

Pharm hesitated. "Maybe. I don't know. I haven't told him about any of that, though. I don't want to scare him off."

Sarah's eyes softened. "You're being cautious, which is good. But don't close yourself off too much, Pharm. From what you've told us, it sounds like Dean is someone you could trust."

Pharm sighed, running a hand through his hair. "It's not just that. There's more—something I learned about my dad."

He explained how he had discovered his father's original surname and his connection to Korn Ariyasakul. As he recounted the story, Jake and Sarah listened intently, their expressions growing more serious.

"So your dad was Korn's brother," Sarah said slowly, piecing it together. "And he changed his last name to distance himself from that tragedy?"

Pharm nodded. "That's what I think. My mom confirmed that his name was originally Kann Ariyasakul, but she didn't know much about what happened between Korn and Intouch. It's like this whole part of our family history was hidden away."

Jake frowned, his voice thoughtful. "That's heavy, Pharm. No wonder you've been feeling so weighed down. Have you talked to anyone else about this? Your therapist, maybe?"

"I did," Pharm said. "Dr. Sutthida has been helping me process everything. She told me to take things one step at a time, not to let the past consume me. But it's hard. I keep thinking about Korn and Intouch—how their story ended in tragedy. I can't help but wonder if there's something I'm supposed to do to... I don't know, make things right somehow."

Sarah leaned forward, her tone gentle but firm. "Pharm, it's not your responsibility to fix what happened in the past. You can honor their memory, sure, but don't lose yourself in trying to solve something that's beyond your control."

Jake nodded in agreement. "Sarah's right. Focus on what you can do now—like building your own life, your own happiness. And maybe Dean can be part of that. He doesn't have to be the key to everything, but he could be someone who helps you figure it all out."

Pharm stared at the screen, their words sinking in. "You're right," he admitted quietly. "I've been so focused on the past, trying to piece together this puzzle, that I've been ignoring the present. But it's hard to let go, you know? It feels like there's so much tied to all of this—my dad, Korn, Intouch, and even me."

Sarah's smile was soft, reassuring. "Of course it's hard. You're dealing with a lot. But you don't have to carry it all on your own. You've got us, Team, Manaow, and maybe even Dean. Let people be there for you."

Jake added, "And don't forget to take care of yourself, man. You've been through a lot, and it's okay to take things slow."

Pharm felt a swell of gratitude for his friends. "Thanks, you two. I really needed to hear that."

"Anytime," Sarah said warmly. "And hey, if you ever want to talk more about Dean, we're all ears."

Jake chuckled. "Yeah, we need updates. Consider it a mandatory requirement."

Pharm laughed, the tension in his chest easing slightly. "Deal. I'll keep you posted."

As the call ended, Pharm felt a renewed sense of clarity. He wasn't alone in this—not in his struggles, his search for answers, or his budding connection with Dean. He had people who cared about him, who would help him navigate the complexities of his past and present.

He closed his laptop and sat in the quiet of his apartment, his thoughts calmer than they had been in days. Tomorrow, he decided, he would focus on the present—on his classes, his friends, and maybe even another message to Dean. One step at a time, as Dr. Sutthida had said.

For now, that was enough.

Chapter Text

Previously on Beautiful but Tragic

As the call ended, Pharm felt a renewed sense of clarity. He wasn't alone in this—not in his struggles, his search for answers, or his budding connection with Dean. He had people who cared about him, who would help him navigate the complexities of his past and present.

He closed his laptop and sat in the quiet of his apartment, his thoughts calmer than they had been in days. Tomorrow, he decided, he would focus on the present—on his classes, his friends, and maybe even another message to Dean. One step at a time, as Dr. Sutthida had said.

For now, that was enough.

The quiet hum of his desk lamp and the rhythmic chirping of crickets outside lulled him into a sense of peace he hadn’t felt in a long time. He leaned back on the couch, staring at the ceiling, replaying Sarah and Jake’s words in his mind. They were right—he didn’t have to shoulder this weight alone. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt like he could breathe.

But as much as he wanted to focus on the present, the past still called to him, faint but persistent, like a whisper in the back of his mind. He thought about the photographs he had seen in the yearbooks earlier that day—Korn’s composed smile, Intouch’s radiant energy. There was something hauntingly familiar about their faces, as if the fragments of his dreams were aligning with reality.

Before he could think too much about it, his phone buzzed on the coffee table. He reached for it, half-expecting another message from Dean, but it wasn’t. Instead, it was a notification from the university portal—a reminder about an upcoming campus memorial event.

Pharm frowned, scrolling through the details. The event was scheduled for next week, meant to honor alumni who had passed away and to reflect on their contributions to the university’s legacy. Normally, he wouldn’t have paid much attention to something like this, but one line caught his eye: The event will include a special tribute to Korn Ariyasakul and Intouch Chatpokin, whose story has inspired generations.

Pharm’s breath hitched. A tribute? To them? His chest tightened as questions flooded his mind. Why now? And who had arranged this? He didn’t recall anyone ever mentioning a university-wide acknowledgment of their story before.

Without thinking, Pharm clicked the RSVP button. He didn’t know what he hoped to find, but he couldn’t ignore the feeling that this event might hold more answers—answers about Korn and Intouch, about his father, and maybe even about himself. The following days passed in a blur. Pharm threw himself into his classes, his cooking, and his conversations with Dean, who continued to surprise him with his warmth and quiet attentiveness. They didn’t meet in person again, but their text exchanges became a nightly ritual, a comforting presence in Pharm’s day.

Dean: Hope your classes went well today. Did you figure out that econ assignment?

Pharm: Barely. I think I’m starting to get it, though. Thanks for explaining it to me yesterday—it helped a lot.

Dean: Anytime. Let me know if you need help with anything else. Or if you just want to talk.

Pharm stared at that last message for a long moment before replying: I will. Thanks, Dean.

He hesitated, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. Then, before he could overthink it, he added: By the way, there’s a memorial event on campus next week. They’re doing a tribute to two alumni—Korn Ariyasakul and Intouch Chatpokin. I’m planning to go. Would you want to come with me?

The reply came quickly: Of course. Just let me know the time.

Pharm’s heart swelled. Even though he hadn’t told Dean the full extent of his connection to Korn and Intouch, it felt significant that Dean would be there with him. Maybe, just maybe, he was beginning to build a bridge between his past and present. 

The day of the memorial arrived faster than Pharm had expected. He dressed carefully, choosing a simple white button-down and black slacks—respectful but not overly formal. As he looked at himself in the mirror, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of nervous anticipation.

When Dean arrived to pick him up, his calm presence immediately put Pharm at ease. Dean was dressed in a similar white shirt and black pants, his expression serious but kind.

“Ready?” Dean asked, his voice steady.

Pharm nodded, though his heart was racing. “Yeah. Let’s go.”

The university auditorium was packed when they arrived, the atmosphere somber but not heavy. Students, faculty, and alumni mingled quietly, their voices a soft murmur against the background of classical music playing over the speakers. On the stage, a large screen displayed a black-and-white photograph of Korn and Intouch, their names written in elegant script below.

Pharm felt a lump form in his throat as he stared at the image. He hadn’t expected it to hit him so hard—seeing their faces projected so clearly, so publicly. It felt like a reminder that their story was real, not just a fragment of his dreams.

Dean must have noticed the shift in his expression because he leaned in slightly, his voice low. “You okay?”

Pharm nodded, forcing a small smile. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

They found seats near the middle of the auditorium, and as the program began, Pharm tried to focus on the speakers. Professors and alumni took turns sharing stories about Korn and Intouch—their talents, their contributions to the university, and the tragic end that had cut their lives short.

But as Pharm listened, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. The speakers talked about Korn’s leadership and Intouch’s charisma, but no one mentioned the depth of their relationship, the love that had bound them together. It was as if that part of their story had been erased, sanitized for the sake of propriety.

As the tribute concluded, a small group of attendees was invited to lay flowers at a memorial plaque near the stage. Pharm watched as people approached, their expressions solemn, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. The weight of the moment pressed down on him, and for a brief second, he felt like he couldn’t breathe.

Dean’s hand brushed against his, grounding him. “Pharm,” he said softly, his voice steady. “Do you want to go up there?”

Pharm looked at him, his eyes wide and uncertain. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Yeah. I think I do.”

They stood together and made their way to the front. As Pharm placed a single white flower on the plaque, he felt a rush of emotion—grief, longing, and a strange sense of connection. He closed his eyes, his thoughts swirling with images of Korn and Intouch, of their laughter, their love, and the pain that had ultimately consumed them.

When he opened his eyes, he found Dean watching him, his expression unreadable. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Then Dean broke the silence.

“Pharm,” he said quietly, “I don’t know everything you’re carrying, but I want you to know—you don’t have to do it alone. Whatever this is, whatever it means to you, I’m here.”

Pharm’s breath caught, the sincerity in Dean’s voice cutting through the noise in his mind. He nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you, Dean.”

The cool evening air wrapped around them like a balm as they walked out of the auditorium together. Pharm felt lighter somehow as if the act of honoring Korn and Intouch had lifted a part of the burden he carried. And with Dean by his side, he felt—perhaps for the first time—that he didn’t have to face it alone.

As Pharm and Dean stepped out into the cool night air, the reality of the evening finally began to settle in. The hum of conversation from the crowd leaving the auditorium surrounded them, but it felt distant—muted, like the world had dulled itself just enough for Pharm to process what he was feeling. His steps slowed, and he stopped on the walkway, staring blankly at the night sky.

Dean paused a few steps ahead, turning back when he noticed Pharm wasn’t beside him. “Pharm?” he called softly, his brow furrowed in concern.

Pharm didn’t answer right away. His mind was spinning, replaying everything he’d heard tonight—the stories about Korn’s life, his untimely death, and the photograph of him and Intouch smiling together, forever frozen in a moment of happiness. It wasn’t just the sadness of their tragedy that hit him now. It was something deeper, something personal.

“Korn was my uncle,” Pharm said suddenly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Dean’s eyes widened slightly, and he took a cautious step closer. “What?”

Pharm turned to look at him, his gaze distant and heavy. “My dad…” He swallowed hard, the lump in his throat making it difficult to speak. “His name wasn’t always Kann Triwinij . He changed it to get away from the Ariyasakul name. He never told me why, but now I know. It was because of Korn—because of what happened to him and Intouch.”

Dean’s expression softened as understanding dawned. “Pharm, I…” He hesitated, unsure what to say. “Are you okay?”

Pharm let out a shaky breath, his hands trembling as he hugged himself. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “I didn’t… I didn’t realize it would hit me like this. I always knew there was something my dad wasn’t telling me, but I never imagined it would be this. Korn wasn’t just some stranger whose story I’ve been dreaming about. He was my family.”

Dean moved closer, his hand resting gently on Pharm’s shoulder. “You don’t have to process this all at once,” he said softly. “It’s a lot to take in.”

Pharm nodded, his eyes glassy as he looked up at Dean. “I just… I wish my dad was still alive. I wish I could talk to him about this. Maybe he could’ve told me more about Korn—about who he was, what he was like. But he’s gone, and now I’ll never know.” His voice broke on the last word, and he bit his lip, trying to hold back the tears threatening to spill.

Dean’s grip on his shoulder tightened slightly, a silent gesture of support. “It’s okay to feel like this,” he said, his tone steady and reassuring. “It’s okay to miss him and wish he was here. But even if he’s not, you’re not alone in this. You’ve got people who care about you—your mom, your friends… me.”

Pharm blinked at him, the tears finally escaping down his cheeks. “You don’t even know the half of it,” he said, his voice trembling. “There’s so much I haven’t told you—about the dreams, the memories, the way it feels like Korn and Intouch are a part of me. It’s all so overwhelming, and I don’t know how to explain it to anyone.”

Dean didn’t flinch or pull back. Instead, he stepped closer, his hand sliding down to Pharm’s arm. “You don’t have to explain everything right now,” he said quietly. “Whenever you’re ready, I’ll listen. But for now, just… let yourself feel what you need to feel. You don’t have to hold it all in.”

Pharm closed his eyes, the weight of Dean’s words sinking in. For so long, he’d been carrying this burden alone, afraid to let anyone else see the cracks in his armor. But here, with Dean standing by his side, he felt a flicker of something he hadn’t felt in a long time—safety.

The tears came freely now, and Pharm didn’t try to stop them. Dean stayed with him, silent and steady, his presence a quiet reassurance that Pharm wasn’t as alone as he feared. By the time Pharm finally calmed down, the night had grown quieter, the crowd from the memorial having long since dispersed. The two of them stood on the pathway outside the auditorium, the soft glow of the streetlights casting long shadows on the ground.

“Sorry,” Pharm murmured, wiping at his eyes. “I didn’t mean to fall apart like that.”

Dean shook his head. “You don’t have to apologize. You’ve been holding a lot in—it’s only natural for it to come out.”

Pharm managed a small, grateful smile. “Thanks. For staying with me. I don’t think I could’ve handled this on my own.”

“You don’t have to,” Dean said simply. “Not anymore.”

They walked in silence for a while, the crisp night air helping to clear Pharm’s mind. As they neared the edge of campus, Pharm hesitated, glancing at Dean.

“Can I ask you something?” he said softly.

“Of course.”

Pharm hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “Do you believe in… reincarnation? Or fate? Like, that some things are just meant to happen, no matter what?”

Dean tilted his head, considering the question. “I’ve never really thought about it before,” he admitted. “But if you’re asking if I believe that certain connections are too strong to be a coincidence… yeah. I think I do.”

Pharm’s chest tightened, but not in a bad way. There was something comforting about Dean’s answer, something that made him feel less like he was losing his mind.

“Why do you ask?” Dean added, his gaze steady.

Pharm bit his lip, debating how much to say. Finally, he settled on a partial truth. “It’s just… the more I learn about Korn and Intouch, the more it feels like their story isn’t finished. Like there’s something I’m supposed to do—something I’m meant to understand about them.”

Dean studied him for a long moment, his expression thoughtful. “Then maybe that’s your answer,” he said finally. “If it feels like their story isn’t finished, maybe it’s because you’re meant to be part of how it continues.”

Pharm blinked at him, the weight of his words sinking in. He didn’t know if he believed in fate or reincarnation, but in that moment, Dean’s calm certainty felt like exactly what he needed to hear.

“Maybe,” Pharm said softly, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Maybe you’re right.”

The night air carried a gentle stillness as Pharm walked alongside Dean, the echo of their conversation lingering in the spaces between their steps. The emotions of the memorial—honoring Korn and Intouch, confronting the weight of his family’s hidden past—still sat heavy on his heart. But with Dean by his side, the burden didn’t feel so impossible to bear.

They reached the edge of campus, where the soft glow of the streetlights met the darkness of the main road. Pharm stopped, turning to face Dean with a small, hesitant smile.

“Thanks again,” he said quietly. “For coming tonight. For… everything.”

Dean’s eyes softened. “You don’t have to thank me. I wanted to be there.”

Pharm looked down at his hands, fingers twisting nervously. “It just means a lot. I haven’t really talked to anyone about all of this, not even my closest friends here. But with you…” He trailed off, unsure how to finish the sentence.

Dean waited patiently, his expression open and understanding. “With me?” he prompted gently.

Pharm exhaled, searching for the right words. “With you, it feels… safe. Like I don’t have to pretend to be okay all the time.”

Dean’s lips curved into a faint smile, and he nodded. “Good. Because you don’t have to. Not with me.”

The sincerity in Dean’s voice hit Pharm like a wave, and for a moment, he could only stare at him, the gratitude welling up in his chest too overwhelming to put into words.

“Do you want me to walk you back to your apartment?” Dean asked after a moment, breaking the silence.

Pharm hesitated, torn between wanting to prolong the evening and knowing he needed time alone to process everything. “I think I’ll be okay,” he said finally. “But… would it be okay if I texted you later? If I need to?”

Dean’s smile widened just slightly, warm and reassuring. “You can text me anytime, Pharm. You know that.”

Pharm nodded, the tightness in his chest easing just a little. “Thanks, Dean.”

Dean gave him a small wave before turning to head in the direction of his own dorm. Pharm watched him for a moment, the sense of calm Dean left in his wake lingering like a gentle balm. Then, with a deep breath, he turned and started walking home.

Back in his apartment, the stillness felt heavier than usual. Pharm set his bag down and went straight to his desk, where his notebook lay open to the page where he’d last written about Korn and Intouch. He stared at the neatly written words, the fragments of memories and feelings he’d been piecing together over the past weeks.

Tonight had been a turning point—he could feel it. The memorial, Dean’s support, and the overwhelming realization that his father’s hidden past was connected to Korn and Intouch in ways he was only beginning to understand had all shifted something inside him. For so long, he’d felt like he was searching in the dark, fumbling for answers he wasn’t sure he wanted to find. But now, with Dean by his side, the darkness didn’t feel so impenetrable.

Pharm picked up his pen and began to write.

October 5th
Tonight, I went to the memorial for Korn and Intouch. Seeing their faces on that screen, hearing people talk about their lives and their loss… it made everything feel so real.
I know I’m connected to them somehow. Not just through my dreams or the memories I can’t explain, but through my dad. Kann Ariyasakul. Korn was his brother. He changed his last name to escape that part of his life, but I don’t think he ever really escaped. I think he carried that pain with him until the day he died.
And now, I’m carrying it too.
But maybe I don’t have to carry it alone. Dean was there tonight. He didn’t ask a lot of questions or push me to explain everything. He just… stayed. He listened. He made me feel like it was okay to not have all the answers yet.
I don’t know where this is all leading, but for the first time, I don’t feel completely lost. Maybe that’s enough for now.

Pharm set the pen down and leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting to the small framed photo on his desk—a picture of him with his mom and Phoom, taken years ago. His mom’s smile was warm and gentle, but her eyes held a depth of emotion that Pharm hadn’t understood until recently. She’d carried so much, just like his father had, and she’d done it all to protect him and Phoom from the shadows of their family’s past.

“I wish you’d told me,” Pharm whispered to the photo, his voice trembling. “I wish I could have known him—Korn. I wish I could have understood what you were trying to protect me from.”

The silence that followed was heavy, but not unbearable. Pharm reached for his phone, scrolling through his contacts until he found Jake and Sarah’s names. He hesitated for a moment before opening their group chat and typing out a message.

Pharm: Hey, are you guys awake?

The reply came almost immediately.

Sarah: Of course. What’s up?
Jake: You okay, Pharm?

Pharm smiled faintly, his heart warming at their quick responses.

Pharm: Yeah, I’m okay. Just… had a big night. Went to a memorial for Korn and Intouch. It was intense.

Sarah: Wow. How was it? Did you learn anything new?
Pharm: Not really. It was more about honoring their memory. But it made me realize how much I still don’t know.

Jake: That’s okay, Pharm. You don’t have to figure everything out all at once.
Sarah: Agreed. And hey, at least you went. That’s a big step.

Pharm nodded to himself, their words echoing what Dean had said earlier. He typed out another message, hesitating for a moment before hitting send.

Pharm: Dean came with me. He didn’t have to, but he did. It helped, having him there.

Sarah: Aww, that’s sweet. Sounds like he’s a good guy.
Jake: Yeah, he sounds solid. Do you think you’ll tell him about everything eventually?

Pharm stared at the screen, his thumb hovering over the keyboard. Finally, he replied:

Pharm: Maybe. Not yet, though. I’m not ready.

Sarah: That’s okay. Take your time. And remember, we’re here if you need us.

Jake: Always.

Pharm’s chest felt lighter as he set the phone down. He wasn’t sure what the future held—whether he’d find the answers he was searching for, or what role Dean would play in his journey. But for now, he was surrounded by people who cared, who wanted to help him find his way. That was enough. The next morning, Pharm woke to sunlight streaming through his window, the warmth of it chasing away the lingering heaviness of the night before. He stretched, feeling a tentative sense of peace as he got ready for the day.

As he headed out the door, his phone buzzed with a message from Dean.

Dean: Morning, Pharm. Hope you’re feeling better today. Let me know if you want to grab coffee later.

Pharm smiled, his heart swelling with gratitude. He typed a quick reply:

Pharm: Morning. Coffee sounds good. Let’s do it.

As he walked to campus, Pharm felt a renewed sense of determination. There was still so much he didn’t know, so much he couldn’t explain. But step by step, he was finding his way. And with people like Dean, Sarah, Jake, Team, and Manaow by his side, he knew he wouldn’t have to face it alone.

For now, that was enough. And for the first time in a long time, Pharm felt like it really could be.

Chapter Text

Previously on Beautiful but Tragic

Dean: Morning, Pharm. Hope you’re feeling better today. Let me know if you want to grab coffee later.

Pharm smiled, his heart swelling with gratitude. He typed a quick reply:

Pharm: Morning. Coffee sounds good. Let’s do it.

As he walked to campus, Pharm felt a renewed sense of determination. There was still so much he didn’t know, so much he couldn’t explain. But step by step, he was finding his way. And with people like Dean, Sarah, Jake, Team, and Manaow by his side, he knew he wouldn’t have to face it alone.

For now, that was enough. And for the first time in a long time, Pharm felt like it really could be.

The café buzzed softly with the hum of conversation and the clinking of cups against saucers. Pharm sat at a table near the window, his hands wrapped around a warm cup of tea. Outside, the city moved at its usual pace—students walking in groups, vendors setting up carts, and the occasional sound of laughter carried on the breeze. But Pharm’s mind was quieter than usual, as though the noise of the world had dulled to give him space to think.

Across from him, Dean sat with his usual quiet composure, sipping his coffee. The silence between them wasn’t awkward but comfortable, the kind that came from two people who didn’t need to fill the air with unnecessary words. Pharm appreciated that about Dean—his ability to simply be present without demanding anything more than what Pharm was ready to give.

“Thanks for coming,” Pharm said, breaking the silence. His voice was soft, almost tentative.

Dean set his coffee cup down and gave him a small smile. “You don’t have to thank me, Pharm. I said I’d be here if you needed someone.”

Pharm nodded, his gaze dropping to his tea. “I know. I just… I appreciate it. More than I can say.”

Dean’s smile widened slightly, but he didn’t push for more. Pharm took a sip of his tea, letting the warmth soothe him. He’d spent the morning reflecting on the memorial and his conversation with Dean afterward. It had been a lot to process, but he felt steadier now, like he was finally beginning to find his footing.

“So,” Dean said after a moment, his tone light, “what’s next for you? Any plans for the weekend?”

Pharm hesitated, considering his answer. “I think… I might do some more research. About Korn and Intouch. There’s still so much I don’t know, and I feel like I need to understand their story before I can figure out my own.”

Dean tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. “That makes sense. But don’t forget to take care of yourself too. It’s easy to get lost in something like this.”

Pharm looked up at him, his chest tightening at the genuine concern in Dean’s voice. “I’ll try,” he promised. “I just… I feel like I owe it to them, you know? To learn what really happened. To make sure their story isn’t forgotten.”

Dean nodded slowly, his gaze steady. “That’s a lot to carry, Pharm. But you don’t have to do it alone.”

Pharm’s lips curved into a small, grateful smile. “I know. And that helps. A lot.”

They sat in silence for a while, the quiet companionship easing the weight on Pharm’s heart. As he finished his tea, he found himself thinking about the next steps he needed to take. He still didn’t know Korn and Intouch’s full story, but he was determined to uncover it piece by piece.

Back in his apartment, Pharm sat at his desk, staring at his open notebook. The pages were filled with scribbled notes, fragments of memories, and questions that had yet to be answered. He picked up his pen and wrote down the thoughts that had been circling in his mind since the memorial.

Korn Ariyasakul and Intouch Chatpokin.
Their love story ended in tragedy, but why? What pushed Korn to that point? And what happened to Intouch after Korn’s death?

Pharm paused, tapping the pen against the edge of the notebook. He’d learned from the memorial that Korn and Intouch had been admired by their peers, but the details of their relationship—and the events that led to their deaths—remained shrouded in mystery. It was as if the truth had been buried along with them, leaving only whispers and half-remembered stories behind.

He flipped to a blank page and began jotting down ideas for how to continue his research. He could try looking through old university archives again, though he hadn’t found much the first time. Maybe some alumni remembered Korn and Intouch, people who could share personal anecdotes or insights. He could also try reaching out to his mother again, though he wasn’t sure how much more she’d be willing—or able—to tell him.

As he wrote, his phone buzzed on the desk. He glanced at the screen and saw a message from Manaow.

Manaow: Team and I are grabbing dinner tonight. Wanna come?

Pharm hesitated. He wasn’t sure he was up for socializing, but he also knew that isolating himself wasn’t the answer. With a small sigh, he typed out a reply.

Pharm: Sure. What time?

The restaurant was a small, cozy place near campus, known for its affordable meals and relaxed atmosphere. Pharm arrived to find Team and Manaow already seated at a table near the window, their laughter carrying across the room.

“Pharm!” Manaow called, waving him over. “You’re just in time. Team was about to eat all the appetizers without you.”

“I was not,” Team protested, though the guilty look on his face said otherwise.

Pharm smiled faintly as he slid into the seat across from them. “Thanks for waiting.”

As they ate, Manaow and Team kept the conversation light, chatting about their classes, club activities, and the latest campus gossip. Pharm chimed in occasionally, but for the most part, he let them carry the conversation, grateful for the distraction.

At one point, Manaow turned to him with a curious look. “Pharm, are you okay? You’ve been kind of quiet lately.”

Pharm hesitated, his grip tightening slightly on his glass of water. “I’m fine,” he said after a moment. “Just… a lot on my mind.”

Manaow’s expression softened. “You know you can talk to us, right? About anything.”

Pharm nodded, his heart warming at her sincerity. “I know. Thanks, Manaow.”

Team leaned forward, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “Does this have anything to do with Dean?”

Pharm felt his face heat up, and he quickly looked down at his plate. “What? No.”

“Liar,” Team teased, grinning. “Come on, spill. You’ve been spending a lot of time with him lately.”

“It’s not like that,” Pharm protested, though his voice lacked conviction. “We’re just… friends.”

Manaow exchanged a knowing look with Team before turning back to Pharm. “Well, whatever it is, we’re here for you. Whether it’s Dean or something else.”

Pharm smiled, the warmth of their support easing some of the tension he’d been carrying. “Thanks, guys. That means a lot.”

Back in his apartment, Pharm replayed the evening’s conversation in his mind. He was grateful for Team and Manaow’s friendship, but their questions about Dean had stirred something in him—something he wasn’t ready to face just yet.

He sat at his desk, his notebook open in front of him, and stared at the words he’d written earlier. Korn and Intouch’s story felt like a puzzle with missing pieces, and the more he tried to put it together, the more questions he uncovered.

Pharm reached for his pen and wrote one final note before closing the notebook for the night.

I need to find out the truth. Not just for them, but for myself.

As he climbed into bed, Pharm felt a renewed sense of determination. The path ahead was still unclear, but he was ready to take the next step—one small step at a time. And with Dean, his friends, and the faint whispers of the past guiding him, he felt like he might finally be on the right track.

Dean woke with a start, his chest heaving as he tried to steady his breath. The room was bathed in the faint blue light of early dawn, the shadows soft and unthreatening, yet his heart raced as though he’d just escaped a nightmare. He sat up in bed, running a hand through his damp hair, his forehead slick with sweat. The remnants of a dream clung to him, vivid and disorienting.

He’d been in a room—not his own, but one that felt oddly familiar. It was filled with the scent of jasmine, the delicate fragrance lingering in the air like a ghost. And there had been someone with him—a young man with a warm smile and eyes that seemed to shine with unspoken emotions. The man had spoken his name, “Korn,” with such tenderness that it made Dean’s heart ache.

But it wasn’t just the name that haunted him. It was the overwhelming sense of loss that had come afterward, a sharp, suffocating pain that gripped his chest and left him gasping for air. The dream had felt so real, so visceral, that for a moment, he’d been certain it wasn’t a dream at all.

Dean swung his legs over the side of the bed, his feet meeting the cool floor. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and tried to make sense of what he’d just experienced. This wasn’t the first time he’d had dreams like this—dreams that felt less like fiction and more like memories. They’d started a few months ago, vague and fragmented at first, but now they were becoming more vivid, more detailed.

He reached for the glass of water on his bedside table and took a sip, his mind racing. The dreams always featured the same two people: Korn, who looked strikingly like himself, and another young man, whose name he’d recently come to know as Intouch—or In, as Korn had called him. Their connection was undeniable, their emotions raw and intense, and Dean couldn’t shake the feeling that he was somehow tied to them, that their story was his in a way he couldn’t yet explain.

He set the glass down and grabbed his phone, his fingers hesitating over the screen. Part of him wanted to text Pharm, to tell him about the dream, but he wasn’t sure how to put it into words—or if he should even try. He and Pharm had grown closer over the past few weeks, their conversations flowing with an ease that felt natural, yet there was still so much they didn’t know about each other. How could he explain something like this without sounding unhinged?

Instead, Dean opened his notes app and began typing, trying to capture the details of the dream before they slipped away.

Jasmine scent. A small room, dimly lit. In smiling, his eyes bright and full of life. He called me Korn. The way he said it… like it meant everything to him. Then pain. So much pain. Like my chest was being crushed. I couldn’t breathe.

He paused, his thumb hovering over the keyboard, before adding one more line.

Why does it feel so real?

Dean stared at the words on the screen, his chest tightening. He didn’t have any answers, only more questions, and the weight of them was becoming harder to bear. Later that day, Dean sat in the campus café, his laptop open in front of him. He was supposed to be working on an assignment, but his mind kept drifting back to the dream. The jasmine scent, the room, the way In had looked at him—it all felt too specific, too vivid to be a mere product of his imagination.

Win plopped down in the seat across from him, a tray of food in hand. “Hey, man. You look like you haven’t slept in days,” he said, eyeing Dean with a mix of concern and amusement.

Dean forced a smile. “Just… didn’t sleep well last night.”

Win raised an eyebrow as he unwrapped his sandwich. “Bad dreams?”

Dean hesitated, unsure how much to share. Win was his closest friend, but even he might find this hard to believe. “Something like that,” Dean said finally.

Win took a bite of his sandwich, chewing thoughtfully before speaking. “You’ve been weirdly quiet lately. And not your usual broody quiet—like, something’s on your mind. Wanna talk about it?”

Dean leaned back in his chair, his gaze drifting to the window. “Do you ever feel like… like there’s something you’re supposed to remember, but you can’t quite reach it? Like it’s just out of your grasp?”

Win frowned, setting his sandwich down. “What do you mean?”

Dean sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve been having these dreams. About… someone. Two people, actually. And every time I wake up, it feels like I’m remembering something, not dreaming. But that doesn’t make sense, does it? How can you remember something that never happened?”

Win leaned forward, his expression serious now. “Who are the people in your dreams?”

Dean hesitated, his chest tightening. “One of them… looks like me. His name is Korn. And the other one… his name is Intouch. They’re… I don’t know how to explain it. They’re in love, but it’s more than that. There’s so much pain, Win. It’s like their story is… unfinished.”

Win stared at him, his brow furrowing. “That’s… heavy. Are you sure it’s not just your subconscious messing with you? Like, maybe you read about them somewhere or saw something that stuck with you?”

Dean shook his head. “I’ve thought about that, but it doesn’t feel like that. It feels… personal. Like it’s a part of me.”

Win leaned back, crossing his arms. “Have you told anyone else about this?”

Dean hesitated, thinking of Pharm. He’d considered telling him, but something held him back. “No. Not yet.”

Win nodded slowly. “Well, maybe you should. Keeping this stuff bottled up isn’t going to help. If it’s really bothering you, talk to someone—whether it’s a friend, a therapist, or whoever.”

Dean managed a small smile. “You’re starting to sound like my grandmother.”

“Hey, she’s a smart lady,” Win said with a grin. “But seriously, Dean. If this is eating at you, don’t ignore it. You’ve got people who care about you—me included. Don’t shut us out.”

Dean nodded, his chest loosening slightly at Win’s words. “Thanks, Win. I’ll think about it.”

Back in his house, Dean sat on the edge of his bed, staring at the photograph on his nightstand. It was an old family picture, taken years ago when he was still a child. His grandmother stood in the center, her arms wrapped around him and his siblings. She had always been his rock, the one constant in his life, and he wondered if she might have answers to the questions swirling in his mind.

Picking up his phone, Dean hesitated for a moment before dialing her number. It rang twice before she picked up, her warm voice immediately putting him at ease.

“Dean, my boy. How are you?”

“I’m good, Grandma,” he said, his voice softer than usual. “I just… I wanted to ask you something.”

“Of course. What is it?”

Dean hesitated, unsure how to phrase his question. “Do you… do you know anything about someone named Korn Ariyasakul?”

There was a pause on the other end of the line, and Dean’s heart raced. When his grandmother finally spoke, her voice was tinged with something he couldn’t quite place—sadness, perhaps, or nostalgia.

“Korn Ariyasakul,” she repeated slowly. “He was… a remarkable young man. Talented, intelligent, kind. But his story was a tragic one.”

Dean’s grip on the phone tightened. “What happened to him?”

His grandmother sighed. “It’s a long story, Dean. One that’s not easy to tell. But… why do you ask?”

Dean hesitated, the words catching in his throat. “I think… I think I’ve been dreaming about him. About his life, his… his love for someone named Intouch.”

The silence on the other end stretched out, heavy and filled with unspoken meaning. Finally, his grandmother spoke, her voice soft but steady.

“Dean, sometimes the past has a way of finding us, even when we don’t understand why. If you’re dreaming about Korn and Intouch, perhaps there’s a reason. Perhaps their story is connected to yours in ways we can’t yet see.”

Dean’s chest tightened, his mind racing with questions. “Do you think… do you think I’m connected to them somehow?”

“I don’t know, my dear,” she said gently. “But if you feel that connection, don’t ignore it. Trust yourself, and trust the journey you’re on.”

As they ended the call, Dean sat in the quiet of his room, his thoughts swirling. The dreams, the memories, the feelings he couldn’t explain—it all felt like pieces of a puzzle he was only beginning to understand. And for the first time, he allowed himself to wonder if maybe, just maybe, Pharm was a part of that puzzle too.

The morning sunlight filtered through the curtains of Pharm’s apartment, casting soft golden hues across his room. He sat on the edge of his bed, tying his shoelaces, his mind preoccupied. Today, for the first time since everything had started to unfold—his memories of In and Korn, his father’s connection to their story, and the confusing but undeniable pull he felt toward Dean—he was going to meet up with Dean, not for any specific purpose, but just to spend time together. A small, casual hangout. At least, that was how they’d framed it.

But to Pharm, it felt like much more. It felt significant.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand, and he reached for it. Dean’s name lit up the screen.

Dean: Morning. Ready for today?
Pharm: Yeah. Are you?
Dean: Always. I’ll pick you up in 15 minutes.

Pharm smiled faintly at the message, his nerves settling just a bit. Dean had that effect on him—a calming presence, even through a screen. He grabbed his bag, checking that he had everything he needed, before heading to the kitchen to fill a water bottle. By the time he stepped outside, Dean’s car was already waiting at the curb.

Dean rolled down the window and gave him a small wave. “Hey.”

“Hi,” Pharm said softly, climbing into the passenger seat. The faint smell of leather and Dean’s cologne greeted him, familiar and comforting.

“You ready?” Dean asked, his tone casual but his eyes warm.

Pharm nodded. “Where are we going?”

Dean smirked as he pulled away from the curb. “It’s a surprise.”

Pharm raised an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. “A surprise?”

“Don’t worry,” Dean assured him. “It’s nothing crazy. Just thought it’d be nice to get out of the city for a bit.”

Pharm leaned back in his seat, letting the gentle hum of the car engine and the music playing softly from the radio fill the silence. He didn’t press Dean for more details. Part of him liked the idea of not knowing, of letting Dean take the lead for once. After everything he’d been dealing with lately, it was a relief to not have to think too much, to just… be.

The car ride was peaceful, with stretches of quiet punctuated by easy conversation. Dean seemed content to let Pharm set the tone, never pushing him to talk but always ready to engage when he did.

“So,” Pharm said after a while, “are you always this mysterious, or is this a special occasion?”

Dean chuckled, his eyes briefly flicking to Pharm before returning to the road. “Maybe a little of both. But mostly, I just thought you could use a break.”

Pharm tilted his head, studying Dean’s profile. “A break from what?”

Dean hesitated for a moment before answering. “From whatever’s been weighing on you. I don’t know what it is—and I’m not going to push you to tell me—but I can tell it’s been a lot.”

Pharm’s chest tightened at Dean’s words, the sincerity in his voice catching him off guard. “I… I appreciate that,” he said softly. “It has been a lot. But today, I just want to focus on this.”

Dean glanced at him again, his expression softening. “Good. That’s exactly what I was hoping for.”

They fell into a comfortable silence after that, the scenery outside the car windows shifting from urban sprawl to lush greenery as they left the city behind. Pharm found himself relaxing more and more with each passing mile, the tension in his shoulders easing as the world outside grew quieter.

When they finally pulled into a gravel parking lot surrounded by trees, Pharm looked around in confusion. “Where are we?”

Dean grinned, unbuckling his seatbelt. “You’ll see.”

He led Pharm down a narrow trail that wound through the woods, the sunlight filtering through the leaves overhead. The air was cool and fresh, filled with the sounds of chirping birds and rustling branches. Pharm couldn’t remember the last time he’d been somewhere so serene.

After a few minutes of walking, the trail opened up to reveal a small lake, its surface shimmering in the sunlight. A wooden dock stretched out over the water, and a picnic blanket was already laid out at the end, weighed down by a basket.

Pharm turned to Dean, his eyes wide. “You planned all this?”

Dean shrugged, his expression casual but his cheeks faintly pink. “I thought it might be nice. You’ve had a lot going on, and I figured you could use some fresh air.”

Pharm smiled, touched by the gesture. “It’s perfect. Thank you.”

They made their way to the dock, and Dean gestured for Pharm to sit while he opened the basket. Inside were neatly packed sandwiches, fruit, and a couple of bottles of iced tea. Dean handed one to Pharm before sitting down beside him, their legs dangling over the edge of the dock.

For a while, they ate in companionable silence, the gentle lapping of the water against the dock providing a soothing background. Pharm found himself sneaking glances at Dean, marveling at how effortlessly calm he seemed. It was as if nothing ever rattled him, as if he could take the chaos of the world and somehow make it manageable.

“You’re staring,” Dean said suddenly, his lips twitching into a small smirk.

Pharm flushed, quickly looking away. “I wasn’t.”

Dean chuckled. “It’s okay. I don’t mind.”

Pharm took a sip of his iced tea, trying to compose himself. “This place… it’s really beautiful. How did you find it?”

“I used to come here a lot when I was younger,” Dean admitted. “Whenever I needed to clear my head, this was my go-to spot. It’s peaceful, you know? Makes it easier to think.”

Pharm nodded, understanding exactly what he meant. “It does. I can see why you like it.”

Dean’s gaze softened as he looked at Pharm. “I thought you might like it too.”

Pharm felt his cheeks warm again, but this time he didn’t look away. “I do. A lot.”

As the afternoon wore on, they talked about everything and nothing. Dean shared stories from his childhood—his siblings, his grandmother, the antics he and Win used to get into. Pharm found himself laughing more than he had in weeks, the sound feeling foreign but welcome.

In turn, Pharm shared bits and pieces of his own life, though he avoided mentioning anything too heavy. He told Dean about his love of cooking, his friends from America, and the mischief he and Phoom used to get into as kids. Dean listened attentively, his focus never wavering, and Pharm felt a warmth in his chest that he couldn’t quite explain.

Eventually, they lapsed into silence, both of them gazing out at the lake. The sun had started to dip lower in the sky, painting the water with hues of orange and gold. Pharm hugged his knees to his chest, a contented sigh escaping him.

“Thank you,” he said softly, breaking the silence.

Dean turned to him, his brow furrowed. “For what?”

“For this,” Pharm said, gesturing to the lake, the dock, the picnic basket. “For… being you.”

Dean’s expression softened, a small smile playing at his lips. “You don’t have to thank me for that, Pharm.”

Pharm looked down at the water, his voice barely above a whisper. “It means a lot.”

Dean reached over, his hand resting lightly on Pharm’s shoulder. “You mean a lot.”

Pharm’s breath caught, and he turned to look at Dean, his heart pounding in his chest. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath, the space between them charged with unspoken words and emotions.

But then Dean pulled back, his smile easy and reassuring. “Come on,” he said, standing and holding out a hand. “Let’s head back before it gets too dark.”

Pharm took his hand, the warmth of Dean’s grip grounding him. As they walked back to the car, Pharm couldn’t shake the feeling that today had been more than just a hangout. It had been a step—a small, meaningful step toward something he didn’t yet have the words to name.

And for now, that was enough.

Chapter Text

Previously on Beautiful but Tragic

Pharm's breath caught, and he turned to look at Dean, his heart pounding in his chest. For a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath, the space between them charged with unspoken words and emotions.

But then Dean pulled back, his smile easy and reassuring. "Come on," he said, standing and holding out a hand. "Let's head back before it gets too dark."

Pharm took his hand, the warmth of Dean's grip grounding him. As they walked back to the car, Pharm couldn't shake the feeling that today had been more than just a hangout. It had been a step—a small, meaningful step toward something he didn't yet have the words to name.

And for now, that was enough.

The next morning, Pharm woke with the warmth of the previous day still lingering in his chest. As sunlight spilled through his window, he stretched lazily in bed, thinking back to his time at the lake with Dean. The memory brought a small smile to his face, but it also left him with a sense of restlessness. He couldn't help but wonder if Dean had felt the same connection he had. And if so, what did it mean for them?

As much as Pharm wanted to hold onto the calm he'd felt by Dean's side, there were still too many unanswered questions swirling in his mind. His curiosity about In and Korn's story, his father's connection to it, and the strange pull he felt toward Dean—all of it weighed on him, even in moments of peace.

Pushing the thoughts aside for now, Pharm swung his legs over the side of the bed and got ready for the day. He had a busy schedule ahead, with cooking club preparations and a meeting for one of his classes. Still, the idea of seeing Dean again lingered in the back of his mind, a quiet, persistent hope.

By the time Pharm arrived at the cooking club, the kitchen was already buzzing with activity. Aum greeted him with a bright smile, her hands covered in flour.

"Morning, Pharm! Glad you're here. We've got a lot to do today," she said, nodding toward a table piled high with ingredients.

"Good morning," Pharm replied, setting his bag down and tying his apron. "What's on the agenda?"

"We're making a batch of Thai desserts for the upcoming campus fair," Aum explained. "You're in charge of the Look-Choup. I know you're great at it."

Pharm's stomach flipped at the mention of Look-Choup. The star-shaped dessert had become a symbol of so much more than just a treat—it was a connection to memories he couldn't fully explain, to emotions that felt both his own and borrowed.

He nodded, pushing his thoughts aside. "Got it. I'll start with the mung beans."

As Pharm worked, the rhythmic motion of his hands kneading the dough and shaping the delicate desserts allowed his mind to drift. He thought about the memorial event, the photograph of Korn and Intouch, and the stories he had pieced together. But most of all, he thought about Dean—about how being with him felt like stepping into a calm harbor after a stormy sea.

"Pharm," Aum called, breaking him from his thoughts. "Are you okay? You've been really quiet."

Pharm looked up, startled. "Oh, sorry. I was just thinking."

"About what?" Aum asked, her tone curious but kind.

Pharm hesitated, unsure how much to share. "Just... family stuff. It's nothing serious."

Aum studied him for a moment before nodding. "Well, if you ever need to talk, you know we're here for you."

Pharm smiled faintly. "Thanks, Aum. I appreciate it."

Later that day, Pharm joined Team and Manaow for lunch in the campus courtyard. The three of them had developed a routine of meeting between classes, and Pharm found comfort in their familiar banter.

"You seem extra smiley today," Manaow teased as she sipped her iced coffee. "What happened? Did you finally win the lottery?"

"Or maybe he got a text from someone special," Team added with a smirk.

Pharm rolled his eyes, but his cheeks turned pink. "It's nothing like that."

Manaow leaned forward, her eyes narrowing playfully. "Oh, come on, Pharm. Spill. You're practically glowing."

"It's really nothing," Pharm insisted, though he couldn't help the small smile that tugged at his lips. "Dean and I hung out yesterday. That's all."

Manaow and Team exchanged knowing looks before bursting into laughter.

"'That's all,' he says," Manaow mimicked. "As if hanging out with Dean isn't a big deal."

"It's not a big deal," Pharm protested, though his voice lacked conviction.

"Pharm, you're a terrible liar," Team said, grinning. "Come on, tell us what happened. Did he confess his undying love for you?"

"Stop it!" Pharm said, his face burning. "We just went to a lake and talked. It was nice, okay?"

Manaow clasped her hands dramatically. "Oh, a lakeside rendezvous. How romantic."

Pharm buried his face in his hands, groaning. "Why do I even tell you guys anything?"

"Because we're your best friends, and you love us," Team said, stealing a fry from Pharm's plate. "But seriously, it's good to see you happy. You've been... quieter than usual lately."

Pharm lowered his hands, his smile softening. "Thanks, Team. That means a lot."

Manaow reached over to squeeze his arm. "We just want you to be okay, Pharm. And if Dean makes you happy, we're all for it."

Pharm nodded, feeling a swell of gratitude for his friends. "I'm lucky to have you guys."

That evening, as Pharm sat at his desk reviewing notes for his economics class, his phone buzzed with a message. Seeing Dean's name on the screen made his heart skip a beat.

Dean: Hey, just checking in. How was your day?

Pharm smiled, typing a quick reply.

Pharm: It was good. Busy, but good. How about you?

Dean's response came almost immediately.

Dean: Same. Are you free this weekend? I was thinking we could check out that new café near campus.

Pharm hesitated for only a moment before replying.

Pharm: I'd like that.

For the rest of the night, Pharm felt lighter, the promise of spending more time with Dean lifting his spirits. Though his questions about In, Korn, and his own connection to their story still lingered, he realized he didn't have to figure everything out all at once.

Sometimes, it was enough to just take things one step at a time.

The sun dipped below the horizon as Pharm sat at his desk, organizing notes for his next cooking club meeting. The day had been long but uneventful, and he relished the quiet of his apartment. His phone, lying facedown on the desk, buzzed softly, pulling his attention away from the task at hand.

Pharm picked it up and unlocked the screen, expecting a message from Team or perhaps a note from Dean. Instead, he saw a name that made his stomach tighten: Sarah. Her message was short but unsettling.

Sarah: Call me as soon as you can.

Heart pounding, Pharm dialed her number. She answered almost immediately.

"Pharm," Sarah's voice was strained, the usual warmth replaced by something heavier.

"What's wrong?" Pharm asked, his throat tightening.

"It's Alex," Sarah said, her voice breaking slightly. "He was in a car accident. It's bad, Pharm. Really bad."

Pharm felt the air leave his lungs. "What happened?"

Sarah took a shaky breath. "He was driving back from a late-night shift. A drunk driver ran a red light and hit him. He's in critical condition. The doctors... they're saying it's touch and go."

Pharm's mind raced as he tried to process her words. Alex—his funny, loud, endlessly supportive friend—was lying in a hospital bed, fighting for his life. The image was jarring and unreal.

"Where is he? Which hospital?" Pharm asked, his voice trembling.

"St. Mary's in Boston," Sarah replied. "Jake and I are heading there now. We thought you should know."

Pharm gripped the edge of his desk, his knuckles white. "I need to go. I need to see him."

"Pharm..." Sarah's hesitation was palpable. "It's a long trip, and we don't know how much time he has. Are you sure you can get here in time?"

Pharm swallowed hard, determination setting in. "I have to try. He's one of my closest friends. I can't just stay here and do nothing."

After hanging up with Sarah, Pharm paced his apartment, his mind racing. His first instinct was to book a flight immediately, but the logistics of leaving weren't so simple. He had classes, cooking club commitments, and responsibilities he couldn't just abandon.

He called his mother, hoping for guidance.

"Pharm, what's wrong?" she asked the moment she picked up, her maternal instincts kicking in.

"It's Alex," Pharm said, his voice cracking. "He was in a car accident, and it's serious. I want to go to America to see him, but I don't know what to do. I have so much going on here."

His mother was silent for a moment before speaking. "Pharm, I understand how much Alex means to you. But you need to think about this carefully. Can you handle leaving right now, with everything you've been dealing with?"

"I don't know," Pharm admitted, his shoulders slumping. "But if I don't go and something happens to him... I'll never forgive myself."

"Then you need to do what feels right," she said gently. "But make sure you're prepared for the journey, emotionally and physically. It's a long way to go."

The next day, Pharm told Team and Manaow about Alex during lunch.

"Pharm, I'm so sorry," Manaow said, her eyes filled with concern. "Are you really thinking about going to America?"

Pharm nodded. "I feel like I have to. He's always been there for me. I can't just sit here and wait for updates."

Team frowned. "But what about your classes? And the cooking club? Leaving in the middle of everything... it's not going to be easy."

"I know," Pharm said, his voice heavy. "But this is more important. I'll talk to Aum and my professors. I'll figure something out."

Manaow reached across the table to squeeze his hand. "If you need anything, we're here for you. And if you decide to go, let us know. We'll help however we can."

That evening, Pharm texted Dean to ask if they could meet. He needed to talk to someone who could offer him a different perspective—someone steady and grounded.

When Dean arrived at the café, Pharm was already sitting at a corner table, staring into a half-empty cup of tea.

"Hey," Dean said, sliding into the seat across from him. "What's going on? You sounded upset in your message."

Pharm took a deep breath, then explained everything about Alex and his desire to go to America.

Dean listened quietly, his expression thoughtful. When Pharm finished, he leaned forward slightly. "It sounds like Alex is really important to you."

"He is," Pharm said, his voice trembling. "He's like family."

Dean nodded. "Then you should go. If being there will give you peace of mind, it's worth it."

"But what about everything here?" Pharm asked, his frustration bubbling to the surface. "I don't want to let anyone down."

"Pharm," Dean said, his voice steady, "sometimes you have to prioritize what matters most. People will understand. Your professors, your club—they'll manage without you for a little while. Right now, it sounds like you need to be there for Alex."

Pharm looked down at his hands, his heart heavy but his resolve strengthening. "You're right. I need to go."

Over the next two days, Pharm worked tirelessly to prepare for his trip. He met with his professors to explain the situation, arranged for someone in the cooking club to cover his responsibilities, and packed his bags with essentials.

When the day of his flight arrived, Team and Manaow came to see him off at the airport.

"Take care of yourself, okay?" Manaow said, hugging him tightly.

"We'll keep things running here," Team added. "Just focus on Alex."

Pharm smiled faintly, his gratitude for his friends overwhelming. "Thank you. I'll keep you updated."

As Pharm boarded the plane, he felt a mix of anxiety and determination. The journey ahead would be long and uncertain, but he knew he was doing the right thing. For Alex, and for himself. As the plane ascended into the clouds, Pharm stared out the window, watching the world shrink beneath him. The hum of the engines and the gentle sway of the aircraft created a strange cocoon of stillness, allowing his thoughts to wander freely. It was a long flight to America, and Pharm knew he wouldn't be able to distract himself from the weight of what awaited him—Alex, lying in a hospital bed, fighting for his life.

Alex. The name conjured a thousand memories, each one a thread that wove through the tapestry of Pharm's teenage years. He leaned his head back against the seat, closing his eyes as the memories began to surface.

Pharm had been thirteen, freshly uprooted from his life in Thailand and dropped into a new world in America. Everything about it felt strange—the language, the culture, the food. He had felt lost in those early months, struggling to find his place in a sea of unfamiliar faces. And then there was Alex.

The first time they met, it was in a science lab. Alex was loud, funny, and unapologetically curious about everyone around him.

"Hey, you're new, right?" Alex had said, sliding into the seat next to Pharm. His bright green eyes sparkled with mischief. "What's your name?"

"Pharm," he'd replied shyly.

"Pharm? That's cool. Where are you from?"

"Thailand."

Alex had leaned back, a grin spreading across his face. "That's awesome. I don't think I've ever met anyone from Thailand before. Is it true that you guys eat spicy food for breakfast?"

Pharm had blinked at him, unsure whether to laugh or be offended. "Sometimes," he'd said cautiously. "But not always."

"Well, I want to try it someday," Alex had declared, his enthusiasm infectious. "You'll have to teach me how to make it."

From that moment on, Alex had become a constant presence in Pharm's life. He was the first person to make Pharm feel like he belonged, like being different wasn't a bad thing.

By the time Pharm turned fourteen, Alex had become part of his inner circle. He, Alex, Jake, and Sarah were inseparable, spending weekends at each other's houses, cramming for exams together, and sharing secrets they wouldn't dare tell anyone else.

But that year was also when everything started to unravel for Pharm. The weight of moving, of feeling like he had to fit into two different worlds, began to suffocate him. He couldn't explain it at the time, but he often felt like he was drowning in a sea of emotions he couldn't control.

It was Alex who first noticed.

"Hey, you've been pretty quiet lately," Alex had said one afternoon. They were sitting on the swings in the park near Pharm's house, the golden light of sunset casting long shadows across the grass. "Is everything okay?"

Pharm had shrugged, unable to put his feelings into words. "I don't know," he'd mumbled.

Alex had tilted his head, his expression serious for once. "Pharm, you know you can talk to me, right? About anything?"

And eventually, Pharm had. He'd told Alex about the pressure he felt, the sadness that seemed to cling to him no matter what he did. He hadn't used the word "depression" yet—he didn't know that's what it was—but Alex had listened without judgment, his quiet presence a balm to Pharm's aching heart.

When Pharm was officially diagnosed with depression later that year, Alex was one of the first people he told. He remembered the way Alex's face had softened, his voice steady and reassuring.

"Okay," Alex had said simply. "What do you need from me?"

Pharm had blinked at him, not expecting such a direct response. "I don't know. Just... be there, I guess."

"I can do that," Alex had said, and he had. Through therapy appointments, through Pharm's bad days and better ones, Alex had been there. Always.

By the time they were fifteen, Pharm and Alex's friendship had deepened into something neither of them had planned. It started with small things—longer hugs, hands brushing against each other, lingering glances. Pharm hadn't been sure what it meant at first, but one day, Alex had made it clear.

They were sitting on the couch in Alex's living room, watching a movie. Alex had turned to Pharm, his cheeks pink, and blurted out, "I think I like you. Like, really like you."

Pharm had stared at him, his heart pounding in his chest. "You mean...?"

"Yeah," Alex had said, looking both nervous and determined. "If that's okay with you."

Pharm had smiled then, a small, shy smile that made Alex relax. "It's okay," he'd said softly.

Their relationship had been sweet and tentative, filled with stolen moments and quiet confessions. They hadn't told anyone at first, unsure of how their friends would react, but when they finally did, Jake and Sarah had been nothing but supportive.

"About time," Sarah had teased, grinning at them. "You two have been acting like an old married couple for months."

As Pharm stared out the airplane window, the memories of Alex warmed him and broke his heart all at once. Their relationship hadn't lasted beyond high school—by the time Pharm was sixteen, they had decided to break up. It hadn't been a dramatic ending, just the quiet realization that they were better as friends. And they had remained friends, their bond unshaken by the change.

Now, the thought of losing Alex was unbearable. He thought of all the moments Alex had been there for him—pushing him to smile on bad days, making him laugh when he didn't think he could, reminding him that he was never alone. Alex had been his first love, his first anchor in a foreign world, and now he was lying in a hospital bed, his life hanging by a thread.

Pharm felt tears prick at the corners of his eyes. He clenched his hands in his lap, his mind racing with everything he wished he could say to Alex.

"You have to pull through," Pharm whispered under his breath, his voice lost in the hum of the airplane. "You're not allowed to leave us. Not like this."

He closed his eyes, leaning his head against the window as exhaustion began to creep in. As sleep claimed him, he dreamed of the past—of Alex's laughter, of the warmth of his hand in Pharm's, of a time when the world felt simpler and brighter.

And as he dreamed, Pharm silently vowed that no matter what it took, he would be there for Alex, just as Alex had always been there for him. Pharm stepped off the plane into the chaos of the airport. His stomach churned with nerves and exhaustion, the long flight leaving his body heavy and his mind restless. The endless hum of announcements, the shuffle of passengers, and the beeping of carts blurred together as Pharm clutched his carry-on bag and made his way toward the exit. He had barely slept on the flight, his mind racing with memories of Alex and worry about what awaited him at the hospital.

"Come on, Pharm," he whispered to himself, steeling his nerves as he navigated the crowded terminal. "Just keep moving."

Jake and Sarah had promised to meet him, their messages filled with reassurance and updates on Alex's condition. Even as he walked toward the arrivals area, Pharm couldn't stop the anxious rhythm of his thoughts. The memories from the plane—of Alex's laughter, his unwavering support, their bittersweet goodbye as a couple—all played on a loop in his mind.

When he finally spotted Jake and Sarah standing near a pillar, a wave of relief swept over him. Jake's broad shoulders and Sarah's fiery red hair were unmistakable even in the bustling crowd. They were both scanning the crowd, their faces etched with worry. As soon as Sarah saw him, she broke into a run, pulling him into a tight hug.

"Pharm," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "Thank God you're here."

Pharm hugged her back, the familiar comfort of her embrace grounding him. "How's Alex?" he asked as he pulled away, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jake stepped forward, his expression somber. "He's stable, but it's... it's bad, Pharm. The doctors said it's touch and go. He hasn't woken up yet."

Pharm's heart sank. He swallowed hard and nodded, gripping the strap of his bag tightly. "I want to see him."

"Of course," Sarah said quickly. "We'll take you there now."

The ride to the hospital was quiet, the weight of the situation settling heavily in the car. Pharm sat in the back seat, staring out the window at the familiar streets of the city he had once called home. It felt strange to be back here, the place where he had grown into himself, where he had loved and hurt and healed. Yet, all he could think about was Alex lying in a hospital bed, unconscious and fragile.

"Do you remember the time Alex tried to teach you how to skateboard?" Sarah said suddenly, breaking the silence.

Pharm let out a small, sad laugh. "Yeah. I fell on my face within five minutes."

"And he spent the rest of the day trying to convince you to get back on the board," Jake added, his tone tinged with nostalgia. "He wouldn't let you quit."

"Typical Alex," Pharm murmured, a faint smile ghosting his lips. The memory warmed him, but it also sharpened the ache in his chest. He couldn't imagine a world without Alex's stubborn optimism, his endless energy.

"He's still that same guy," Sarah said firmly, glancing at Pharm in the rearview mirror. "Don't forget that. He's a fighter."

Pharm nodded, holding onto her words like a lifeline.

When they arrived at the hospital, the sterile smell of antiseptic hit Pharm immediately, triggering an odd mix of comfort and dread. He followed Jake and Sarah down the corridors, his heart pounding louder with each step. Finally, they stopped outside a door, and Sarah turned to him.

"Take your time," she said gently. "We'll be right here if you need us."

Pharm nodded, drawing a deep breath before stepping inside.

The room was quiet except for the steady beep of the heart monitor and the soft whoosh of the ventilator. Alex lay on the bed, pale and still, his usual vibrant energy reduced to a fragile shell. Tubes and wires surrounded him, a stark reminder of the severity of his condition.

Pharm approached the bed slowly, his legs feeling like lead. He pulled up a chair and sat down, his hands trembling as he reached for Alex's. The warmth of Alex's skin against his palm brought a surge of relief, even though it was faint.

"Hey, Alex," Pharm said softly, his voice shaking. "It's me. I'm here."

The words felt inadequate, but he didn't know what else to say. He stared at Alex's face, searching for any sign of movement, but there was nothing.

"I've been thinking about all the stupid stuff we used to do," Pharm continued, his voice growing steadier. "Like the time you made me sneak out to that concert, and we got caught climbing back in through my window. My mom was so mad."

A small laugh escaped him, though it was tinged with sadness. "You always had the worst ideas, but somehow, I never said no. You made everything feel like an adventure."

Pharm's grip on Alex's hand tightened slightly. "You can't leave us, Alex. You're the one who keeps us all together. Jake, Sarah, me—we need you. I need you."

His voice broke on the last word, tears spilling down his cheeks. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against their joined hands. "Please, just... fight. Okay? For all of us."

As Pharm sat there, the memories came unbidden, filling the silence of the room. He thought about the nights he and Alex had spent talking about everything and nothing, the way Alex had always been able to make him laugh, even on his darkest days. He remembered the warmth of Alex's embrace, the easy way they had fit together, and the bittersweet goodbye they'd shared when their relationship ended.

"Do you remember what you told me back then?" Pharm whispered, his voice barely audible. "You said I was stronger than I thought. That no matter what happened, I'd find my way. Well, I'm trying, Alex. But I need you to keep your promise, too. You said you'd always be there. So, don't you dare break that promise now."

He sat there for what felt like hours, the weight of his emotions ebbing and flowing as he talked to Alex, hoping that somehow, his words would reach him. Eventually, the exhaustion of the journey caught up with him, and he dozed off in the chair, still holding Alex's hand.

When Pharm woke, the first rays of sunlight were streaming through the window. The steady beeping of the monitor and the rhythmic sound of the ventilator reminded him where he was. He straightened in his chair, his neck stiff from the awkward position he'd slept in.

Jake and Sarah entered the room a few moments later, bringing coffee and breakfast. They didn't say much, but their presence was comforting. They all took turns sitting with Alex, talking to him, sharing memories, and holding onto the hope that he would wake up.

As the day wore on, Pharm felt a renewed sense of determination. He didn't know what the future held, but he knew one thing for certain—he would be here for Alex, just as Alex had always been there for him.

Chapter Text

Previously on Beautiful but Tragic

When Pharm woke, the first rays of sunlight were streaming through the window. The steady beeping of the monitor and the rhythmic sound of the ventilator reminded him where he was. He straightened in his chair, his neck stiff from the awkward position he'd slept in.

Jake and Sarah entered the room a few moments later, bringing coffee and breakfast. They didn't say much, but their presence was comforting. They all took turns sitting with Alex, talking to him, sharing memories, and holding onto the hope that he would wake up.

As the day wore on, Pharm felt a renewed sense of determination. He didn't know what the future held, but he knew one thing for certain—he would be here for Alex, just as Alex had always been there for him.

Pharm sat by Alex's bedside, his phone resting on the edge of the small table next to him. The steady beeping of the heart monitor filled the room, a constant reminder of the fragile state Alex was in. Jake and Sarah were sitting nearby, their voices low as they discussed mundane topics, trying to maintain some sense of normalcy. Pharm hadn't said much, his attention divided between Alex and his thoughts.

Reaching for his phone, he opened his messages and stared at the thread with Dean. He hadn't texted Dean since he landed, unsure how to even begin describing the whirlwind of emotions he'd been caught in. After a moment's hesitation, he typed a quick message:

Pharm: Hey, I made it to America safely. I'm at the hospital with Alex. He's still unconscious, but we're taking turns sitting with him. Hope your classes are going well.

He hesitated, then added: Thank you for being so understanding before I left. It means a lot.

He hit send before he could overthink it, then set his phone back on the table. As he looked up, he saw Jake and Sarah watching him, curiosity etched into their faces.

"Was that Dean?" Sarah asked, her tone light but probing.

Pharm nodded, unsure of how much to share. "Yeah. I just told him I got here safely."

Jake leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest. "You've mentioned him a few times now. What's the deal with this guy? He seems... important."

Pharm's cheeks flushed, and he looked down at his lap. "He's... someone I'm getting to know. We're friends." He hesitated, then added softly, "Maybe more."

Sarah's eyes lit up. "More? Oh, you have to tell us everything. What's he like? How did you meet?"

Pharm chuckled, their enthusiasm a welcome distraction from the heaviness in the room. "He's kind, thoughtful, and really grounded. We met at university. He's in the swimming club, and we just... clicked. It feels like I've known him forever, even though we've only recently started spending time together."

Jake raised an eyebrow. "Sounds serious. Does he know about... everything?"

Pharm knew what Jake meant—about the dreams, the memories, and the connection to Korn and Intouch. He shook his head. "Not yet. I'm not ready to tell him. I'm not even sure how to explain it all."

Sarah tilted her head, her gaze softening. "Do you think he could be connected to all of this? To Korn and Intouch?"

Pharm hesitated, the question hanging heavily in the air. "I don't know," he admitted. "Sometimes, it feels like he is. There's this... familiarity about him, like he's part of the story somehow. But I don't want to assume anything. For now, I just want to focus on building something real with him, without all the complications."

Jake nodded thoughtfully. "That makes sense. Take your time. But, Pharm, if he's as great as you say, he'll understand when you're ready to share."

Pharm gave a small smile, grateful for their support. "Thanks. I just... I want to figure things out first. There's still so much I don't understand about Korn and Intouch, and now, with everything I've learned about my dad, it feels like the pieces are finally starting to come together."

Sarah leaned forward, her expression curious. "So, what's the latest on them? Have you found out anything new?"

Pharm sighed, leaning back in his chair. "I've learned that my dad, Kann, was Korn's younger brother. He changed his last name to Triwinij to escape the pain of what happened to Korn and Intouch. But I still don't know the full story. I don't know why things ended the way they did or why Korn felt he had no way out."

Jake frowned, his expression troubled. "That's heavy, Pharm. But it makes sense why it's been haunting you. Have you talked to anyone else about it? Like, your therapist?"

Pharm nodded. "Yeah, Dr. Sutthida has been helping me process it all. She says it's okay not to have all the answers right now, that it's more important to focus on what I can control. It's good advice, but it's hard when the past feels so tied to everything I'm experiencing now."

Sarah reached out and squeezed his hand. "You're doing the best you can, Pharm. And you're not alone in this. You've got us, and you've got Dean—even if he doesn't know the full story yet."

Pharm smiled faintly, the warmth of their support cutting through the heaviness in his chest. "Thanks, guys. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Jake grinned, his tone teasing. "You'd probably be a mess. Good thing we're here to keep you in check."

Pharm laughed, the sound lightening the mood in the room. For a moment, it felt like they were just three friends hanging out, the weight of Alex's condition temporarily pushed to the background. Later that evening, as Pharm sat alone by Alex's bedside, his phone buzzed with a new message. He picked it up, seeing Dean's name on the screen.

Dean: I'm glad you made it safely. I've been thinking about you. Let me know if there's anything I can do, even from here.

Pharm's chest tightened at the sincerity of the message. He quickly typed a reply:

Pharm: Thank you, Dean. Just knowing you're there helps more than you realize.

He stared at the screen for a moment before sending a follow-up message:

Pharm: When I get back, maybe we can meet up? I'd like to see you.

Dean's reply was almost immediate: I'd like that too. Take care of yourself, Pharm.

Pharm set the phone down, a small smile playing on his lips. Despite the uncertainty surrounding Alex's condition and the lingering questions about his past, he felt a glimmer of hope—hope for his friends, for himself, and for whatever might come next with Dean.

As he looked over at Alex, still unconscious but steady, Pharm whispered, "We're all going to be okay, Alex. I'll make sure of it."

The night stretched on, quiet and still, but for the first time in a while, Pharm felt a sense of peace. The soft glow of the hospital lights painted the sterile room in muted hues as Pharm sat by Alex's bedside. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor was a constant reminder of Alex's fragile state. Jake and Sarah were in the hallway, giving Pharm some space. Pharm's thoughts swirled as he stared at Alex, his chest tightening with a mix of worry and helplessness.

The door creaked open, and a doctor entered, clipboard in hand. Her expression was calm yet serious, the kind of practiced neutrality that hinted at the gravity of her words.

"Good evening," she greeted softly, stepping closer to Pharm. "I'm Dr. Martinez, one of Alex's surgeons. Are you Pharm Triwinij?"

Pharm stood up quickly, his heart pounding. "Yes, that's me."

Dr. Martinez nodded, flipping through her notes. "Alex listed you as his medical power of attorney. Do you know what that means?"

Pharm's breath caught in his throat. He had no idea Alex had done this, though it wasn't entirely surprising. Their bond had been deep and enduring, but the weight of such a responsibility hit him like a tidal wave.

"I... I think so," Pharm replied hesitantly. "It means I make decisions for him if he can't, right?"

"Exactly," Dr. Martinez confirmed. "Alex needs surgery as soon as possible. There's a risk of complications, but it's necessary to stabilize him and address his internal injuries. We need your consent to proceed."

Pharm's knees felt weak, and he sank back into the chair. The room seemed to tilt as the enormity of the situation pressed down on him. "Is there any other option? What happens if he doesn't have the surgery?"

Dr. Martinez's expression softened, her voice patient. "Without surgery, his condition will deteriorate. The internal bleeding won't stop on its own. Surgery gives him the best chance at recovery, but as with any procedure, there are risks."

Pharm glanced at Alex, the peaceful rise and fall of his chest a sharp contrast to the chaos churning inside him. Memories of their friendship flooded his mind—the laughter, the arguments, the unspoken understanding that had always existed between them.

He clenched his hands into fists, trying to steady himself. "What are the risks?" he asked, his voice trembling.

Dr. Martinez hesitated for a moment before answering. "There's a risk of infection, blood loss, or complications with anesthesia. But Alex is strong, and we'll do everything we can to minimize those risks."

Pharm nodded slowly, the words sinking in. He couldn't bear the thought of losing Alex, but he also couldn't ignore the weight of the decision before him. "How soon do you need my answer?"

"As soon as possible," Dr. Martinez said gently. "We'll prepare the operating room now, but we need your consent to proceed."

Pharm swallowed hard, his throat dry. "Can I have a moment to think?"

"Of course. Take your time," Dr. Martinez said before stepping out of the room.

Pharm sat in silence, his hands trembling as he reached for his phone. He hesitated, then texted Jake and Sarah, asking them to come back in. Within moments, they were by his side, their faces etched with concern.

"What's going on?" Jake asked, his voice low but urgent.

Pharm took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. "Alex needs surgery. The doctor says it's the best chance he has, but there are risks. And... he listed me as his power of attorney."

Jake's eyes widened, and Sarah placed a comforting hand on Pharm's shoulder. "Oh, Pharm," she said softly. "That's a big responsibility."

"I don't know what to do," Pharm admitted, his voice cracking. "What if I make the wrong decision? What if something goes wrong?"

Jake knelt in front of him, looking him in the eye. "Pharm, you've known Alex for years. He trusts you—that's why he chose you. You know him better than anyone. What do you think he'd want?"

Pharm closed his eyes, tears slipping down his cheeks. He thought about Alex's fierce determination, his love for life, and his stubborn refusal to give up on anything or anyone. Alex wouldn't want to lie in a hospital bed, helpless and deteriorating. He'd want a fighting chance, no matter the odds.

"He'd want the surgery," Pharm said finally, his voice steady despite the tears. "He'd want to fight."

Sarah squeezed his shoulder gently. "Then you're making the right choice. And we're here for you, no matter what happens."

Pharm nodded, a sense of resolve settling over him. He stood and walked to the door, his steps firm even as his heart raced. Dr. Martinez was waiting in the hallway, her expression calm but expectant.

"I'll sign the consent," Pharm said, his voice unwavering.

Dr. Martinez nodded, handing him the necessary forms. "Thank you, Pharm. You're doing what's best for Alex."

The hours that followed felt endless. Pharm, Jake, and Sarah sat in the waiting room, the sterile white walls closing in around them. Pharm couldn't sit still, pacing back and forth as his mind raced with every possible outcome.

"What if something goes wrong?" Pharm muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

Jake stood and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Hey, you did what you had to do. Alex is in good hands."

Sarah chimed in, her tone soothing. "Pharm, you've always been there for Alex. He's lucky to have you. And when he wakes up, he's going to need you even more."

Pharm nodded, trying to hold on to their words. But the uncertainty gnawed at him, and he couldn't shake the fear that he might lose Alex.

Hours later, Dr. Martinez returned to the waiting room, her scrubs slightly rumpled but her expression calm. Pharm stood immediately, his heart in his throat.

"How is he?" he asked, his voice trembling.

"The surgery went well," Dr. Martinez said with a reassuring smile. "We were able to stop the bleeding and stabilize him. He's in recovery now, and we'll monitor him closely, but things are looking positive."

Relief washed over Pharm, his knees nearly buckling as he sagged into a nearby chair. Tears streamed down his face, but this time, they were tears of gratitude and hope.

"Thank you," he whispered, his voice breaking. "Thank you so much."

Dr. Martinez nodded. "You can see him once he's moved to a room. For now, get some rest. You've done a lot for him today."

Pharm watched as she walked away, then turned to Jake and Sarah. Their smiles mirrored his own, a shared sense of relief filling the space between them.

"You did it, Pharm," Sarah said, pulling him into a hug. "Alex is going to be okay."

Pharm held on tightly, the weight of the day finally lifting. For the first time since the accident, he allowed himself to hope—not just for Alex's recovery, but for all the possibilities that lay ahead.

The faint hum of the hospital's fluorescent lights buzzed in the background as Pharm sat by Alex's bedside. Alex was still unconscious, his chest rising and falling steadily, a sign that the surgery had done its job. Jake and Sarah had stepped out for a much-needed coffee run, leaving Pharm alone in the quiet room.

Pharm's phone vibrated in his pocket, breaking the stillness. He pulled it out to see a message from Dean.

Dean: How are you holding up? Let me know if you need anything.

Pharm stared at the message, warmth blooming in his chest. Dean had been checking in every day since Pharm left for America. Even though they weren't physically close, Dean's presence through his messages was a comfort Pharm hadn't expected.

He hesitated for a moment before typing back.

Pharm: Hey. It's been a rough few days, but Alex made it through surgery. He's stable now. I think I can breathe again.

The response was almost instant.

Dean: That's great news! I'm so glad to hear that. I've been thinking about you. Are you okay?

Pharm smiled faintly, appreciating Dean's concern. He leaned back in the chair, his eyes drifting to Alex as he typed his reply.

Pharm: I'm doing better now that he's out of danger. It's been hard, though. I didn't expect to feel this much all at once.

Dean: That's normal. He's someone important to you—it's okay to feel overwhelmed. You don't have to go through this alone, you know.

Pharm bit his lip, the words sinking in. Dean always seemed to know exactly what to say to ease the tension in his chest. He wanted to share more, to let Dean in fully, but a part of him still hesitated. How much could he really share without overwhelming him?

Pharm: Thank you. You've been such a big help, even from far away. I really appreciate it.

Dean: Anytime, Pharm. Seriously. If you ever need to talk, I'm here.

Pharm set his phone down for a moment, closing his eyes. The weight of the last few days pressed against him, but Dean's words offered a cushion of comfort. He picked the phone back up, deciding to open up a little more.

Pharm: Alex is one of my oldest friends. He's been there for me during some of the hardest times in my life. It's scary to think about losing him.

Dean didn't leave him waiting long.

Dean: I can't imagine how hard this must be for you, but it sounds like Alex is lucky to have you by his side. You're doing everything you can for him, and that says a lot about the kind of person you are.

Pharm felt a lump rise in his throat at Dean's words. He didn't think of himself as strong or remarkable, but hearing it from Dean made him feel a little braver, a little more capable.

Pharm: I hope so. Sometimes I feel like I'm just barely holding it together.

Dean: That's okay too. You're human, Pharm. You're allowed to feel scared or overwhelmed. Just remember that you're not alone in this.

Pharm leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he typed his response.

Pharm: Thank you, Dean. I mean it. Just knowing you're there makes this a little easier to handle.

Dean: Always.

As the evening stretched on, Jake and Sarah returned, bringing with them the comforting aroma of fresh coffee. Jake handed Pharm a cup, nudging his shoulder gently.

"You doing okay?" Jake asked, his tone light but concerned.

Pharm nodded, offering a small smile. "Yeah. I've been talking to Dean."

Sarah perked up, her interest piqued. "Dean? The guy you've been texting all the time lately?"

Pharm's cheeks flushed, but he didn't deny it. "Yeah. He's been really supportive. It's nice to have someone to talk to."

Sarah exchanged a knowing glance with Jake before turning back to Pharm. "He must care about you a lot. I mean, not everyone would check in so often."

Pharm shrugged, trying to play it off, but his heart fluttered at the thought. "He's just a good friend. He's been helping me stay grounded."

Jake smirked, leaning against the wall. "Sounds like more than just a friend to me."

Pharm rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress the small smile tugging at his lips. "Can we not do this right now?"

Sarah laughed softly, sitting beside him. "Okay, okay. We'll let it go. But for what it's worth, I'm glad you have him. You need someone like that in your corner."

Pharm glanced at his phone again, rereading Dean's messages. He couldn't deny how much Dean's support meant to him, but he wasn't ready to dive into what that might mean. For now, he was content knowing that Dean was there, a steady presence in the chaos. Later that night, after Jake and Sarah had left to grab dinner, Pharm sat alone in Alex's room. The soft beeping of the monitors and the quiet hum of the air conditioning filled the silence. Alex was still unconscious, but his color had improved, and the tension in Pharm's chest eased as he watched the steady rhythm of his breathing.

Pharm pulled out his phone, the familiar comfort of Dean's messages beckoning him. He opened their chat and typed.

Pharm: Hey, are you still awake?

The response came quickly, as always.

Dean: For you? Always. What's up?

Pharm smiled, the corners of his lips lifting as he typed his reply.

Pharm: Nothing big. Just sitting here with Alex. It's quiet, and I thought I'd check in.

Dean: How's he doing?

Pharm: Better. Still unconscious, but the doctor says everything looks good so far.

Dean: That's great to hear. How about you? Are you holding up okay?

Pharm hesitated, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. Finally, he decided to be honest.

Pharm: I think so. It's hard, but having you to talk to makes it a little easier. Thank you for that.

Dean's reply was instant.

Dean: You don't have to thank me, Pharm. I'm just glad I can help.

Pharm stared at the screen, a warmth spreading through his chest. For the first time in a long while, he felt like things might actually be okay.

Pharm: I don't know what I did to deserve someone like you in my life, but I'm grateful.

Dean: If anyone's lucky here, it's me.

Pharm's heart swelled at the words, a quiet sense of hope taking root. Maybe, just maybe, he was beginning to find something worth holding on to, even in the midst of everything. And as he sat there, the quiet hum of the hospital around him, Pharm felt a little less alone.

The drive to his mother and brother's house was a mix of nostalgia and nerves for Pharm. He hadn't seen them in person since he moved back to Thailand, and while their video calls had kept them connected, it wasn't the same as being there. The familiar neighborhoods, the tree-lined streets, and the subtle changes in the surroundings made his heart ache with a mix of longing and apprehension.

As he pulled into the driveway of the modest two-story house, memories of his childhood flooded back. The old basketball hoop still hung over the garage, the once-vivid paint now faded and chipped. The garden his mother had tended so lovingly was still vibrant, the flowers blooming in an explosion of colors. It felt the same yet different—a reminder of how much time had passed.

Pharm stepped out of the car, smoothing his shirt and taking a deep breath before walking up to the front door. Before he could even knock, the door flew open, and a familiar figure stood there, grinning widely.

"Pharm!" Phoom exclaimed, his younger brother's voice filled with excitement. He practically launched himself at Pharm, wrapping him in a tight hug.

"Hey, Phoom," Pharm said, laughing as he hugged him back. "You're taller than me now. What are they feeding you?"

Phoom pulled back, smirking. "Just regular food. Maybe you're shrinking."

Pharm rolled his eyes, but the banter felt comforting. Phoom looked older—his features sharper, his presence more self-assured. But his playful energy was the same, and it warmed Pharm's heart.

"Come in, Mom's been talking about this all week," Phoom said, grabbing Pharm's arm and pulling him inside.

Inside, the house smelled of home-cooked meals and the faint floral scent of his mom's favorite candles. The living room looked just as Pharm remembered—cozy and lived-in, with family photos lining the walls and the same worn couch that had been there since his childhood.

"Pharm, is that you?" His mom's voice floated in from the kitchen, filled with warmth and excitement.

"Yeah, Mom, it's me," Pharm called back, his voice softening with emotion.

Moments later, his mother appeared in the doorway, her eyes lighting up as soon as she saw him. She rushed over, enveloping him in a hug so tight it felt like she was trying to make up for every second they'd been apart.

"Oh, my sweet boy," she murmured, her voice trembling. "You look so grown up."

Pharm smiled, his throat tightening as he hugged her back. "I missed you, Mom."

She pulled back slightly, holding his face in her hands as she examined him. "You look tired. Are you eating properly? Sleeping enough?"

"Mom, I'm fine," Pharm assured her, laughing softly. "I promise."

"You better be," she said, but her smile betrayed her worry. "Come on, I made all your favorites. You're staying for dinner, right?"

"Of course," Pharm said, letting her lead him into the kitchen, where the table was already set with an array of dishes that made his mouth water. Phoom followed, bouncing slightly as he took a seat.

As they ate, the conversation flowed easily, a mix of updates, jokes, and fond memories. Phoom filled Pharm in on his school life, his friends, and his latest hobby—photography.

"I've been taking pictures of everything," Phoom said, pulling out his phone to show Pharm some of his work. "Landscapes, people, random stuff. It's fun, you know? Capturing moments."

Pharm nodded, genuinely impressed. "These are really good, Phoom. You've got an eye for this."

Phoom beamed, clearly pleased by the compliment. "Thanks. Maybe I'll visit you in Thailand one day and take pictures there."

"I'd love that," Pharm said, the thought of showing Phoom his life in Thailand filling him with anticipation.

Their mother chimed in, her tone teasing. "Only if you promise not to bring back any wild ideas, Phoom. I don't want you coming home with a tattoo like your brother."

Pharm nearly choked on his drink, his face heating up. "Mom!"

Phoom burst out laughing. "Wait, you have a tattoo? When did this happen?"

"It's not a big deal," Pharm muttered, avoiding their amused gazes.

"Let me see it!" Phoom insisted, leaning closer.

"It's discreet," Pharm said, shaking his head. "And it's personal."

Their mom smirked, clearly enjoying his discomfort. "It's on his side, Phoom. He thought I wouldn't find out, but mothers always know."

Pharm groaned, covering his face with his hands. "Can we please talk about something else?"

After dinner, Phoom went upstairs to work on a school project, leaving Pharm and his mom alone in the kitchen. They washed dishes side by side, the comfortable silence between them occasionally broken by the clinking of plates and the running water.

"I'm proud of you, you know," his mom said suddenly, her voice soft but steady.

Pharm glanced at her, surprised. "For what?"

"For everything," she said, meeting his gaze. "For following your dreams, for taking care of yourself, for staying strong even when things got hard. I know it hasn't always been easy for you."

Pharm's chest tightened, the weight of her words sinking in. "I've had my moments," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "But I've been trying."

"And that's all I could ever ask for," she said, reaching over to squeeze his hand. "You've grown into such a kind, resilient person, Pharm. Your dad would be so proud of you."

Pharm swallowed hard, the mention of his dad stirring a mix of emotions. "Thanks, Mom. That means a lot."

She smiled, her eyes glistening. "You'll always have a place here, no matter where life takes you."

Later that night, as Pharm lay in the guest room that had once been his, he found himself reflecting on the day. The warmth of his family's love, the ease of their conversations—it was a reminder of the support system he had, even from miles away.

He picked up his phone, scrolling through his messages until he found Dean's name. Without overthinking it, he typed a quick update.

Pharm: Spent the day with my mom and brother. It was really nice. I needed this.

Dean's reply came almost immediately.

Dean: That's great to hear. Family time can be grounding. How are you feeling?

Pharm hesitated for a moment before replying honestly.

Pharm: Better. A little lighter, I think.

Dean: I'm glad. You deserve to feel at peace, even if it's just for a little while.

Pharm smiled, the weight of the day easing as he read Dean's words. He set his phone down, a quiet sense of gratitude filling him. For his family, for Dean, for the chance to reconnect with pieces of himself he'd thought he'd lost.

As he drifted off to sleep, Pharm felt something he hadn't felt in a long time: hope.

Chapter Text

Previously on Beautiful but Tragic

Pharm hesitated for a moment before replying honestly.

Pharm: Better. A little lighter, I think.

Dean: I'm glad. You deserve to feel at peace, even if it's just for a little while.

Pharm smiled, the weight of the day easing as he read Dean's words. He set his phone down, a quiet sense of gratitude filling him. For his family, for Dean, for the chance to reconnect with pieces of himself he'd thought he'd lost.

As he drifted off to sleep, Pharm felt something he hadn't felt in a long time: hope.

Pharm woke to the soft rays of early morning sun filtering through the lace curtains in the old guest room. The familiarity of this house—his mother’s house—wrapped him in a cocoon of safety he hadn’t realized he’d been missing. It felt both comforting and slightly surreal to be back, as though he’d slipped into a life he’d once known, only to return years later and find everything the same but himself changed.

He stretched out in the small bed, letting the events of the previous day settle in. Seeing his mother and Phoom again had soothed an ache in his chest he hadn’t realized was there. Yet the weight of Alex’s condition still pressed down on him, an ever-present reminder that he was here for a reason that was far from joyful.

Across the room, his phone chimed with an incoming message. Pharm grabbed it and smiled softly when he saw Dean’s name lighting up the screen.

Dean: Good morning. How did you sleep?

Pharm took a moment to rub the sleep from his eyes before replying.

Pharm: Morning. I slept well, surprisingly. Being back home is… strange, but comforting.

He hit send and let the phone drop onto the covers. As he sat up, he noticed the faint scent of coffee drifting in from the hallway—a sure sign his mother was already up and about, likely making breakfast. He rose from the bed, quickly changed, and followed the aroma to the kitchen. His mother stood at the stove, flipping pancakes. She glanced over her shoulder when Pharm appeared, a warm smile lighting her face.

“Morning, sweetheart. Slept okay?”

Pharm nodded, taking a seat at the small kitchen table. “Yeah, thanks, Mom.”

Pans and utensils clinked as she expertly moved around the kitchen. “Your brother’s still sleeping. He was up late working on some photography project. But I made plenty of breakfast in case you two want to head out together later.”

Pharm felt a pang of gratitude at her thoughtfulness. It had been so long since he’d experienced this morning routine—the lazy waking, the smell of food in the air, the casual warmth that only family provided. He had missed it more than he cared to admit.

“Thanks, Mom. I, uh…” He hesitated, not wanting to sound ungrateful or abrupt. “I might head to the hospital soon. I need to check on Alex. But I’d love to bring Phoom along for a visit, if he wants.”

She nodded, her expression tinged with concern. “Of course. How is Alex doing this morning?”

Pharm’s shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I’m not sure yet. I texted Jake earlier, but he hasn’t replied. I’m guessing he and Sarah spent the night again. I’ll know more once I get there.”

His mother set a plate of pancakes before him, along with a small dish of butter and syrup. “Eat something first. You won’t do Alex any good if you’re running on empty.”

Pharm mustered a smile. “You’re right.”

As he started on his food, his phone buzzed again. Picking it up, he saw Dean’s response.

Dean: Glad you got some rest. What’s the plan for today?

A sense of calm washed over him at the question. The simplicity of it—a friend checking in—felt grounding.

Pharm: Heading to the hospital soon. Going to see how Alex is doing. Maybe bring my brother along. You?

He set the phone aside to finish breakfast, listening as his mother talked about her day and asked after small details of his life in Thailand. The gentle routine of it all reminded him that no matter how much changed, some things always remained steady—like a mother’s love, like home. An hour later, Pharm and Phoom were in the car, driving toward St. Mary’s Hospital. Phoom had insisted on tagging along, though Pharm suspected it was partly to see if Alex was really okay. Phoom and Alex had been close too, in that big-brother’s-friend kind of way, where teasing and support were intertwined.

“You think he’ll wake up soon?” Phoom asked, fiddling with the camera around his neck.

Pharm sighed, keeping his eyes on the road. “I don’t know. The doctors said the surgery went well, but it’s still wait-and-see. He’s stable, though, so that’s something.”

Phoom nodded, quiet for a moment. “I hate hospitals,” he muttered. “They always smell like disinfectant and sadness.”

Pharm glanced at his brother sympathetically. “I know. But Alex needs us right now.”

They fell silent for the rest of the drive, the tension in the car thick but unspoken. When they arrived at the hospital, Pharm parked in the same spot he had the day before, and they made their way inside.

Jake and Sarah were waiting in the corridor outside Alex’s room, looking exhausted but relieved. Jake’s face lit up when he saw Pharm and Phoom.

“Hey, you guys made it,” he said, standing to stretch. He looked at Phoom with a friendly nod. “Haven’t seen you in a while, man. You got taller.”

Phoot snorted, though a smile tugged at his lips. “Everyone says that. Thanks for noticing.”

Sarah approached Pharm, placing a hand on his arm. “Alex is the same, but his vitals are looking good. No complications so far.”

Pharm let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “That’s good. Really good. Can we see him now?”

“Of course,” Sarah said.

Pharm braced himself as he stepped into the room with Phoom trailing behind him. The steady beep of the monitors and the faint hiss of the oxygen machine greeted them. Alex lay there, his face pale and still, but somehow less fragile than before. The lines of strain on his forehead had eased, giving him a calmer appearance.

Phoot moved closer, swallowing hard. “Wow,” he whispered, glancing at Pharm. “He looks… better than I expected.”

Pharm nodded. “I know. It’s scary, but I think he’s going to pull through.”

They stood by Alex’s bedside in silence. Phoom reached out, gingerly touching Alex’s hand as if afraid he might break him. Pharm watched, remembering how Alex had done the same for him countless times—offering comfort through presence alone.

“Hey, Alex,” Phoom said softly, his voice wobbly. “It’s me, Phoom. You gotta wake up, man. You still owe me a photoshoot.”

Pharm felt a pang of warmth at the affectionate teasing. He placed a hand on Phoom’s shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. The small beep of his phone cut through the hush of the room, and he glanced at it to see a message from Dean.

Dean: At the pool for practice. Thinking of you. How’s Alex?

Pharm quickly typed a response.

Pharm: He’s stable, still unconscious. Surgery went well. We’re here with him now.

A moment later, Dean replied.

Dean: I’m glad. Keep me updated, okay?

Pharm smiled and pocketed his phone. “Phoot,” he said gently, “mind giving me a moment alone with him?”

His brother nodded and slipped out of the room, leaving Pharm at Alex’s bedside. Pharm sank into the chair, leaning forward to take Alex’s hand in his.

“Hey,” he said quietly, searching Alex’s peaceful face. “I know you can’t hear me. But we’re all here for you, okay? Jake, Sarah, Phoom… me. So you gotta wake up. You gotta fight.”

He let the silence settle around him for a moment, the rhythmic beep of the machines oddly comforting. “I’m sorry if I left things unresolved when I went back to Thailand. We said we’d stay friends, and we did, but maybe I didn’t realize how much I needed you until now.”

He paused, his throat constricting. “But that’s not fair, is it? You always understood, even when I didn’t. So if you can hear me, Alex, please… come back.”

Pharm exited the room sometime later, exhaustion weighing on him like a heavy blanket. He found Jake, Sarah, and Phoom sitting in the waiting area, nursing cups of stale vending machine coffee. They all looked up as he approached, concern etched into their faces.

“I need some air,” Pharm said, his voice trembling slightly. “Anyone want to join me?”

Jake and Sarah exchanged glances. “Go ahead,” Sarah said gently. “We’ll stay here in case the doctor comes by.”

Phoot stood immediately. “I’ll come with you, bro.”

Pharm nodded, grateful for the solidarity. They walked outside to a small courtyard behind the hospital, where a few benches were scattered among some neatly trimmed shrubs. The fresh air hit them, and Pharm took a deep breath, feeling his lungs expand with the crispness of it.

Phoot waited, giving him time to gather his thoughts. Pharm was the first to speak.

“Thanks for coming with me,” he said, his eyes fixed on a patch of sunlight that fell across the concrete. “I needed this—needed to just breathe.”

Phoot nodded, leaning against a bench. “It’s… hard seeing him like that, but I’m glad I came. I couldn’t just sit at home, you know?”

Pharm smiled faintly. “Yeah, I know the feeling.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the sounds of distant traffic and the hospital’s soft buzz in the background. Eventually, Phoot cleared his throat.

“So… you and this Dean guy. Is it serious?”

Pharm blinked, taken aback. “What?”

Phoot shrugged. “I’m not blind, and I see the way you light up whenever he texts you. Even when we were in the car, I noticed. It’s a big thing, right?”

Heat rushed to Pharm’s cheeks. “I mean, we’re… we’re close, I guess. He’s been really supportive through all this. But I don’t know what it means yet.”

Phoot nodded thoughtfully. “You don’t have to know right now. But it’s good you have someone like that. Especially with everything going on.”

Pharm exhaled slowly, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “Yeah. It helps.”

Eventually, they returned to the waiting area, where Jake and Sarah were deep in a hushed conversation. Sarah looked up as Pharm and Phoom approached, offering a small smile.

“Doctor said Alex’s vitals remain stable, no major changes,” Sarah reported. “It’s a good sign.”

Relief coursed through Pharm, his legs nearly giving out as he sank into a chair. “That’s… that’s good.”

Jake studied him for a moment. “You look like you’re running on fumes, Pharm. Maybe you should get some rest.”

Pharm shook his head. “I’m okay.”

“Don’t push yourself too hard,” Sarah admonished softly. “Remember, Alex is stable now. You don’t have to keep vigil every second. He’d want you to take care of yourself, too.”

Pharm nodded, but in his mind, he couldn’t picture leaving the hospital for too long. “I might just… take a nap in the car or something.”

Jake put a hand on his shoulder. “If you do that, at least let one of us know so we can check on you.”

As the evening shadows lengthened, Pharm found himself wandering to the hospital’s small chapel—a quiet place designed for reflection, open to anyone. Stepping inside, he felt the hush of the space envelop him, the soft light from stained-glass windows casting gentle colors on the floor. He sank onto one of the wooden pews, letting the stillness ease the chaos in his mind. For a moment, he thought of praying, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, he just closed his eyes and breathed.

A vibration from his phone pulled him out of the quiet. Glancing at the screen, he saw a message from Dean again:

Dean: Just finished practice. How’s everything? Any updates on Alex?

Pharm typed a quick reply:

Pharm: Stable, no major changes. Thanks for asking. How was practice?

Dean responded almost immediately:

Dean: It was good. But I’m more interested in how you’re doing.

Pharm felt his chest tighten at the concern. He appreciated Dean’s sincerity more than he could express.

Pharm: I’m okay. Tired, worried, but okay. My family’s been supportive, and Alex’s surgery was successful. It’s just a waiting game now.

Dean: I wish I could be there for you in person.

Pharm exhaled, a wave of warmth coursing through him.

Pharm: I wish that too. But knowing you’re there helps. Thank you.

He set the phone on the pew beside him, letting the stillness fill the space once more. The swirl of thoughts in his mind—a mixture of Alex’s condition, his own exhaustion, and the growing bond he felt with Dean—settled into a quieter hum. It wasn’t exactly peace, but it was close enough for now.

Slowly, Pharm stood, slipping the phone into his pocket, and headed back to Alex’s room. He didn’t know what the next day would bring, but the knowledge that he wasn’t facing it all alone—that he had Phoom, Jake, Sarah, his mom, and Dean—kept him standing when the weight of everything threatened to bring him to his knees.

Pharm sat beside Jake in the small waiting area near Alex’s hospital room. The low hum of the hospital filled the space—machines beeping in the distance, nurses passing by in their soft-soled shoes, and the occasional murmur of other visitors. The harsh fluorescent lights cast an artificial glow over everything, making it hard to tell whether it was day or night anymore.

Jake stretched his legs out in front of him, cracking his knuckles as he let out a heavy sigh. “I still can’t believe you moved across the world and just adjusted like that. You’re making me look bad,” he teased, nudging Pharm lightly with his elbow.

Pharm chuckled, leaning back against the stiff chair. “It wasn’t that easy, trust me. The first few months were rough. I missed you guys, my mom, Phoom… everything felt so unfamiliar.” He paused, a small smile tugging at his lips. “But Thailand has always felt like home in a way I can’t explain. Like I was supposed to be there.”

Jake tilted his head, studying his friend. “That’s deep. But I get it. It’s like something was pulling you there?”

Pharm nodded, absentmindedly tapping his fingers against his knee. “Yeah, exactly. I didn’t understand it at first, but now… I think I do. My past, my family—it’s all connected to Thailand. Maybe I needed to be there to figure out who I really am.”

Jake smirked. “And let’s be honest, you probably would’ve gone even if there wasn’t some deep meaning behind it. You love Thai food too much.”

Pharm laughed, rolling his eyes. “I mean, that’s not untrue. The food is definitely a plus. But it’s more than that. The culture, the people… it’s like I belong there in a way I never quite felt here.”

Jake nodded in understanding before leaning his head back against the wall. “So… what’s been your favorite part about living there so far?”

Pharm thought for a moment, his gaze drifting as he recalled his experiences. “I love the markets—the night markets especially. The energy is different there, the smells of grilled meats, fresh fruit, all the street food… it’s chaotic but comforting at the same time.” He smiled. “And the people I’ve met—Team, Manaow, Dean…” His voice trailed off at Dean’s name, his heart giving a familiar flutter.

Jake noticed the change in tone immediately and raised an eyebrow. “Ah, Dean, huh? You sure talk about him a lot.”

Pharm felt his cheeks warm as he shook his head. “He’s just a really good friend.”

“Uh-huh, sure,” Jake teased. “A really good friend who you text all the time and whose name you just said like it’s written in a love letter.”

Pharm groaned, covering his face with his hands. “I swear, you and Manaow would get along way too well.”

Jake laughed, nudging him again. “Hey, I’m just saying. If something’s there, don’t ignore it.”

Pharm sighed but smiled softly. “I don’t know what’s there yet. But he… he makes me feel safe. And that means a lot.”

Jake’s teasing expression softened into something more understanding. “Then that’s all that matters.”

The conversation lapsed into comfortable silence, both of them lost in their thoughts. The rhythmic beeping from Alex’s monitors filled the quiet, grounding Pharm in the reality of the situation. He exhaled slowly, willing Alex to wake up, to show any sign that he was coming back to them.

Just then, a faint sound broke the stillness.

A quiet, almost imperceptible inhale.

Then another.

Pharm sat up straight, his breath catching in his throat. “Jake—”

Jake snapped his head toward Alex, his eyes widening.

Alex’s fingers twitched slightly against the bedsheet, his eyelids fluttering as if he were struggling to open them. His breathing hitched, shallow at first, but then steadier, more controlled.

“Alex?” Pharm whispered, his heart pounding.

Jake scrambled to his feet, pressing the call button for the nurse while grabbing Alex’s hand with his other. “Hey, man, can you hear me?”

Another twitch. Then, with the slow determination of someone waking from the deepest of sleeps, Alex’s eyes cracked open just a sliver.

Pharm felt a rush of relief so intense that he almost felt dizzy. He reached for Alex’s other hand, squeezing it gently. “Alex, it’s us. You’re in the hospital. You made it through surgery.”

Alex’s gaze was unfocused, hazy with confusion, but after a few seconds, it landed on them. His lips parted, his voice hoarse and barely above a whisper.

“…What… happened?”

Jake let out a breath of shaky laughter, rubbing his hand down his face. “Dude, you scared the hell out of us. You were in an accident. But you’re okay now. You made it.”

A weak, lopsided smirk ghosted over Alex’s lips. “Figures… you guys… would be… dramatic about it.”

Pharm let out a watery laugh, blinking away the tears that had gathered in his eyes. “You were unconscious for days, Alex. I think we earned the right to be dramatic.”

The door burst open as a nurse rushed in, immediately checking Alex’s vitals while speaking softly to him. Alex’s responses were sluggish, but he was responding. That alone made Pharm’s chest feel lighter, like the weight of the past few days had finally started to lift.

Jake stepped back to let the nurse work, rubbing a hand over his face again. “God, I thought I was gonna have to punch you awake at some point,” he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.

Alex gave a weak chuckle before groaning. “Everything… hurts.”

“That’s because you almost died,” Jake said bluntly. “Next time, don’t get hit by a car.”

Pharm elbowed Jake lightly. “Be nice.”

Alex managed a faint eye roll. “No promises,” he mumbled.

The nurse finished up her initial assessment and smiled reassuringly. “He’s stable. His body is still weak, so he’ll need plenty of rest, but waking up is a great sign. The doctor will be in soon to check on him.”

Pharm nodded, gripping Alex’s hand again. “You scared us,” he admitted softly.

Alex’s tired eyes met his, something unspoken passing between them. “Sorry,” he murmured. “Didn’t mean to.”

“I know,” Pharm whispered.

Alex’s eyes fluttered shut briefly, exhaustion pulling at him. “You… came all the way back?”

Pharm’s heart clenched. “Of course I did.”

Alex hummed in acknowledgment, his breathing evening out again as he drifted back into sleep.

Pharm let out a long breath, exchanging a relieved look with Jake. “He’s back.”

Jake grinned, clapping Pharm on the back. “Yeah. He’s back.”

Pharm pulled out his phone, quickly typing a message to Dean.

Pharm: He woke up.

The response came almost immediately.

Dean: Thank God. How are you?

Pharm glanced at Alex, a small smile playing on his lips before replying.

Pharm: Better. So much better.

As he hit send, he let himself believe, just for a moment, that everything was going to be okay.

Pharm sat by Alex’s hospital bed, the rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor filling the quiet room. The afternoon sun streamed through the half-open blinds, casting golden light over Alex’s still-resting form. Though Alex had woken up briefly, he’d drifted off again, his body still too weak from the surgery. But Pharm wasn’t worried this time—Alex was here. He was alive. And for now, that was enough.

Jake had stepped out to grab coffee, leaving Pharm alone in the room. He stared at his best friend’s sleeping face, memories of their time together flooding his mind. Alex had been with him through some of the hardest moments of his life—his struggles with depression, his uncertainty about his sexuality, the rebellion phase he had gone through. He had never judged, never turned away, just remained a steady presence no matter what.

Pharm exhaled and leaned back in his chair, pulling his phone from his pocket. He had a dozen messages from people asking about Alex, but the one from Dean stood out the most.

Dean: Let me know if you need anything. Even if it’s just someone to talk to.

Pharm stared at the message for a moment before typing.

Pharm: I just… I think I needed this reminder that life is so fragile. I keep thinking about all the things I haven’t said, to Alex, to you, to a lot of people. It’s scary how things can change so fast.

Dean’s reply came quickly.

Dean: It is scary. But it’s also why we have to say what we need to, while we have the time. You know I’m here, Pharm. Whenever you’re ready to talk, about anything, I’ll listen.

Pharm swallowed hard, his fingers tightening around his phone. He hadn’t told Dean much about Alex, only that he was a close friend from his past. But there was so much more he wanted to say. How Alex had been his first love, his first heartbreak, the first person to ever make him feel seen. How their relationship had been messy, filled with teenage uncertainty and longing, and how, even after they broke up, Alex had stayed in his life as a friend.

His therapist, Dr. Sutthida, had told him before that unresolved emotions had a way of creeping back into his life. Maybe this was one of those times.

Pharm typed another message but hesitated before sending it.

Pharm: When I get back to Thailand, can we meet?

Dean’s reply was almost instant.

Dean: Of course. Anytime you want.

A warmth spread through Pharm’s chest at Dean’s words. He hadn’t expected to find someone like Dean in his life—not someone who felt so familiar and yet so new all at once.

He put his phone down and ran a hand through his hair. His mind was still swirling with thoughts about Alex, about Dean, about everything he had learned in the past few months.

He thought of Korn and Intouch, of the love that had ended so tragically. He thought of how their past seemed to echo through his own life. And now, as he sat here watching Alex fight his way back to life, Pharm realized something—he didn’t want to live with regrets. He didn’t want to let the past dictate his future.

"Pharm..."

A weak voice pulled him from his thoughts.

Pharm’s eyes snapped to Alex, whose eyes were now barely open. His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper, but it was there.

"Hey," Pharm said softly, leaning closer. "You’re awake again."

Alex blinked sluggishly. "How… long have you been here?"

Pharm smiled slightly. "Since I got back. I wasn’t going anywhere."

A ghost of a smirk crossed Alex’s lips. "You’re stubborn."

"You love me for it," Pharm teased lightly.

Alex let out a breathy chuckle before wincing slightly. "Damn… everything hurts."

"The doctor said that’s normal. You had surgery. But you’re doing okay. You scared the hell out of us, though."

Alex sighed, his gaze softening. "Didn’t mean to."

Pharm’s throat tightened. He reached out, taking Alex’s hand in his own. "I know. But you have to fight, okay? You have so many people here who need you."

Alex’s fingers curled slightly around his. "I’m trying."

A beat of silence passed between them before Alex spoke again.

"Hey, Pharm," he murmured.

"Yeah?"

"Do you ever think about us?"

Pharm’s breath caught. He hadn’t expected that. He looked down at their joined hands, memories flashing in his mind. Their late-night talks, stolen kisses in secret corners, whispered confessions of feelings too big for them to understand at the time.

"Yeah," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. "I do."

Alex exhaled slowly, his eyes slipping shut for a moment before fluttering back open. "Me too."

Pharm didn’t know what to say to that, so he simply squeezed Alex’s hand.

"You’re one of the best things that ever happened to me," Alex murmured, his voice thick with exhaustion. "Even if we weren’t meant to last like that."

Pharm swallowed the lump in his throat. "You were one of the best things that ever happened to me too."

Alex smiled faintly, then let out a tired sigh. "You have someone new now, don’t you?"

Pharm’s heart stuttered. "What makes you say that?"

Alex chuckled weakly. "Because you have that look. The same one you used to have when you talked about me."

Pharm bit his lip, unsure of how to respond. But after a moment, he nodded. "There’s someone. But it’s… complicated."

Alex hummed in acknowledgment. "Just… don’t waste time, okay? If you feel something, say it. If you love someone, tell them. Life’s too short to leave things unsaid."

Pharm’s chest ached at Alex’s words. He knew he was right. He had been learning that lesson over and over again these past few months.

"I won’t," Pharm promised.

Alex’s grip on his hand loosened slightly as exhaustion pulled him back into sleep, but there was peace in his expression now.

Pharm stayed by his side, watching over him. He knew now, more than ever, that he had to start living in the present. That when he returned to Thailand, he couldn’t keep running from his feelings, from Dean, from everything he had been afraid to face.

He pulled out his phone again and typed one last message before setting it down.

Pharm: Thank you for being there for me, Dean. I think… I’m finally ready to start figuring things out.

As he hit send, he felt lighter.

Because for the first time in a long time, he wasn’t just looking back.

He was moving forward.

The next morning, the hospital room was filled with the soft beeping of machines and the occasional murmur of nurses outside in the hallway. Pharm sat in the chair beside Alex’s bed, his fingers wrapped around a warm cup of coffee. He had barely slept, his mind running in circles around everything that had happened.

Alex had made it through the night, and that was what mattered. But the weight of the past—of everything they had been through, of what he had learned since moving to Thailand—still lingered between them.

A soft groan pulled Pharm from his thoughts. He looked up just in time to see Alex stirring, his eyelids fluttering open slowly.

“Hey,” Pharm said quietly, setting his coffee down on the side table.

Alex blinked a few times before his gaze focused on Pharm. His lips curled into a tired smirk. “You’re still here.”

Pharm let out a small laugh. “Where else would I be?”

Alex sighed, shifting slightly in the bed. “I was hoping you went home to get some sleep.”

Pharm shrugged. “I’ll sleep when you’re back on your feet.”

Alex rolled his eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, he studied Pharm for a long moment before speaking again.

“So, Thailand,” Alex said, his voice slightly raspy. “Tell me about it.”

Pharm leaned back in his chair, tilting his head as he considered how to answer. “It’s… different from here,” he said eventually. “But in a good way. It feels like home in a way I never expected.”

Alex hummed. “And what’s so special about it? What made you stay?”

Pharm hesitated for a second, knowing exactly what had kept him in Thailand but unsure how much he wanted to say.

“Well, for one, the food is amazing,” he said with a small smile. “I’ve been cooking a lot more, trying out different Thai desserts. I joined the cooking club at my university, and it’s been nice to do something I love again.”

Alex smirked. “Still making Look Choup?”

Pharm’s heart stuttered.

Look Choup. The tiny, delicate Thai dessert that had felt so familiar the first time he saw it in a cookbook. The same dessert that Intouch had once given to Korn in one of Pharm’s memories.

Pharm cleared his throat, nodding. “Yeah. I made it for the swim team at my university a while back.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “Swim team? You know people on the swim team?”

Pharm looked down at his hands. “Yeah,” he said softly. “There’s someone I met. Dean.”

Alex’s gaze sharpened, picking up on the way Pharm said the name. “Dean,” he repeated slowly. “Tell me about him.”

Pharm hesitated, but he should have known better than to think Alex would let it go.

“He’s…” Pharm started, then exhaled, shaking his head. “He’s… familiar.”

Alex frowned slightly. “Familiar how?”

Pharm bit his lip before deciding to just say it. “Like I’ve known him before. Like I’ve been looking for him my whole life and didn’t realize it.”

Alex’s expression softened. “Sounds like fate.”

Pharm scoffed. “You sound like Manaow.”

Alex chuckled, but his amusement quickly faded as he shifted in bed, trying to sit up a little more. “Pharm,” he said, his voice quieter now. “Does he remind you of him?”

Pharm froze. He knew exactly who Alex was talking about.

Intouch.

Pharm swallowed hard, his fingers curling slightly against his lap. “Yes,” he admitted. “And I don’t know what to do about it.”

Alex exhaled slowly. “Have you told him?”

Pharm shook his head. “No. And I don’t think I can. Not yet.”

Alex was silent for a moment before he spoke again. “So, you’re just gonna keep all of this inside? Keep pretending like you don’t know why you feel the way you do?”

Pharm clenched his jaw. “It’s not that simple, Alex.”

Alex raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t it?”

Pharm ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t even understand it myself. I keep having these memories, these dreams that don’t feel like mine but also do at the same time. I see their faces—I see Korn and Intouch—and it’s like I was Intouch, like I am him. But I also know I’m Pharm. And I don’t know where one ends and the other begins.”

Alex watched him, his expression unreadable. “And Dean?”

Pharm swallowed. “I don’t know if he remembers too. I don’t know if he feels it like I do. But when I’m around him… it’s like the past is reaching for me, trying to make itself known.”

Alex hummed thoughtfully. “Sounds like you’re scared.”

Pharm flinched. “Of course, I’m scared,” he snapped. “Wouldn’t you be? If you woke up one day and realized that your past life—if that’s even what this is—was trying to bleed into your present?”

Alex didn’t react to Pharm’s outburst. Instead, he reached out, placing a weak but steady hand over Pharm’s. “Pharm,” he said gently, “maybe this isn’t about the past trying to take over your life. Maybe this is about giving you a second chance.”

Pharm’s breath hitched. “A second chance?”

Alex nodded. “Maybe the universe—or whatever you believe in—isn’t trying to haunt you. Maybe it’s trying to help you. Maybe it’s trying to give you the chance that Intouch and Korn never got.”

Pharm felt a lump form in his throat. “But what if I mess it up?” he whispered.

Alex’s grip on his hand tightened slightly. “Then you learn. And you try again. But you don’t run from it.”

Pharm inhaled sharply, blinking rapidly as he tried to process Alex’s words.

A second chance.

A chance to do things right.

A chance to love without fear.

He exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “I don’t know if I’m ready,” he admitted.

Alex smiled softly. “That’s okay. Just don’t close yourself off to it.”

Pharm nodded slowly, letting the words settle in his chest.

For the first time in weeks, the weight of his memories didn’t feel so suffocating.

And maybe, just maybe, he was ready to stop running.

Chapter Text

Previously on Beautiful but Tragic

Pharm inhaled sharply, blinking rapidly as he tried to process Alex's words.

A second chance.

A chance to do things right.

A chance to love without fear.

He exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly. "I don't know if I'm ready," he admitted.

Alex smiled softly. "That's okay. Just don't close yourself off to it."

Pharm nodded slowly, letting the words settle in his chest.

For the first time in weeks, the weight of his memories didn't feel so suffocating.

And maybe, just maybe, he was ready to stop running.

The week had passed quicker than Pharm had anticipated.

Alex was growing stronger by the day, and every morning, when Pharm walked into his hospital room, he could see the difference. The color had returned to Alex's face, his voice wasn't as weak, and he had even started cracking jokes again—something that reassured Pharm more than anything else.

"You're looking better," Pharm said as he entered the hospital room that morning, carrying a smoothie he had picked up from Alex's favorite café.

Alex smirked, propping himself up in bed. "Looking better? Pharm, I was always good-looking."

Pharm rolled his eyes but set the smoothie on the tray beside Alex anyway. "I figured you'd say that. Here, drink this. It's better than the crap they're feeding you here."

Alex took the smoothie with a mock gasp. "Are you saying hospital food isn't gourmet?"

Pharm snorted. "I wouldn't feed it to my worst enemy."

They both laughed, but the moment settled into something quieter as Pharm sat down beside the bed. He glanced at the clock, the reality of time ticking away gnawing at him.

"I'm leaving tomorrow," Pharm said softly.

Alex set his drink down and sighed. "I figured it'd be soon."

Pharm hesitated before speaking again. "I wish I could stay longer."

"No, you don't." Alex gave him a knowing look. "You love Thailand. You belong there, Pharm."

Pharm swallowed past the lump in his throat. "It's just... after everything that happened, I don't want to leave you like this."

Alex chuckled. "Pharm, I'm not dying. You did your part. You were here when I needed you. And now? Now, it's time for you to go back and do whatever it is you were doing before I decided to get hit by a car."

Pharm huffed a soft laugh. "That's not funny."

"Yeah, but you still laughed," Alex pointed out.

Pharm sighed, shaking his head. "I hate leaving people behind."

Alex smiled, softer this time. "You're not leaving me behind. You're just moving forward. And besides, we're only a phone call away."

Pharm nodded, knowing Alex was right, but it didn't make saying goodbye any easier. That evening, Pharm sat on the couch in his mother's living room, sipping tea as his younger brother, Phoom, scrolled through his phone beside him. Their mother was in the kitchen, preparing dinner, and the scent of home-cooked food filled the air.

"So, you're really going back tomorrow?" Phoom asked without looking up from his phone.

Pharm exhaled. "Yeah."

Phoom was quiet for a moment before setting his phone down. "I get it," he said. "You've got your life there now. But I just wish you could come back more often."

Pharm gave his brother a small smile. "I'll try. I promise."

Phoom smirked. "You said that last time, and look how long it took for you to visit."

Pharm sighed. "Okay, okay. You have a point. But I will try this time. Maybe on a school break."

Phoom gave a satisfied nod before reaching over and shoving Pharm lightly. "Good. 'Cause I miss having you around."

Pharm blinked, touched by the admission. He and Phoom didn't always express their emotions so openly, but he appreciated the effort his brother was making.

"I miss you too," Pharm said honestly.

Their mother appeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on a kitchen towel. "Dinner's ready," she announced, smiling at them. "And we're having all your favorites, Pharm."

Pharm's heart swelled. "You didn't have to do that."

His mother waved him off. "Of course, I did. It's your last night here. You deserve a proper meal before you go back."

Phoom grinned. "Yeah, before you go back to stuffing yourself with Thai food."

Pharm laughed as they headed toward the dining table, feeling a warmth settle over him. This was home. Even if he had found another home in Thailand, this would always be a part of him too.

The next morning, Pharm stood at the airport terminal, his luggage beside him.

Jack and Sarah were there, as well as Alex—who had somehow convinced the doctors to let him leave the hospital just for this.

"You're still pale," Pharm muttered, eyeing Alex critically.

Alex smirked. "And yet, still as handsome as ever."

Pharm rolled his eyes before turning to Jack and Sarah. "Thank you both... for everything."

Sarah smiled, pulling him into a tight hug. "Take care of yourself, okay? And don't be a stranger."

Jack clapped Pharm on the shoulder. "And don't forget—we still want to visit Thailand. So, expect us someday."

Pharm grinned. "I'd love that."

Finally, he turned to Alex, hesitating.

Alex sighed dramatically. "Oh, come on, you're not going to cry, are you?"

Pharm let out a choked laugh before hugging Alex carefully. "Take care of yourself," he whispered.

Alex patted his back. "You too, Pharm."

With a deep breath, Pharm pulled away and grabbed his suitcase. He took one last look at the people who had been his family for so long before nodding.

"I'll see you all soon," he promised.

And with that, he turned and walked toward the gate, his heart both heavy and full.

He was going home.

The low hum of the airplane engines filled the cabin, a rhythmic noise that had always been oddly comforting to Pharm. He shifted in his seat, adjusting the blanket over his lap as he gazed out the small window beside him. The vast stretch of sky beyond the glass was dark, speckled with stars, and for a moment, he simply breathed, letting the reality settle in—he was going home.

His emotions were a tangle of relief, exhaustion, and bittersweet nostalgia. Leaving his family and friends behind in America had been difficult, but at the same time, he felt a pull back to Thailand, back to the life he had built there.

With a sigh, Pharm pulled out his phone, flipping through his messages. There were a few texts from Sarah, Jack, and Alex, checking in to make sure he had made it onto the flight. He responded quickly, reassuring them all that he was safely on his way. Then, his fingers hovered over another conversation.

Dean.

Ever since he had left Thailand, their messages had been steady. Dean didn't bombard him with questions, didn't pressure him to talk, but he was there. Just like before. Steady, solid. A quiet presence Pharm had come to rely on in ways he hadn't even realized.

Pharm: Hey, just boarded my flight. I should land in about 14 hours.

He hesitated for a moment before adding another message.

Pharm: I miss Thailand already.

He pressed send before he could second-guess himself. It wasn't an exaggeration—he truly did miss Thailand. His life there, his friends, the warmth of it all. But most of all, he missed Dean.

A minute later, his phone buzzed with a reply.

Dean: That was fast. I was just about to message you.

Pharm smiled to himself as he typed back.

Pharm: You were?

Dean: Yeah. Just wanted to check in, see how you were holding up.

Pharm's heart did a strange little flutter at that. He could almost hear Dean's voice—calm, steady, reassuring.

Pharm: I'm okay. Tired, but okay. Just... a lot on my mind.

Dean: Understandable. It's been a long couple of weeks for you.

Pharm bit his lip, considering how to phrase what he wanted to say next.

Pharm: Thanks for checking in. It means a lot.

Dean: Of course. You don't have to thank me for that, Pharm.

Pharm exhaled softly.

Pharm: Still. It helps.

There was a pause before Dean replied again.

Dean: Just focus on getting back safely. I'll see you soon.

Pharm read the message a few times before locking his phone and leaning his head back against the seat.

He would see Dean soon. And somehow, that made everything feel a little less overwhelming. The cabin lights dimmed as the flight attendants announced that passengers should rest. Pharm pulled his blanket tighter around him and closed his eyes, but sleep didn't come immediately. Instead, his mind wandered—memories of the past weeks flashing through his mind.

Seeing his mother and Phoom again had been emotional. His mom had cried when she hugged him, whispering about how much she missed him, about how proud she was of him. Phoom had been his usual self—snarky but affectionate in his own way. And Alex...

Pharm swallowed hard, thinking of how close he had come to losing Alex. The accident, the uncertainty of the surgery—it had all been terrifying. But now, Alex was getting stronger. He was healing.

The thought of leaving had been difficult, but he knew Alex would be okay. He had Sarah, Jack, and his family to support him. And Alex had told him—repeatedly—that he didn't need to stay behind.

"You belong in Thailand now, Pharm," Alex had said. "You've built a life there. You don't need to put that on pause for me."

Pharm had nodded, but it hadn't made saying goodbye any easier.

And now, as he flew across the ocean back to Thailand, he couldn't help but feel that he was in the middle of something bigger than just a trip home.

This trip had opened old wounds and revealed new truths. It had forced him to confront pieces of his past he had buried long ago—his relationship with Alex, his battle with depression, the weight of his family's history.

But it had also made one thing clear.

Thailand was home now.

And in that home, waiting for him, was Dean.

The announcement of their impending arrival woke Pharm from his light sleep. Blinking against the dim cabin lights, he sat up and stretched his arms, feeling the stiffness settle in his muscles after the long flight.

The plane touched down smoothly, and the familiar sight of Thailand through the window filled him with a sense of comfort.

As soon as they were allowed, Pharm pulled out his phone and turned it back on. Almost immediately, a message from Dean appeared.

Dean: Welcome back.

Pharm's lips curled into a small smile. He hadn't even messaged yet, but Dean already knew.

Pharm: Just landed. I feel like I've been on this plane for days.

Dean: I'll pick you up. Just tell me when you're ready.

Pharm hesitated for a second. He had planned to take a taxi home, not wanting to inconvenience anyone. But the idea of seeing Dean right away... it was tempting.

Pharm: Are you sure? It's pretty early.

Dean: I'm already on my way.

Pharm's heart did that odd fluttering thing again, and this time, he didn't try to push it away.

Pharm: Okay. I'll meet you outside arrivals.

By the time Pharm made it through customs and baggage claim, the airport was already buzzing with activity. He pulled his suitcase along, stepping through the sliding doors into the arrival area.

And there, leaning against his car, was Dean.

Dressed casually in a fitted black t-shirt and jeans, Dean looked as composed as ever. But when he saw Pharm, his expression softened into something warm, something familiar.

Pharm didn't realize how much he had missed Dean until that moment.

Dean pushed off from the car and walked toward him. "Hey."

Pharm smiled. "Hey."

Dean eyed him for a second before reaching out to take Pharm's suitcase. "Long flight?"

Pharm nodded, feeling the exhaustion creeping in now that he was back. "Yeah. I feel like I haven't slept in years."

Dean huffed a soft laugh. "Let's get you home."

They loaded his suitcase into the trunk, and soon enough, they were driving through the quiet streets of Bangkok. The city was just waking up, the sky tinged with the first light of dawn.

Pharm let his head rest against the window, watching the familiar scenery pass by. He felt a strange sense of relief.

Dean glanced at him. "You okay?"

Pharm turned to look at him, offering a small but genuine smile. "Yeah. I think I am."

Dean nodded, and they fell into a comfortable silence, the city stretching before them, welcoming Pharm home.

For the first time in weeks, he felt like he was exactly where he was meant to be.

The early morning air was crisp, the streets of Bangkok bathed in the dim glow of streetlights as Dean drove through the quiet city. The hum of the car engine filled the silence between them, a steady presence that felt oddly soothing to Pharm after such a long journey.

Pharm leaned back against the passenger seat, eyes fluttering shut for a brief moment. His body felt heavy with exhaustion, but his mind was still alert, replaying the events of the past few weeks in America.

Dean glanced at him from the corner of his eye, his hands steady on the steering wheel. "You look like you could sleep for a week."

Pharm huffed a soft laugh, cracking one eye open. "I feel like I could. Long flights are exhausting."

Dean nodded, keeping his eyes on the road. "I bet. But it seems like it was an important trip."

Pharm sighed, shifting slightly in his seat. "Yeah... it was." He hesitated before adding, "I needed to be there."

Dean stole another glance at him, sensing the weight in his words. "How's Alex doing?"

Pharm's fingers played with the hem of his sleeve. "Better. A lot better than when I first got there." He exhaled, his voice quieter. "Honestly, when I arrived, I wasn't sure if he was going to make it."

Dean didn't rush him, letting the silence linger, allowing Pharm to gather his thoughts.

"He was unconscious for so long after the accident. The doctors weren't sure how much damage had been done." Pharm swallowed, his fingers tightening around the fabric of his sleeve. "It was terrifying, Dean. Sitting there, waiting, not knowing if he'd wake up."

Dean's grip on the steering wheel tightened slightly, his brows drawing together. "I can't imagine how hard that must've been."

Pharm nodded slowly, his gaze distant. "Alex... he was always strong. He was one of the first people to really understand me when I moved to America." A small smile played at his lips. "He found it fascinating that I was from Thailand. He used to ask so many questions—about the food, the culture, everything."

Dean let a ghost of a smile touch his lips. "Sounds like he was important to you."

Pharm hesitated, then nodded. "Yeah. He was." He shifted uncomfortably before admitting, "He was my first boyfriend."

Dean's hands remained steady on the wheel, but Pharm noticed the slight flicker of surprise in his expression. "Really?"

Pharm gave a soft chuckle. "Yeah. We were young, and it didn't last long, but he was... a big part of my life. Even after we broke up, we stayed close."

Dean nodded slowly, absorbing the information. "I get it. Some people just become part of your story, no matter what."

Pharm glanced at him, touched by how effortlessly Dean seemed to understand. "Exactly."

A comfortable silence settled between them as the car moved smoothly through the streets.

After a while, Dean asked, "And your family? How was it seeing them again?"

Pharm let out a breath. "It was good. I missed them more than I realized." He leaned his head against the window, watching the city lights blur past. "My mom cried when she saw me. Phoom acted like he didn't care, but I know he did."

Dean smirked. "Typical younger sibling behavior."

Pharm chuckled. "Yeah. But it was nice. Seeing them, being home again... It reminded me of a different part of myself. One that I kind of left behind when I moved back here."

Dean's voice was gentle. "Do you regret coming back?"

Pharm shook his head immediately. "No. Not at all." He turned to Dean, his expression sincere. "Thailand is home. It always will be."

Dean met his gaze for a moment before turning back to the road. "Good," he murmured.

The words were simple, but they carried something deeper—something Pharm didn't quite have the energy to analyze right now.

Another pause.

Then Dean asked, "Do they know about..." He trailed off, clearly unsure how to phrase it.

Pharm knew exactly what he was asking. "In and Korn?"

Dean nodded.

Pharm exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Sarah, Jack, and Alex know. They've known for a long time." He paused. "My mom... I don't think she knows everything, but I think she suspects something. She knew my dad changed his last name, and I think she always had questions about why."

Dean was quiet for a moment before saying, "That's a lot to carry."

Pharm let out a tired laugh. "Yeah. Tell me about it."

Dean's hands tightened on the wheel. "You're not carrying it alone, you know."

Pharm turned his head to look at him, something warm settling in his chest.

"I know," he said softly.

By the time they reached Pharm's apartment, the sun was beginning to rise, the first rays of light stretching across the sky.

Dean pulled into the parking lot, shifting the car into park before turning to look at Pharm.

"You sure you're okay?"

Pharm stretched, letting out a small groan. "I will be once I sleep for about a decade."

Dean huffed a laugh, shaking his head. "Go get some rest."

Pharm reached for the door handle but hesitated. He turned back to Dean, chewing on his bottom lip before saying, "Thanks. For picking me up. For listening."

Dean met his gaze, his expression serious but warm. "Anytime, Pharm."

Pharm nodded, pushing the door open and stepping out. He grabbed his suitcase from the trunk, giving Dean one last tired smile. "I'll text you later."

Dean nodded. "Get some sleep."

Pharm waved before heading inside, the weight of exhaustion finally catching up with him.

As he entered his apartment, he let out a deep sigh, the familiar scent of home washing over him. He set his suitcase by the door, too tired to unpack just yet. Instead, he kicked off his shoes, walked straight to his bed, and collapsed onto the mattress.

His phone buzzed just as he closed his eyes. He groaned, reaching for it lazily.

Dean: Rest well.

A small smile tugged at Pharm's lips.

Pharm: Thanks, Dean.

With that, he let his phone fall onto the bed beside him, his eyes slipping shut.

Finally, he was home.

And for the first time in a long time, he felt at peace.

Dean sat in his parked car for a long time after dropping Pharm off. The sun had begun to rise, casting a soft golden glow over the city, but Dean barely noticed. His fingers drummed against the steering wheel, his thoughts a tangled mess of emotions he didn't know how to sort through.

Alex.

Pharm's first boyfriend.

Dean hadn't known what to say when Pharm told him. It wasn't jealousy—at least, that's what he told himself. It was something else. Something deeper, more complicated.

He had always known that Pharm had a past, that he had lived a whole life in America before coming back to Thailand. But for some reason, hearing about Alex had stirred something inside him, a strange mix of emotions that left him unsettled.

Pharm had spoken about Alex with warmth, with the kind of familiarity that only came from shared history and deep understanding. And though he had reassured Dean that they were just friends now, Dean couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to it than that.

Dean exhaled, running a hand through his hair. He needed to clear his head.

There was only one person he could talk to about this.

Win lived in a small apartment near the university, and he wasn't exactly an early riser. But when Dean knocked on his door at seven in the morning, he heard shuffling inside, followed by a string of groggy curses.

The door swung open to reveal Win, his hair sticking up in all directions, eyes squinting against the morning light. "Dean?" He rubbed his face. "What the hell are you doing here at this hour?"

Dean stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. "I needed to talk."

Win yawned, stretching his arms over his head. "And it couldn't wait until later?"

"No," Dean said simply.

Win shut the door and sighed. "Alright, let me make coffee first. If I have to listen to you mope, I need caffeine."

Dean didn't argue. He sat down on the couch while Win shuffled into the kitchen, the smell of brewing coffee filling the small space.

A few minutes later, Win handed Dean a mug and plopped down onto the couch beside him. "Alright. What's going on?"

Dean stared into his coffee, as if the dark liquid would give him answers. "Pharm told me something last night."

Win took a sip. "And?"

"He told me that Alex... was his first boyfriend."

Win paused mid-sip before lowering his mug. "Oh."

Dean sighed. "Yeah. Oh."

Win studied him for a moment. "Why is this bothering you?"

Dean opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. He closed it again, frustration flickering across his face.

Win smirked. "Are you jealous?"

Dean shot him a glare. "No."

"Then what?" Win leaned back, stretching his legs out. "Come on, Dean. I know you better than that. Something's messing with your head."

Dean hesitated, then sighed. "It's not jealousy. At least, not in the way you think." He ran a hand through his hair. "It's just... hearing Pharm talk about Alex, about how important he was to him, it made me realize how much I don't know about Pharm's past."

Win nodded, waiting for him to continue.

Dean set his mug down on the table. "I mean, I knew he had a life in America. I knew he had friends, that he experienced things before coming here. But hearing about Alex made it feel real, like there's this whole part of Pharm's life that I wasn't there for."

Win was quiet for a moment before he said, "Dean, that's just how life works. We all have pasts. Pharm does. You do too."

Dean exhaled. "I know. But..." He trailed off, struggling to put his feelings into words.

Win arched a brow. "But you feel like you should have been there?"

Dean hesitated before nodding. "Yeah."

Win studied him carefully. "Why?"

Dean frowned. "I don't know."

Win smirked. "I think you do."

Dean gave him an annoyed look. "Just say it."

Win shrugged. "You care about him, Dean. Probably more than you even realize. And hearing about Alex made you realize how much you want to be a part of Pharm's story—not just his present, but everything."

Dean didn't respond right away. He hated how right Win was sometimes.

Win leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "Look, man. I get it. It's weird to think about someone you care about having a history that doesn't include you. But you can't change the past. What you can do is be part of his future."

Dean stared at the floor, mulling over Win's words.

Win sighed. "Do you trust Pharm?"

Dean looked up, eyes narrowing. "Of course."

"Then trust that what he has with you now is what matters," Win said simply. "Alex was a part of his life, yeah. But you are too. And if you let this mess with your head, you're just going to make things harder for yourself."

Dean let out a slow breath. "You're right."

Win grinned. "Damn right, I am."

Dean shook his head but smiled. "Thanks, Win."

Win clapped a hand on his shoulder. "Anytime, man."

By the time Dean arrived home, the sun was fully up, casting warm golden light through the windows of his family's house.

He stepped inside quietly, slipping off his shoes at the door. The house was mostly still, except for the faint sound of dishes clinking in the kitchen.

"Dean?"

He turned to see Del, his younger sister, standing in the hallway, her expression curious.

"Hey," he said.

She tilted her head. "Where were you? You're never out this early."

Dean shrugged. "Had to talk to someone."

Del studied him for a moment, then nodded. "Okay."

She turned to head back toward the kitchen, but then paused. "You look like you have a lot on your mind."

Dean hesitated before saying, "Yeah. I do."

Del gave him a small smile. "Well, if you ever want to talk, I'm here."

Dean felt a flicker of warmth in his chest. "Thanks, Del."

She nodded before disappearing into the kitchen.

Dean exhaled and headed up to his room. He pulled out his phone and opened his messages, staring at his conversation with Pharm.

Finally, he typed:

Dean: Hey. Hope you got some rest.

A few moments later, his phone buzzed.

Pharm: I did. Thanks again for picking me up.

Dean hesitated, then typed:

Dean: I know we didn't talk about it much, but I'm really glad you told me about Alex. I know he means a lot to you.

This time, Pharm took longer to reply.

Pharm: Yeah. He does. But you do too, Dean.

Dean's breath caught slightly as he read those words.

Before he could overthink it, he typed:

Dean: Same here, Pharm.

As he set his phone down, he let out a slow breath, feeling the weight in his chest lighten just a little.

Win was right. The past was the past.

But the future? That was his to build with Pharm, one step at a time.

And that was all that mattered.

Chapter Text

Previously on Beautiful but Tragic

Pharm: Yeah. He does. But you do too, Dean.

Dean's breath caught slightly as he read those words.

Before he could overthink it, he typed:

Dean: Same here, Pharm.

As he set his phone down, he let out a slow breath, feeling the weight in his chest lighten just a little.

Win was right. The past was the past.

But the future? That was his to build with Pharm, one step at a time.

And that was all that mattered.

The next morning, Pharm woke up to the sound of his alarm buzzing persistently on his nightstand. He groaned softly, rolling over and silencing it with a sluggish hand before staring up at the ceiling. The weight of jet lag still lingered in his limbs, and for a moment, he debated staying in bed for just a little longer.

But he knew that wasn't an option. Classes had resumed, and after missing some days due to his trip to America, he had to get back into his routine.

Pharm sat up slowly, running a hand through his hair as his mind drifted to the events of the past few weeks—Alex's accident, his time back in America, his conversations with Jake, Sarah, and his family. It had been a whirlwind of emotions, a mixture of fear, relief, and bittersweet nostalgia. And then there was Dean.

The thought of Dean made Pharm's stomach twist in a way he wasn't sure how to interpret. Their conversation from last night lingered in his mind, especially the way Dean had acknowledged Alex without hesitation, without judgment.

He does too.

Pharm had meant those words, but he hadn't expected them to feel so... significant. Dean was important to him. That much was clear. But how much of it was tied to his own feelings, and how much of it was tied to the memories of In and Korn?

With a deep breath, Pharm pushed himself out of bed and stretched. He couldn't afford to dwell on all of this right now. He had class in an hour, and he was determined to focus.

By the time Pharm arrived at campus, the morning sun was high, casting warm golden hues over the bustling university grounds. Students moved across the campus in groups, some chatting excitedly, others clutching coffee cups as they rushed to their lectures.

Pharm pulled his bag higher on his shoulder and made his way toward the economics building. As he climbed the steps, he spotted Manaow waiting near the entrance, scrolling through her phone.

"Pharm!" she called, looking up and grinning when she saw him. "You're back! How was America?"

Pharm smiled, feeling a sense of comfort at seeing his friend. "It was... a lot," he admitted. "I'm glad to be back, though."

Manaow studied him for a moment before nodding. "Well, you missed a lot while you were gone. The drama club had auditions, and let's just say things got intense."

Pharm chuckled. "I don't doubt it."

As they walked into the lecture hall together, Pharm felt a familiar presence falling into step beside him. He turned to see Team joining them, his face lighting up when he saw Pharm.

"Pharm! You're back!" Team said, slinging an arm around Pharm's shoulders. "I was starting to think you ran away."

Pharm laughed, shaking his head. "No chance. Just had to take care of some things."

"Like what?" Team asked as they found their seats in the lecture hall.

Pharm hesitated. He hadn't told Manaow and Team everything about what happened in America. They knew he went to visit a friend in the hospital, but he hadn't mentioned Alex, nor the emotional weight that came with it.

"Just... catching up with people," Pharm said carefully. "Family stuff too."

Manaow gave him a knowing look but didn't press. "Well, it's good that you're back. Now we can finally go out for food after class instead of me and Team just arguing about where to eat."

Team scoffed. "I make excellent food choices."

"You wanted to eat instant noodles three days in a row!" Manaow shot back.

Pharm smiled as they bickered, grateful for the normalcy of their banter. It was grounding, pulling him back into the present.

The professor arrived a few minutes later, calling the class to order. Pharm opened his notebook and focused on taking notes, pushing away his lingering thoughts.

After class, Pharm, Manaow, and Team headed to the cafeteria for lunch. The usual crowd filled the space, students gathering around tables, laughing and chatting as they ate.

As they got their food and sat down, Team nudged Pharm lightly. "So, did you see Dean yet?"

Pharm nearly choked on his water. He coughed and looked at Team, who was smirking at him knowingly.

"What? Why would you ask that?" Pharm asked, trying to sound casual.

Team grinned. "I dunno. Just curious. I saw him yesterday at practice, and he seemed... I don't know, like he had a lot on his mind."

Pharm hesitated. He hadn't told Team or Manaow about his growing connection with Dean, nor how he had reached out to him while in America. But if Team noticed something was different with Dean, did that mean Dean had been thinking about him too?

"I saw him last night," Pharm admitted, keeping his voice light. "He picked me up from the airport."

Manaow and Team exchanged glances before Manaow let out a dramatic gasp. "What?! Dean picked you up?! That's huge!"

Pharm groaned. "It's not a big deal."

"Oh, it's a huge deal," Team said, leaning in. "Come on, Pharm. Spill. What happened?"

Pharm sighed, poking at his food. "Nothing happened. We just talked."

"Talked about what?" Manaow pressed.

Pharm hesitated. He didn't want to bring up Alex in this conversation. Not because he was hiding it, but because he wasn't sure he was ready to explain the complicated emotions tied to it.

"Just catching up," he said instead. "Dean's been really supportive."

Manaow rested her chin in her hand, studying him. "You like him."

Pharm blinked. "What?"

"You like him," she repeated with a smirk. "You get all quiet when we talk about him, and you literally just admitted that he was the first person you saw after coming back."

Pharm felt heat rise to his cheeks. "It's not like that."

Team rolled his eyes. "Uh-huh. Whatever you say, Pharmie."

Pharm groaned, covering his face. "Can we just eat?"

Manaow giggled. "Fine, fine. But this conversation isn't over."

As they ate, Pharm couldn't help but think about their words. Did he like Dean?

His heart told him yes.

But something deeper, something tied to the past, made him hesitant.

After lunch, Pharm had one more class to attend. As he left the cafeteria, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out and saw a message from Dean.

Dean: Hey, how's your first day back?

Pharm smiled slightly as he typed back.

Pharm: It's good. Feels nice to be back.

Dean: Good. Want to grab coffee later?

Pharm hesitated for only a second before replying.

Pharm: Yeah, I'd like that.

He put his phone away, feeling an unfamiliar flutter in his chest.

Maybe Manaow and Team were onto something.

Maybe it was time he stopped running from whatever this was.

Because deep down, he already knew.

Dean wasn't just a connection to the past.

He was something more.

And Pharm wanted to find out exactly what that meant.  Pharm stood in front of the coffee shop, shifting nervously from foot to foot. The soft golden glow of the late afternoon sun bathed the bustling street in warmth, and the aroma of freshly brewed coffee wafted gently through the air. It had only been a short while since he returned to Thailand, and already he felt more at home here than he had during his entire visit to America. Pharm took a deep breath, letting the familiar scents and sounds soothe his frayed nerves.

He checked his phone again, rereading Dean's brief but reassuring message: "On my way, be there soon." Pharm couldn't help but smile softly at those simple words. His heart thumped a little faster at the thought of seeing Dean again. Despite their frequent exchanges through texts, there was always a distinct difference in seeing someone face-to-face. Especially someone like Dean, whose quiet strength seemed to anchor Pharm in a way nothing else could.

A gentle tap on his shoulder startled him out of his thoughts. Turning quickly, he found himself face-to-face with Dean, whose familiar calm expression instantly eased his anxiety.

"Hey," Dean greeted softly, a hint of warmth in his deep voice.

"Hi," Pharm responded, a shy smile creeping across his lips. For a moment, neither of them spoke further, simply taking in the comfort of each other's presence.

"Shall we?" Dean gestured toward the café door, and Pharm nodded quickly, following him inside.

They settled at a quiet corner table, away from the busiest part of the café. After ordering their drinks, Dean leaned back slightly in his chair, studying Pharm with thoughtful eyes.

"How's being back at school?" Dean asked gently, genuine curiosity evident in his tone.

"It's been good," Pharm admitted, relaxing slightly into his chair. "A bit overwhelming catching up with classes, but manageable. I missed the routine, honestly."

Dean nodded understandingly, his gaze never wavering. "I'm glad. How was your family? I know you mentioned visiting your mom and brother."

"It was good seeing them," Pharm replied softly, eyes slightly distant. "Phoom has grown so much since I moved back here. My mom seems happier, though she worries about me living so far away."

"That's understandable," Dean said reassuringly. "It must've been nice reconnecting with them, even if it was brief."

"Yeah, it was," Pharm said with a gentle smile. "I guess I didn't realize how much I missed them until I saw them again."

The server arrived then, placing their drinks carefully on the table. Pharm wrapped his hands around his warm cup, the heat grounding him even further into the moment.

Dean watched him quietly for a moment before speaking again. "And your friend Alex? How's he doing now?"

Pharm hesitated, a slight pang still tugging at his heart at the mention of Alex. "Better," he finally said, offering a tentative smile. "He's awake and recovering. It'll take time, but he's determined."

Dean's eyes softened noticeably. "That's good. You must've been relieved."

"More than you know," Pharm admitted softly, eyes flickering down to his drink. "I was really scared I'd lose him."

Dean reached across the table gently, resting a comforting hand on Pharm's briefly. "I'm glad he's okay. You deserve that peace of mind."

Pharm looked up, startled by Dean's unexpected warmth, his heart fluttering softly in response. "Thanks, Dean," he murmured, sincerity coloring his voice. "For everything."

Dean smiled slightly, pulling his hand back gently but keeping his gaze steady and warm. "Anytime. You don't have to go through these things alone, Pharm."

The rest of their conversation flowed naturally, from classes to mutual friends, and even some gentle teasing about their shared experiences at the swimming competitions. Pharm found himself laughing more freely than he had in weeks, each moment in Dean's company lifting some unseen weight from his chest.

Before long, the sun began to set, casting long golden rays through the café windows. Pharm glanced at his watch, surprised at how quickly time had passed. He sighed softly, reluctant to end the afternoon but knowing they both had responsibilities waiting.

Dean noticed his slight hesitation and offered a gentle smile. "We should do this more often."

"I'd like that," Pharm replied earnestly, his own smile mirroring Dean's quiet warmth. "A lot."

They rose from their seats, stepping out into the gentle evening air together. Dean walked with Pharm to the edge of the campus, neither rushing nor eager to part ways.

"Let me know when you have some free time again," Dean said quietly, stopping near the main pathway that led back to Pharm's apartment.

"I will," Pharm promised softly, warmth flooding his chest. "Thanks again, Dean."

"Anytime," Dean said firmly, his voice calm but sincere. "Goodnight, Pharm."

"Goodnight," Pharm whispered, watching as Dean turned and walked away, his tall figure soon blending into the gathering twilight.

Pharm sat on the couch in his apartment, staring at the ceiling, his mind wandering through the labyrinth of emotions he hadn't quite figured out yet. The exhaustion from the long flight back from America still clung to his body, but it wasn't fatigue that weighed him down now—it was uncertainty.

For the past few days, he had been so focused on Alex's recovery, on saying his goodbyes to his friends and family, on making sure that everything was in place before he returned to Thailand. But now that he was back, now that he was sitting in the quiet of his own space, there was only one thought echoing in his mind.

What exactly were he and Dean?

Pharm sighed and ran a hand through his hair. The apartment felt empty, despite being filled with all of his belongings. He had spent weeks surrounded by people—his mother, Phoom, Sarah, Jake, and even Alex, who had been confined to a hospital bed but still managed to fill the space with his presence. And then there was Dean, the steady anchor in Thailand who had been there for him through every text, every late-night message, every call when Pharm needed someone to remind him that he wasn't alone.

Dean.

The mere thought of him sent a strange, fluttering sensation through Pharm's chest, a warmth that was both thrilling and terrifying.

They weren't just friends—not in the way he was with Team or Manaow. There was something different about Dean, something unspoken yet deeply felt. From the way Dean looked at him when he thought Pharm wasn't watching, to the way he listened—really listened—whenever Pharm spoke. There was a connection between them, undeniable and magnetic.

But did that mean Dean felt the same way?

Pharm let out another sigh and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He wished he could just ask, but the fear of the answer held him back. What if he was reading too much into things? What if Dean only saw him as a friend, someone to look after? Or what if Dean was still trying to figure things out himself?

After all, he had just learned about Alex.

Pharm frowned. He hadn't meant to keep it a secret, but when Dean had asked about Alex, he realized that he had never mentioned that Alex was his first boyfriend. He had told Dean about his time in America, about his struggles and victories, but not that particular part of his past. And judging by Dean's reaction, it had taken him by surprise.

Was that why Dean had been quieter than usual since picking him up from the airport?

The thought made Pharm's stomach twist. The last thing he wanted was to make things awkward between them. Dean had always been steady, a presence Pharm could rely on, and the idea of disrupting that balance filled him with unease.

But what if there was something more? What if Dean wanted more?

Pharm shook his head, pushing himself up from the couch. He needed to clear his thoughts, and sitting here, overanalyzing every interaction, wasn't going to help.

He walked over to the kitchen, intending to make himself something warm to drink, but as he opened the cabinet, his phone buzzed on the counter. Pharm glanced at the screen, and his breath caught in his throat.

Dean.

His heart skipped a beat before he quickly grabbed the phone and answered.

"Hey," Pharm said, trying to keep his voice steady.

"Hey," Dean's voice came through the receiver, deep and warm, though there was a slight hesitation in it. "Did I wake you?"

"No, I was just... thinking," Pharm admitted, rubbing the back of his neck.

A pause. "Thinking about what?"

Pharm hesitated. He could lie, tell Dean he was just adjusting back to being home, but something in Dean's voice made him want to be honest.

"...About us," he finally admitted.

There was silence on the other end, and for a moment, Pharm thought maybe he had said too much. But then Dean exhaled slowly.

"I've been thinking about that too," Dean said, his voice quieter now.

Pharm's grip on the phone tightened. "You have?"

"Yeah." Dean sounded like he was choosing his words carefully. "Ever since you left for America, I've been thinking about... what we are. What we mean to each other."

Pharm's pulse quickened. "And?"

Another pause. "I don't want to assume anything," Dean admitted. "But I know that I—" He stopped, took a deep breath, then started again. "I know that I care about you, Pharm. More than I thought I would."

Pharm felt his chest tighten, but it wasn't with fear—it was something else. Something warm. "I care about you too, Dean," he said softly.

"I know," Dean said, a small chuckle in his voice. "But I don't just mean as a friend."

Pharm's breath hitched.

Dean continued, "When I heard about Alex, I didn't know how to react. At first, I thought it was just because I was worried about you. But then I realized... I was jealous."

Pharm's eyes widened. "Jealous?"

"I didn't like thinking about you with someone else," Dean admitted, his voice raw and honest. "Even though it was in the past, it still made me think about how much I want to be someone important to you. And I don't know if that's selfish or not, but I can't ignore it."

Pharm swallowed hard. He had spent so much time wondering what Dean felt, and now here it was—laid out for him in the open. It was terrifying, but it was also exactly what he had wanted to hear.

"You are important to me, Dean," Pharm said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I just... I don't know how to do this. I don't know what comes next."

Dean was silent for a moment before he said, "We don't have to rush. We can figure it out together."

Pharm closed his eyes, relief washing over him. He had spent so much time trying to define what they were, but maybe he didn't need to. Maybe it was okay to just let things happen, to take it one step at a time.

"Yeah," Pharm said, a small smile forming on his lips. "Together."

Dean exhaled, as if he had been holding his breath. "I'm glad we talked about this."

"Me too," Pharm admitted. "I don't want to be afraid of this... of us."

"You don't have to be," Dean said, his voice gentle. "We'll take it slow. I'm not going anywhere."

Pharm felt his chest warm at those words. "Neither am I."

There was a comfortable silence between them, the kind that spoke of understanding rather than uncertainty.

"Do you want to meet up tomorrow?" Dean asked.

Pharm smiled, feeling lighter than he had in days. "Yeah. I'd like that."

"Good," Dean said, and Pharm could almost hear the smile in his voice. "I'll text you in the morning."

They said their goodnights, and when Pharm ended the call, he stared at his phone for a long moment, his heart still beating a little too fast.

For the first time in a long time, he didn't feel lost.

He felt found.

Chapter Text

Previously on Beautiful but Tragic

There was a comfortable silence between them, the kind that spoke of understanding rather than uncertainty.

"Do you want to meet up tomorrow?" Dean asked.

Pharm smiled, feeling lighter than he had in days. "Yeah. I'd like that."

"Good," Dean said, and Pharm could almost hear the smile in his voice. "I'll text you in the morning."

They said their goodnights, and when Pharm ended the call, he stared at his phone for a long moment, his heart still beating a little too fast.

For the first time in a long time, he didn't feel lost.

He felt found.

The soft light of morning spilled through the thin white curtains of Pharm's apartment, casting a warm, golden glow across the room. The hum of the city was distant, muffled by the early hour, and the world seemed to hold its breath for just a few quiet moments of stillness. Pharm slowly opened his eyes, blinking against the light, and for a few seconds, he didn't move. He simply lay there, nestled beneath the blanket, surrounded by the warmth of his bed and the unfamiliar, yet strangely comforting, sensation of peace.

The memory of last night drifted into his mind like a gentle tide—his conversation with Dean, the vulnerability shared between them, the honesty. It wasn't dramatic or overly romantic, but it had been real. It had been them. And that, Pharm realized, was what mattered most.

He turned over and reached for his phone on the nightstand. The screen lit up to reveal a new message.

Dean: Morning. Let me know when you're up. I'll bring you breakfast?

Pharm's lips curled into a soft smile, his fingers brushing the screen as if the gesture might somehow carry the warmth he felt straight to Dean.

Pharm: I'm up. And yes, please. I'll make tea.

He set the phone down and sat up, stretching his arms toward the ceiling, his muscles still stiff from the flight the day before. Despite the jet lag, his body felt lighter, and his mind was clearer than it had been in days. Talking to Dean had untangled something inside him—something he hadn't realized was knotted so tightly.

Moving through his morning routine, Pharm found his thoughts drifting more than once. As he brushed his teeth, he imagined what Dean might bring for breakfast. When he started boiling water for tea, he thought about how Dean liked his just slightly sweet. When he opened the fridge to grab milk, he saw the small box of leftover Leum Kleun he'd made before his trip and wondered if Dean would remember tasting it.

By the time there was a knock on the door, Pharm had already set two cups and a small plate on the table by the window. He walked over and opened the door to find Dean standing there, still dressed casually in dark jeans and a white shirt, holding a paper bag that smelled faintly of grilled pork and sticky rice.

"Good morning," Dean said, his voice low and familiar.

"Morning," Pharm replied, stepping aside to let him in.

Dean kicked off his shoes at the door and moved inside, placing the bag down on the table with a small smile. "Hope you're hungry."

"I'm always hungry," Pharm said, his tone lighter than usual, almost playful. "Especially when you bring food."

Dean chuckled and began unpacking the bag. "It's not much. I wasn't sure what you'd be in the mood for, so I got a few things."

Pharm poured the tea into two cups and slid one across the table toward Dean. "This is perfect. Thank you."

They sat across from each other, the small table a cozy bridge between them. The silence was easy, filled with the quiet clinking of cups and the rustle of food containers. Pharm bit into the grilled pork, the savory flavor grounding him even further in the moment.

"I've missed this," he said softly, after a while.

Dean looked up. "The food?"

Pharm shook his head, a small smile playing at his lips. "This. Just... being with you. Being home."

Dean's eyes softened. "I missed it too."

For a moment, they just looked at each other, the quiet stretching but never feeling awkward. It felt like something unspoken had been acknowledged and accepted. Not everything had to be said aloud—not yet, anyway.

"I was thinking," Dean said after a pause, stirring his tea with the tip of his spoon. "If you're free later, we could go to that park near the university. The one with the koi pond."

Pharm blinked, surprised. "You remember that place?"

"You mentioned it once," Dean said with a small shrug. "Said it helped you think."

Pharm's heart twisted a little at how well Dean listened. "Yeah. I'd like that."

Dean smiled. "Then it's a date."

The word hung in the air between them, light and deliberate. Pharm felt his cheeks warm, but he didn't look away. Instead, he let the word settle, let it sink into the space between them.

"A date," he echoed softly.

As they finished breakfast, the conversation shifted to lighter topics—classes, cooking club plans, a new drama Manaow had become obsessed with. But underneath it all, there was a quiet awareness, a shared understanding that something had shifted between them. Something was beginning.

And in the quiet hum of the apartment, with the morning light streaming in and the city slowly waking up outside, Pharm realized he wasn't afraid of it anymore. Whatever they were—whatever they would become—he wanted to see where this road with Dean would lead.

Together.

The air was pleasantly crisp when Pharm and Dean stepped out of the apartment and into the sunlight. A gentle breeze carried the scent of morning dew and distant blossoms, stirring the leaves above their heads as they walked side by side. Neither spoke at first. They didn't need to. There was something unspoken but present in the way their shoulders brushed occasionally, in the ease of their steps that fell into quiet rhythm.

Pharm held a paper bag of leftover sandwiches, just in case they decided to sit and snack later, while Dean carried two bottles of water. They had dressed simply, Pharm in a light-blue shirt and beige pants, Dean in a white T-shirt and dark jeans, their movements unhurried as they made their way through the streets toward the park.

The familiar path stirred something deep within Pharm. With each step closer, fragments of old memories returned in flashes—the scent of cut grass, the distant sound of children laughing, the earthy texture of tree roots beneath his sneakers. He hadn't been to this park in years. Not since he was a child.

As they passed through the entrance gate and followed the curving path lined with trimmed hedges and tall trees, Pharm let his gaze drift upward, toward the swaying canopy.

"I used to come here a lot when I was little," he said, his voice soft with nostalgia.

Dean glanced at him, slowing slightly. "With your mom?"

Pharm shook his head. "With my dad. He loved this park. He said it was one of the only places that felt the same after everything else changed."

They veered off the path and found a bench beneath a towering flame tree whose bright orange blossoms scattered gently with the breeze. Dean set down the water bottles and glanced around the quiet area—the koi pond glittered just beyond the next row of hedges, the water calm and reflective.

Pharm didn't sit just yet. Instead, he looked up at the tree, running his fingers lightly along its trunk. "One time, my dad told me he used to come here with his brothers when they were kids. There was this tree, he said, that had something carved into it. He wouldn't tell me what. Just that one of his brothers had done it." 

They sat there for a while in silence, watching a pair of butterflies dance through the air. The park was calm, dotted with a few joggers and couples walking dogs. Yet, for Pharm, the world had narrowed down to this one bench, this one tree, and the memories it held.

He reached into the paper bag and pulled out two sandwiches, handing one to Dean. "I made these this morning. It felt right to bring something. Like a little offering to the past."

Dean accepted the sandwich with a small nod. "Thanks. It's strange, you know? How places can hold onto feelings like that."

"Yeah," Pharm said. "Like the trees remember. Even when people forget."

He took a bite of his sandwich, chewing slowly, his eyes drifting once more to the carving. A breeze stirred the leaves overhead, and for just a second, Pharm could almost hear laughter—not his, not Dean's, but someone else's. Younger voices, carried on the wind.

He didn't say anything about it.

He didn't have to.

Dean looked over at him, sensing the weight in his quiet. "You okay?"

Pharm nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "I think so. I think I needed this. To see something real. Something left behind."

Dean leaned back against the bench, watching the sunlight shift through the branches. "I'm glad we came."

"Me too."

Pharm and Dean finished the last bites of their sandwiches in a comfortable silence, the sounds of the park wrapping around them like a soft blanket. Birds chirped lazily in the branches overhead, and the occasional laughter of children playing nearby floated on the breeze. The sun was gentle today, filtered by soft clouds that cast delicate shadows across the grass.

Pharm balled up the wrapper of his sandwich and stuffed it into a paper bag, brushing crumbs off his lap. Dean did the same, giving Pharm a small, easy smile that made something in Pharm's chest ache in a way he still couldn't name.

"That was really good," Dean said, standing and stretching. His shirt lifted slightly with the motion, revealing a hint of his lower back before settling back down.

Pharm stood as well, tucking the bag into his backpack. "I'm glad. I wasn't sure if the avocado would be too much."

Dean chuckled. "You could've made them with just bread and it would've still tasted better than anything I've made."

Pharm laughed softly. "You're not that bad."

Dean gave him a look that clearly said, "you haven't seen me in the kitchen," and Pharm grinned.

They began walking slowly down the shaded path that curved gently around the park. The park had changed over the years, but it still held a familiarity that comforted Pharm. They passed benches and gazebos, flowerbeds with bursts of color, and families enjoying their day off. Dean's presence beside him felt natural, their steps syncing as though they'd done this a hundred times before.

As they rounded a small hill, the koi ponds came into view. Nestled at the heart of the park, the ponds were surrounded by low, curving stone walls and dotted with lily pads. Wooden bridges arched gracefully over the water, and beneath them, koi swam in lazy circles — flashes of orange, white, and gold flickering just beneath the surface.

"Wow," Dean murmured, pausing to take it in. "I haven't been here in years."

Pharm stepped closer to the edge of the pond, leaning forward slightly to watch the fish. "My dad used to bring me here all the time. Especially when I was little. We'd sit right over there." He pointed to a bench nestled between two flowering trees.

Dean glanced at him. "You were really close with him, weren't you?"

Pharm nodded, a bittersweet smile tugging at his lips. "Yeah. He was... kind. Quiet. But he always made me feel safe. He told the best stories."

Dean leaned against the railing beside him. "You mentioned he had brothers, right?"

"Mm-hm," Pharm replied. "He once told me that this park used to be their hangout spot when they were kids. Said one of his brothers even carved something into one of the trees here. I always wondered if it was Korn..."

Dean's brow lifted slightly, his voice quiet. "Do you remember where he said it was?"

Pharm shook his head. "Just that it was near the koi pond. I used to look for it every time we came here, but I never found anything. I think I was hoping it would tell me something. Or connect me to the past in some way."

"Maybe it's still here," Dean said, scanning the trees thoughtfully. "Want to look?"

Pharm hesitated, surprised by the offer. Then he smiled. "Sure."

They walked the perimeter of the pond slowly, stopping occasionally to study the bark of an old tree. Most were unmarked, but a few bore the scars of time — initials, dates, crude symbols etched in their trunks.

After a few minutes, Dean called out softly. "Hey. Come look at this."

Pharm jogged the short distance over to where Dean was standing beside a large tree just off the path. The trunk had grown wide with age, the bark rough and textured. At eye level, partially hidden beneath a swirl of moss, was a faint carving.

Pharm leaned in, squinting. Someone had carved two letters into the tree. A "K" and an "I", joined together in a simple heart.

His breath caught.

"K and I," Dean said quietly. "Korn and Intouch?"

Pharm reached out, fingers brushing the rough bark reverently. "Maybe. It's so faded. But it fits."

For a moment, the world seemed to still. Pharm stared at the carving, a sudden rush of emotion tightening his throat. He didn't know for certain if it was them, but something deep inside told him it was.

Dean stood silently beside him, letting the moment linger.

"My dad never mentioned their names," Pharm said softly. "But this... it's like a little piece of them still here. Hidden, but not forgotten."

Dean nodded. "Some things last, even when everything else fades."

They stayed there for a while, the silence between them warm and full. When they finally turned to walk back toward the main path, the koi still danced beneath the surface of the pond, and the sun began its slow descent into the horizon, painting the world in golden hues.

Pharm felt lighter somehow, like some unseen weight had been gently lifted from his shoulders.

And beside him, Dean walked quietly, close enough for their arms to brush.

They didn't say much more, but they didn't need to. Some things, Pharm thought, didn't need words to be understood.

As they reached the wooden bridge that arched over the center of the pond, Dean paused, leaning against the railing to look out over the water. The reflection of the sky shimmered on the surface, broken only by the slow, deliberate movements of the koi.

Pharm joined him, their shoulders nearly touching now. The air between them felt charged, not with tension but with something quieter, deeper. Dean turned his head to look at Pharm, and when Pharm sensed it and turned to meet his gaze, their eyes locked.

For a heartbeat, they simply looked at each other, the rest of the world falling away. Pharm's breath caught, his heart racing not with panic, but anticipation. Dean's gaze flicked briefly to his lips and back up, seeking permission.

Pharm didn't move away.

And then, gently, like the closing of a soft door, Dean leaned in.

Their lips met in a kiss that was tender, hesitant, but full of unspoken meaning. It was a kiss that asked a question, not demanded an answer; a whisper rather than a declaration.

Pharm responded slowly, his eyes fluttering shut as he leaned in just a little more, his heart thudding in his chest. For all the confusion and longing that had plagued him in the past weeks, this moment felt startlingly clear.

When they finally pulled apart, their foreheads nearly touching, Pharm opened his eyes and saw Dean smiling softly.

"I've been wanting to do that," Dean said, voice barely above a whisper.

Pharm laughed quietly, his voice shaky but full of something bright. "Me too."

And in that moment, surrounded by the quiet rustle of leaves and the peaceful rippling of the koi pond, the past didn't feel so heavy anymore. It lingered, yes, but it didn't weigh them down. Not now.

Because for the first time, Pharm could feel something else rising in its place.

Pharm didn't say much on the ride home. Dean offered to drive him back to his apartment, and though Pharm accepted with a quiet nod, his thoughts were elsewhere—still lingering at the park, still replaying the moment when everything had shifted.

When they reached his apartment building, Dean paused at the gate, offering a small smile. "Text me when you're settled?"

Pharm nodded. "I will. Thanks... for today."

Dean hesitated for just a second, as if wanting to say something more, but instead he simply nodded and turned to go.

Pharm stood there for a moment, watching Dean walk away until he disappeared down the sidewalk. Only then did he head upstairs.

Once inside, the silence of the apartment seemed louder than usual. Pharm locked the door behind him and leaned against it, staring into the quiet space as his thoughts roared in his mind. He dropped his backpack near the sofa and made his way to the kitchen, though he wasn't hungry. The familiar motions of brewing tea grounded him slightly—boil water, steep the leaves, pour, inhale. Still, his hands trembled just a bit.

He carried the tea to the couch and sat down, the warm cup cradled between his palms. And that's when the kiss came flooding back.

It hadn't been planned. It hadn't even been anticipated, not really. But in that quiet moment beside the koi pond, with the world slowed down and the memory of that old carving binding the past to the present, it had simply... happened.

He could still feel it. The way Dean had leaned in slowly, like he was giving Pharm the chance to pull away. The brief hesitation. The way his eyes had searched Pharm's, silently asking for permission. And then—warmth, gentle and sincere, pressing against Pharm's lips. A softness that spoke of curiosity, of emotion not yet voiced but deeply felt.

Pharm set the tea aside and brought his fingers to his lips, lightly touching them as if to confirm the kiss had been real.

It had been.

He closed his eyes and leaned back into the couch cushions, a tangle of emotions unraveling inside him. Confusion, wonder, warmth... fear.

This was different.

Dean wasn't just someone he liked or admired. Being with Dean felt like being drawn into the orbit of something both new and ancient. The connection between them had always been intense, even from their first meeting, but now that connection had become physical—real, undeniable.

What did this mean?

Pharm wasn't naive. He knew that kisses didn't always have to mean something, but this one—this one did. It had weight. And that frightened him almost as much as it thrilled him.

He wondered what Dean was thinking. Had the kiss surprised him, too? Had he regretted it afterward?

Pharm picked up his phone and stared at the screen. A blank message to Dean sat open, unsent. He tapped out a few words.

Thank you for today.

He stared at the message. It felt inadequate. He deleted it and tried again.

I'm still thinking about the park.

Still too vague.

He sighed and set the phone down without sending anything.

Instead, he stood up and paced the length of the apartment. Memories surfaced—Dean's hand brushing against his, their quiet conversation near the tree, the way Dean had looked at him afterward. There had been no awkwardness, no apology. Just a quiet understanding.

Pharm stopped in front of the window and looked out into the darkened city, lights flickering across the skyline. He wanted to talk to someone. Team? Manaow? No... not yet. This felt too raw, too personal.

His thoughts drifted to Dr. Sutthida. Maybe this was something to bring up at their next session—this kiss that had unearthed feelings he hadn't been prepared to acknowledge.

Pharm wrapped his arms around himself. Beneath the excitement and confusion, a sense of inevitability pulsed inside him. Dean wasn't just another person in his life. He was part of something larger, something Pharm didn't fully understand yet.

Was this fate? Reincarnation? A thread woven through time?

Pharm exhaled slowly. He didn't have answers. Not tonight.

He returned to the couch and picked up his tea, now lukewarm. He drank it anyway, needing the comfort. Then, with a quiet determination, he picked up his phone and typed a new message.

I'm still thinking about the kiss. I don't regret it. Just... wanted you to know.

He hesitated for only a moment before hitting send.

The reply came faster than expected.

Me neither. I've been thinking about it, too. A lot.

Pharm smiled, a quiet warmth blooming in his chest. Maybe this wasn't the end of something, but the beginning.

He set the phone aside and curled up on the couch, a little more at peace.

Tomorrow would come with more questions, more complexities—but for tonight, Pharm allowed himself to feel what he felt. No shame. No fear.

Just the soft echo of a kiss and the promise it held.

Chapter Text

Previously on Beautiful but Tragic

He returned to the couch and picked up his tea, now lukewarm. He drank it anyway, needing the comfort. Then, with a quiet determination, he picked up his phone and typed a new message.

I'm still thinking about the kiss. I don't regret it. Just... wanted you to know.

He hesitated for only a moment before hitting send.

The reply came faster than expected.

Me neither. I've been thinking about it, too. A lot.

Pharm smiled, a quiet warmth blooming in his chest. Maybe this wasn't the end of something, but the beginning.

He set the phone aside and curled up on the couch, a little more at peace.

Tomorrow would come with more questions, more complexities—but for tonight, Pharm allowed himself to feel what he felt. No shame. No fear.

Just the soft echo of a kiss and the promise it held.

The morning light filtered through Pharm's bedroom curtains in soft gold streaks, painting the room in hues that felt far too gentle for the whirlwind still spinning inside his chest.

He lay on his back, staring at the ceiling, the comforter pulled up to his chest though the early heat of the day was already making itself known. Sleep had come in fits and starts. Every time he closed his eyes, he was back at the koi pond, watching the golden fish swirl below while Dean leaned in. He could still feel the way Dean's breath had hitched just before their lips touched, the tentative press of mouths learning each other for the first time, the way time had seemed to slow around them.

It hadn't been a dramatic kiss. It wasn't rushed or desperate. But it had felt right, in a way that had left Pharm both breathless and terrified.

He rolled onto his side, clutching the edge of his pillow. His heart felt swollen with questions he hadn't dared to ask the night before. What now? What did this mean? Were they together? Was it just a moment—sweet, fleeting—and now things would go back to normal?

Did he want them to?

He knew the answer to that last question even before he finished thinking it. No, he didn't want things to go back. He didn't want to pretend the kiss hadn't happened. But he also didn't want to rush into something, only to have it unravel before it even began.

Dean wasn't just anyone. He was his friend. His person, in a way. And that made everything more complicated and more fragile.

With a groan, Pharm pulled himself out of bed. He shuffled to the bathroom, washed his face, and stared at his reflection for longer than necessary. His eyes looked tired, a little puffy around the edges. There was a flush still in his cheeks, one that had nothing to do with the heat.

"Get a grip," he mumbled to himself, shaking his head.

After brushing his teeth and changing into a clean shirt, he padded into the kitchen and put water on for tea. It was early, and the apartment was still quiet. The quiet used to feel peaceful, but today it felt a little too loud in its silence.

He picked up his phone from the counter. No new messages. His heart gave a small, traitorous jolt of disappointment before he could shove the feeling away.

He's probably sleeping, he told himself. You're not the only one who had a lot on their mind last night.

Still, he typed a short message.

Pharm: Morning. Did you sleep okay?

He stared at it for a second before hitting send. No overthinking. Just something simple.

The kettle whistled, and he made himself a cup of jasmine tea, wrapping his hands around the warm mug like it could offer answers. He sank onto the couch and sipped slowly, eyes wandering to the little balcony outside. The plants were doing well. The basil and mint had flourished during the rainy season, and even the stubborn jasmine vine had started to climb again.

Everything kept growing, no matter what.

His phone buzzed.

Dean: Morning. I did. Still thinking about yesterday... a lot.

Pharm's fingers hovered over the screen. His heart thudded once, hard, before he responded.

Pharm: Me too.

A few seconds passed.

Dean: Can we talk later today? I have class this morning but I'm free after lunch.

Pharm: Yeah. I'd like that.

He let the phone rest on his lap, and a strange calm settled over him. They were going to talk. That was a good sign, right? It meant Dean wasn't ignoring it. Wasn't pretending it hadn't happened.

Pharm knew they needed to be honest with each other. And more than that—he wanted to be honest.

He just hoped that honesty wouldn't come at the cost of what they had. Pharm arrived on campus a little earlier than usual. The morning sun was now high enough to cast long, lazy shadows across the courtyard as students trickled in, some chatting excitedly, others dragging their feet, coffee cups in hand. Pharm held his own iced drink loosely, sipping absently as he made his way to the building where his mid-morning lecture with Team and Manaow would be held.

Despite the crowd, Pharm felt a little isolated—floating just outside of the morning buzz, still half-lost in thoughts of Dean and the kiss they'd shared. It was hard to pull his mind back into the present, but he knew he'd have to. The last thing he needed was Team teasing him for zoning out or Manaow giving him that all-knowing smirk.

As he reached the building, he heard a familiar voice call out.

"Pharm!"

He turned to see Team jogging toward him, his backpack bouncing wildly against his back. Manaow was just behind him, more composed, waving with her usual grace.

"There you are," Team said, slightly breathless. "We thought you might skip today. You've been kind of MIA since you got back from the States."

Pharm smiled softly. "I wouldn't skip. Especially not when you two are in the class."

Manaow tilted her head, her eyes scanning his face. "You look... different today."

"Different how?" Pharm asked, a little self-conscious.

Team narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Is this about Dean?"

Pharm blinked, startled. "What? No. Why would it be?"

Manaow raised a brow. "You just said 'what no why would it be' in the most guilty voice I've ever heard."

Pharm blushed. "I didn't mean to—"

Team stepped in front of him dramatically, arms crossed. "Hold on. Did something happen between you and Dean? Because if it did and you didn't tell us, I'll be personally offended."

Pharm opened his mouth, then closed it again, unsure how much he wanted to share. But Team and Manaow had been by his side for a while now. They were his friends—his people. Maybe it wouldn't hurt to tell them a little.

"We kissed," he said softly.

Team's mouth fell open. Manaow blinked once, then twice.

"You—what?" Team nearly shouted. "When? Where? Why wasn't I informed the moment it happened?"

Pharm laughed despite himself, raising his hands. "It just happened yesterday at the park. We were at the koi pond, and it just... felt like the right moment."

Manaow's eyes softened. "Wow. So... how do you feel?"

Pharm hesitated. "Happy. Nervous. Confused."

Team threw an arm around Pharm's shoulder, pulling him close. "Welcome to feelings, buddy. It's a nightmare, but at least it means you're alive."

Pharm let out a breathy chuckle. "Thanks, I guess."

Manaow nudged him lightly with her elbow as they walked into the building. "Just make sure you talk to him about it. Don't let it become one of those things that's never addressed and just festers in the air like old coffee."

"I am," Pharm assured her. "We're going to talk this afternoon."

"Good," Manaow said, satisfied. "Now let's go survive this class so you can get to the fun part of your day."

They took their usual seats near the middle of the lecture hall. The professor arrived shortly after and began the session with a discussion on contemporary nutrition practices, but Pharm found his mind drifting more than once. Each time he pulled out his notes and tried to focus, his thoughts wandered back to the koi pond, to the way Dean had looked at him—eyes full of quiet wonder, like Pharm was something delicate and precious.

Team passed him a note halfway through class. It simply read:

"Stop smiling like that. You're going to give the whole class a toothache."

Pharm flushed and crumpled the note into his lap, but he didn't stop smiling.

After class ended, they lingered by the fountain outside the building, chatting about homework and the possibility of going for milk tea later in the week. But Pharm knew he couldn't stay long. He had something more important to do.

As Team and Manaow waved him off, Pharm checked his phone. There was a message waiting.

Dean: Hey. I'm done with class. Want to meet at the café near campus?

Pharm replied instantly.

Pharm: Yes. On my way.

Pharm pocketed his phone, nerves beginning to swirl low in his stomach. It wasn't fear exactly—it was more like anticipation, taut and warm and a little bit terrifying. He'd been waiting to talk to Dean, and now that the moment was close, his thoughts felt tangled. What if the kiss had meant something different to Dean? What if it had just been a moment, fleeting and unspoken?

He shook the thoughts away as he walked, weaving through students on their way to and from classes, his steps quick and light. The little café Dean had picked wasn't far—just off campus, tucked into a quiet street shaded with flowering trees. Pharm had always liked it there. It was cozy, never too crowded, and the smell of roasted coffee beans mixed with pastries and soft jazz made it feel like a pocket of calm in the middle of the city.

He spotted Dean almost immediately through the wide front windows.

Dean was sitting by the window, one hand wrapped around a cup of coffee, the other resting on the table, his fingers drumming lightly against the surface. His expression was unreadable—focused, maybe a little lost in thought. But when he looked up and saw Pharm approaching, his whole face softened. That crooked, easy smile appeared, the one that made Pharm's heart flutter despite himself.

Pharm pushed open the door, the bell chiming overhead, and walked over. "Hey."

"Hey," Dean said, rising slightly from his seat before settling back down. "I ordered you a jasmine green tea. Hope that's okay."

"Perfect," Pharm said, sliding into the seat across from him. "Thanks."

There was a beat of silence—not awkward, just full.

Pharm wrapped his hands around the warm cup, grounding himself. "So..."

"So," Dean echoed, his eyes searching Pharm's.

"I've been thinking about yesterday," Pharm said softly, eyes dropping to the tea in his hands. "About... the kiss."

Dean nodded slowly. "Me too."

Pharm looked up. "It wasn't just a moment, right? It felt—real."

"It was real," Dean said without hesitation. "To me, it was."

A breath Pharm hadn't realized he was holding slipped out of him. Relief warmed his chest.

"I wasn't expecting it," Pharm admitted. "Not then, not like that. But... I haven't been able to stop thinking about it."

"Me neither," Dean said, voice lower now, more vulnerable. "It's been in my head since it happened. I've replayed it a hundred times."

Pharm's lips curved into a small, bashful smile. "Really?"

Dean chuckled. "Yeah. And the thing is, I don't want it to just be something that happened once."

Pharm blinked. "You don't?"

Dean reached across the table, his hand resting palm-up between them. "No. I want it to be something we talk about. Something we figure out together."

Slowly, Pharm placed his hand in Dean's. The contact was warm and steady.

"I want that too," he said.

They sat there, hand in hand, for a few long moments. The background noise of the café faded into something soft and distant. The world outside continued on—cars passed, students hurried down sidewalks, life moved—but in their small corner, time felt like it had slowed just enough for them to catch up to it.

"I wasn't sure how you'd feel," Pharm said eventually. "After I told you about Alex."

Dean looked at him with gentle understanding. "It surprised me, yeah. But I also understand that you had a life before we met. People who mattered. And I guess... it reminded me not to take this for granted. You, I mean."

Pharm squeezed Dean's hand. "I don't want to compare. You're not him. And what I feel with you... it's different."

Dean smiled softly. "Good different?"

"Yeah," Pharm said, meeting his eyes. "Really good different."

They finished their drinks slowly, talking about lighter things—classes, Team's dramatics, Manaow's latest string of philosophical quotes—but the undercurrent of the conversation was clear. Something between them had shifted. The air felt less uncertain, the weight of the kiss now carried with clarity and intention.

When they stood to leave, Dean gently took Pharm's bag for him, slinging it over his shoulder without asking. It was a small gesture, but it made Pharm's heart skip again.

As they stepped out into the afternoon sun, Pharm glanced up at Dean, his voice barely above a whisper. "So... what now?"

Dean looked back at him, a quiet resolve in his eyes. "Now, we take it one step at a time. Together."

Pharm smiled, his chest warm and full. "I'd like that."

They walked side by side, not rushing, not speaking. But their hands brushed once... then again... and finally, fingers tangled together, held firm.

And for the first time in a long while, everything felt just right. They didn't speak much on the walk back to Pharm's apartment, but the silence wasn't uncomfortable. It was the kind of quiet that came after a confession, after a soft exhale of truth. Their fingers stayed gently linked the entire way, a tether between them that neither wanted to break.

The sun was beginning its slow descent, the sky tinged with amber and rose. A warm breeze drifted through the trees, and Pharm found himself grateful for the calmness of the moment, even as his heart continued to flutter like a moth just beneath his ribs.

As they reached the apartment complex, Dean gave Pharm's hand a light squeeze. "Do you want company?" he asked, pausing just outside the gate.

Pharm glanced up at him, and for a second, he hesitated—not because he didn't want Dean there, but because the question felt heavier than it seemed. Did he want company? Did he want Dean to step fully into this new place in his heart?

"Yes," he said finally, quiet but sure. "I do."

Dean smiled. "Then I'm staying."

They climbed the stairs together, and Pharm unlocked the door to his apartment. The familiar scent of tea leaves and lemongrass lingered faintly in the air, comforting and grounding. He slipped off his shoes and gestured for Dean to do the same, then moved to the kitchen to boil water for tea.

Dean followed, leaning against the doorway. "Want help?"

"You can pick the tea," Pharm said, opening the small wooden drawer filled with neat rows of labeled sachets. "Jasmine, chamomile, oolong..."

Dean rifled through them for a second before holding up one. "Chamomile. Feels like a chamomile kind of night."

Pharm smiled and nodded. "Good choice."

As the water heated, they drifted to the couch, mugs in hand, and sat close—closer than before. Dean's knee pressed against Pharm's, but neither moved away. They sipped in silence for a few minutes, watching the soft light shift outside the window.

Pharm was the one who finally spoke. "I feel like my life's changed a lot in the last few weeks."

Dean looked at him, the weight of understanding in his gaze. "Yeah. It has. Mine too."

Pharm set his mug down, fingers tightening slightly. "I didn't expect you. I didn't expect this. Not when I came back."

"I know," Dean said softly. "Neither did I."

There was something fragile in the air now, as if the vulnerability of the moment needed careful hands to hold it.

"But I'm glad," Pharm continued. "Even with everything. Even with how confusing it was at first. I'm glad it's you."

Dean shifted, just slightly, turning more fully to face him. "Me too."

Pharm looked down at his hands. "Do you think this will work?"

Dean reached out and took Pharm's hand gently in his. "I think it already is."

Pharm looked up again, their eyes locking.

Dean's thumb brushed lightly over the back of Pharm's hand. "We don't have to rush anything. I just want you to know I'm here. I want to be here."

Pharm's breath caught. It was simple, the way Dean said it—but that simplicity made it hit harder. No grand promises, no expectations. Just presence. Just choice.

He leaned into Dean then, resting his head lightly on Dean's shoulder. The movement was tentative, testing. Dean didn't flinch or stiffen. Instead, he adjusted slightly to rest his cheek against Pharm's hair.

They sat like that until the sun was fully gone, and the room filled with the soft hum of the city at night.

Eventually, Pharm murmured, "Will you stay a little longer?"

Dean kissed the top of his head. "As long as you want."

And Pharm, for the first time in a long time, felt like maybe he didn't have to figure everything out all at once. Maybe it was okay to simply feel, to simply be.

And maybe—just maybe—he and Dean were starting something real. The apartment was quiet, wrapped in the stillness of early morning. Soft light crept through the curtains, casting gentle patterns across the floor. The only sound was the occasional hum of a passing car or the distant coo of a bird.

On the couch, tangled beneath a shared throw blanket, Pharm and Dean slept side by side—peaceful in the faintest sense, their hands still loosely linked between them. Dean's breathing was steady, the slow rhythm of someone wrapped in the kind of deep sleep that only came with comfort. Pharm, however, stirred.

A sudden flicker behind his eyelids shifted his breath. Then a sound—a crack of a gun.

"No—!"

Pharm jolted upright with a soft gasp, his chest rising and falling rapidly. The room came into focus in jagged pieces: the couch, the blanket, the half-finished mugs of chamomile tea on the table. But his mind was still caught somewhere else.

The image had been so vivid, too vivid.

Blood.

Tears.

A scream that didn't feel like it belonged to him, yet echoed from somewhere deep in his soul.

Pharm brought a trembling hand to his mouth, biting back a sob as he tried to keep quiet. Dean hadn't woken, still lying beside him with his face buried against the cushion. The warmth of his presence should have been grounding, and maybe it was—but Pharm felt untethered.

It wasn't the first time he'd dreamed of Korn.

It wasn't even the first time he'd seen the moment—the awful, tragic instant where everything ended.

But this time, it had felt like he was there. Not watching. Feeling. Living it.

He could still see it: Korn's hand trembling as he lifted the gun to his temple. The sorrow in his eyes. The words—"I love you, In"—spoken not as a confession, but as a farewell. A final, irreversible truth.

Pharm's breath shuddered out of him as he gripped the edge of the couch cushion, grounding himself.

Why? Why did he keep seeing these things? These moments that didn't belong to him, couldn't belong to him. He'd never met Korn. He hadn't even known about Korn and Intouch until recently. And yet the memories came like waves—uninvited and unstoppable.

Pharm closed his eyes again, but the images still lingered, painted across the inside of his mind like scars. He tried to focus on something else—his breathing, the feel of the fabric under his fingers, the quiet weight of Dean sleeping beside him.

And slowly, slowly, the panic ebbed.

But the ache remained.

He sat there, unmoving, watching the pale light grow stronger outside the window. A question bloomed quietly inside him, one he was too afraid to speak aloud:

What if these memories... weren't just dreams?

What if they were something else?

Something more?

A soft shift beside him broke the silence, and Pharm turned as Dean blinked awake, his eyes still heavy with sleep.

"Pharm?" Dean's voice was hoarse and low, concern already creeping in as he sat up. "Are you okay?"

Pharm hesitated. He wanted to say yes. To lie. To push it away.

But instead, he nodded slowly. "I just... had a bad dream."

Dean studied him for a moment, eyes gentle and careful. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Pharm shook his head. "Not yet. Just... stay?"

Dean didn't need more than that. He simply reached out and pulled Pharm gently into his arms. No questions, no pressure—just the warmth of being held, of not having to carry the weight alone.

And in that embrace, Pharm allowed himself—for just a moment—to close his eyes again. To breathe. To let someone else be strong, while he tried to make sense of a past that might not be his... and yet, somehow, was. Dean didn't need more than that. He simply reached out and pulled Pharm gently into his arms. No questions, no pressure—just the warmth of being held, of not having to carry the weight alone.

And in that embrace, Pharm allowed himself—for just a moment—to close his eyes again. To breathe. To let someone else be strong, while he tried to make sense of a past that might not be his... and yet, somehow, was.

He could feel Dean's steady heartbeat through the thin cotton of his shirt, the calm thrum grounding him. His own heart was still racing, still recovering from the shock of the memory—if it even was a memory. He didn't understand how something so vivid, so brutal, could live in his mind like that. It had been more than a dream. It was a feeling etched into his bones, into the spaces between each breath.

"I'm sorry," Pharm whispered against Dean's shoulder.

Dean pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. "You don't have to be sorry."

Pharm nodded faintly, blinking rapidly to clear the wetness from his lashes. "It's just... sometimes, it feels like my mind is a stranger's. Like I'm remembering things I was never there for. But it hurts like I was."

Dean didn't reply at first. Instead, he reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind Pharm's ear, his gaze thoughtful and searching.

"I don't know everything that's going on with you, Pharm," Dean said softly, "but I believe you. Whatever this is... it's real to you. And that's enough for me."

That simple validation made something in Pharm crack open. He exhaled slowly, the trembling in his chest starting to ease. "Thank you. I just—I've never told anyone about this. Not all of it. Not like this."

"You don't have to explain everything all at once." Dean gave him a small, reassuring smile. "Just let me be here with you, okay?"

Pharm nodded. They sat in silence for a few minutes more, still curled up on the couch, the morning light growing brighter beyond the windows. It wasn't the kind of silence that needed filling. It was safe, understanding, a pause that allowed Pharm to collect himself.

Eventually, Dean shifted and spoke again, his tone lighter, but still warm. "You want some tea? I'll make it this time."

Pharm gave a small, genuine laugh. "You just want an excuse to make me forgive your terrible tea-making skills."

Dean stood up, stretching slightly. "Hey, I've improved. I even watched a video."

"Oh, wow," Pharm teased, following him into the kitchen. "A whole video. That's dedication."

Dean looked over his shoulder and grinned. "Only for you."

That simple statement sent a flutter through Pharm's chest, but he said nothing, letting the comfort of domestic normalcy wash over him. The kettle boiled, and Dean fussed with two mugs while Pharm leaned against the counter, arms folded, quietly watching him.

When the tea was ready—surprisingly not burned this time—they settled at the table, sipping in easy silence. It was remarkable, Pharm thought, how Dean had this way of calming the storm without needing to say too much. Just his presence was enough.

As they sat together, Dean eventually reached across the table and gently touched Pharm's hand. "If there ever comes a time you want to tell me everything," he said quietly, "I'll be here. No judgment. No pressure."

Pharm looked at him for a long moment, his expression softening. "I think I want that too. Someday."

Dean nodded once, and they sat there together, two souls slowly navigating a space between past and present, mystery and understanding—one breath, one memory, one step at a time.

And for the first time since the dreams had started, Pharm didn't feel so afraid.

A few days later

The waiting room at the clinic was quiet, save for the soft instrumental music drifting from a speaker tucked near the ceiling. Pharm sat near the window, a cup of warm water in his hands, watching the way sunlight streamed across the tiled floor in long diagonal lines. His bag rested at his feet, untouched. He hadn't looked at his phone since he arrived. He didn't want to.

He was here to talk.

And for once, he wanted to.

When the door opened and Dr. Sutthida's voice called his name, Pharm stood without hesitation. His footsteps were soft, deliberate, as he followed her into the familiar therapy room—clean, minimal, a faint scent of lemongrass oil lingering in the air.

"Welcome back," Dr. Sutthida said warmly as she motioned for him to sit. "It's good to see you."

Pharm smiled faintly, settling into the chair across from her. "It's good to be back. It feels like it's been forever."

"It does," she agreed, crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap. "You were in the United States for a few weeks, right? Visiting family?"

Pharm nodded. "And a friend. He... he was in an accident."

Dr. Sutthida's gaze softened. "Do you want to tell me about it?"

Pharm stared at his hands for a long moment. "His name is Alex. We were close. Back in high school, he was kind of my person, you know? He understood me in a way I didn't expect anyone to."

Her pen hovered above her notepad, but she didn't write. She waited.

"We dated," Pharm continued quietly. "Back then. Just for a little while. But we stayed friends after it ended. I think... I think we never really stopped caring about each other. Even if it changed."

Dr. Sutthida nodded gently. "How was it, seeing him again?"

Pharm let out a breath that sounded more like a sigh. "Hard. He was hit by a car. When I got there, he was unconscious. I didn't know if he'd wake up."

He swallowed, blinking fast. "I sat by his bed and kept thinking, what if this is the last time? What if he doesn't wake up and I never get to tell him that I still... that he mattered to me. That he saved me in a way. That being seen by him helped me see myself."

There was silence for a moment. Only the sound of the air conditioning humming overhead.

"He did wake up," Pharm added, almost as if trying to reassure himself. "But it was close."

Dr. Sutthida finally wrote something, but her eyes never left him. "How did it feel, having to revisit that relationship in the middle of something so traumatic?"

Pharm hesitated. "Like I'd gone back in time. But not in a bad way. More like... like I had to close a chapter that had been left open too long."

He looked up at her. "I think I went there to say goodbye. Not because I wanted to lose him. But because we weren't the same anymore. We couldn't be what we were. But he's still a part of my story."

Dr. Sutthida offered a small nod. "That sounds like a lot of emotional clarity, Pharm."

"I've been doing a lot of thinking," he admitted. "Especially since I got back."

She smiled gently. "Anything in particular?"

Pharm paused. And then, for the first time since it happened, he said it out loud:

"I kissed someone."

The words hung in the air like the first drop of rain before a storm.

Dr. Sutthida didn't react. "Would you like to talk about it?"

Pharm nodded slowly. "It was Dean."

"The friend you've mentioned a few times?"

"Yes. He picked me up from the airport when I got back. We had tea the next morning, then went to the koi pond at the park near campus. I was telling him about a memory I had with my dad. There's a tree there, with initials carved into it—K and I. I think..." He stopped, exhaling. "I think they belonged to Korn and Intouch."

Dr. Sutthida tilted her head slightly. "The names from your dreams?"

"Yes." Pharm's voice was barely a whisper now. "I've started remembering more. Not just dreams. Feelings. It's like... pieces of a life I never lived keep falling into place. And somehow, Dean is part of it. Like we're tied together by something that started long before we met."

Dr. Sutthida's voice remained steady, grounding. "And the kiss?"

Pharm closed his eyes for a second. "It wasn't planned. He leaned in, and I didn't pull away. It was... gentle. Careful. But it felt like everything stopped. Like it was meant to happen, even if I didn't understand it in the moment."

He looked down at his hands. "I've kissed people before. But this was different. It didn't feel like the start of something casual. It felt like remembering."

Dr. Sutthida's silence was never empty. It was space. Space to be vulnerable, space to feel.

"Are you scared of what it might mean?" she asked.

"Yes," Pharm said honestly. "Not because I don't want it—but because I do. Because Dean isn't just someone I like. He's someone I feel connected to. And that connection feels deeper than anything I've known."

He hesitated, then looked up. "But I also don't want him to be a replacement for the past. I don't want to love him just because of what I remember. I want to love him for who he is."

Dr. Sutthida's expression softened. "That distinction matters, Pharm. It means you're aware. That you're making choices, not just following echoes."

Pharm sat back, breathing more steadily now. "He told me he wants to take it one step at a time. No pressure. Just... presence."

"And how does that feel?"

"Safe," he whispered. "It feels like I don't have to be afraid of how much I feel."

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, the weight of Pharm's words lingering in the quiet.

When the session neared its end, Dr. Sutthida offered one last question.

"If your past is part of you, Pharm... what does that make your future?"

Pharm looked out the window. The sun was still shining.

"Something I want to stop running from," he said.

And for the first time in a long while, he meant it.

Chapter Text

Previously on Beautiful but Tragic

"Safe," he whispered. "It feels like I don't have to be afraid of how much I feel."

They sat in silence for a few more minutes, the weight of Pharm's words lingering in the quiet.

When the session neared its end, Dr. Sutthida offered one last question.

"If your past is part of you, Pharm... what does that make your future?"

Pharm looked out the window. The sun was still shining.

"Something I want to stop running from," he said.

And for the first time in a long while, he meant it.

A few days later, the clouds that had hung over Bangkok finally broke, giving way to a rainstorm that swept through the city in sweeping curtains. Pharm sat near the window of the campus café, a half-drunk cup of warm milk tea cradled in his hands, the scent of wet pavement and fresh earth curling in from the outside. Rain beaded down the glass, and the muffled hush of it filled the space like a lullaby.

His textbooks lay forgotten in front of him.

So did his notes.

He was supposed to be studying. Exams were creeping closer, and the weight of academic expectations pressed down around him like a damp sweater. But Pharm's thoughts were elsewhere—caught in a delicate tangle of memory, emotion, and something deeper he couldn't quite name.

It had been three days since the morning he woke up beside Dean. Three days since the dream.

And the kiss.

Three days since he had seen the final seconds of Korn's life play out behind his eyes, vivid and brutal and real. Even now, the memory sat in his chest like a stone. Not just the image of it, but the feeling. The hollow, devastating grief that wasn't his—but was. That lived inside him like a second heart, beating out a rhythm from a life long buried.

He didn't know how to carry it. Not really.

But he also knew he wasn't carrying it alone anymore.

"Pharm."

The voice cut through his thoughts gently, and he looked up to see Dean standing beside the table, damp from the rain but warm in a way that chased the chill out of Pharm's bones.

"I'm not late, am I?"

Pharm shook his head, smiling faintly. "No. I got here early. I wanted the window seat."

Dean took the chair across from him, setting down a paper bag with two steamed buns from their favorite shop on campus. "I brought food. Figured we could use something warm."

Pharm accepted the bun he was handed, the steam curling up between them. "Thanks."

For a moment, they ate quietly, watching the rain soak the trees and the students hurrying past under umbrellas. Pharm's chest eased slightly, as it always did when Dean was near. But today, the silence between them felt more weighted. Not uncomfortable—but waiting. Expectant.

"Do you want to talk?" Dean asked gently, not pushing, but not avoiding either.

Pharm swallowed. "Yeah. I think I do."

Dean waited, giving him space.

Pharm stared at the bun in his hand. "The dream I had that morning... when I woke you up."

Dean nodded slowly. "It scared you."

Pharm looked up, his voice soft. "It was more than a dream."

"I figured," Dean said. "You don't have to explain if you're not ready."

But Pharm was ready. Not for everything. But for something.

"I saw Korn," he said quietly. "I think it was the moment before he... died. He was holding the gun. He was crying." Pharm's throat tightened, but he didn't stop. "And he said 'I love you, In.' Like it was the last thing in the world he wanted to say. And then he pulled the trigger."

Dean didn't speak, but his eyes held something quiet and resolute. Not fear. Not disbelief. Just presence.

Pharm looked down. "I don't understand why I'm seeing these things. They don't feel like stories. They feel like memories. Like I was there."

A pause.

Dean leaned in slightly. "I believe you."

Pharm blinked, meeting his eyes.

"I believe everything you're feeling," Dean said, voice steady. "Whether they're dreams or memories or something in between—what matters is they're real to you. And I'm here. Whatever this is, you're not facing it alone."

Pharm felt his vision blur slightly. He nodded, biting back the emotion rising in his throat. "Thank you."

They sat like that for a moment—Pharm with his hands around his tea, Dean watching him with the kind of patience Pharm had only ever read about in books.

And then, in a quieter voice, Pharm added, "That kiss... it wasn't just a moment."

Dean's lips curled into a small smile. "No, it wasn't."

"I keep thinking about it," Pharm admitted. "And wondering what it means. Not just for now. But for us."

Dean exhaled slowly, his fingers brushing the edge of the table. "I've been thinking about it too. And I keep coming back to one thing."

Pharm tilted his head.

"I want it to mean something because of who you are now, not just because of who you might've been."

Pharm's heart stuttered.

Dean reached out, slowly, letting his fingers graze Pharm's knuckles. "I care about you, Pharm. Not just because you remind me of someone, or because we might be linked by some impossible thread. But because you're you. And I want to know what it's like to keep choosing each other—here, in this life."

Pharm's breath caught.

He turned his hand over, lacing their fingers together.

"I want that too," he whispered.

Outside, the rain began to lighten, the clouds thinning into a soft, misty sky. Sunlight broke through in patches, casting puddles in gold. Students walked a little slower now, their umbrellas folding. The city, it seemed, was catching its breath.

Dean looked out the window, then back at him. "Walk with me?"

Pharm nodded.

They left the café, stepping into the rain-damp world, shoulders brushing. Neither spoke for a while, but the silence had changed again. It was lighter. Freer. A beginning.

Their path wasn't clear. The dreams hadn't stopped. The questions hadn't been answered.

But for now, Pharm wasn't alone.

And for the first time since he'd returned from America, that was enough. As they walked through the damp garden paths behind the café, the silence between them was filled with the soft sounds of dripping leaves and the distant shuffle of retreating clouds. The city, still wet from the downpour, gleamed beneath the tentative touch of sunlight, like a world freshly born. Pharm stayed close to Dean, their hands still linked as their footsteps fell in rhythm. There was something comforting about the way their bodies aligned, like the distance between them had been quietly erased.

Dean glanced at Pharm occasionally, stealing sidelong looks not to watch him, but to remember him—this moment, this version of Pharm with the softened eyes and storm-weathered heart. He hadn't told Pharm everything. Not yet. Not because he didn't trust him—but because even now, Dean didn't quite trust his own memories. He had brushed them aside for months, always dismissing them as dreams that came from nowhere, or strange déjà vu that vanished before it could settle. But as Pharm had spoken of Korn's final moments—of the gun, the tears, and the farewell—Dean had felt something shift in his chest. Not surprise. Recognition.

Because he had seen them too.

Not the blood. Not the death. Not the raw devastation Pharm carried like a scar stitched across his soul. But Dean had seen flashes—brief, golden fragments that felt like sunlight trapped in glass. A field of wild grass, the laughter of someone whose face he couldn't quite place, the feeling of falling into someone's arms and knowing, beyond reason or logic, that he had always belonged there. He had seen himself, not as Dean, but as someone older, heavier with responsibility, standing beside another boy whose smile was soft enough to quiet wars. Intouch.

Dean hadn't seen the ending. He hadn't seen the gun. Korn had died first, after all. In his memories—if that's what they were—there was no pain. Only longing. Only a sense of something unfulfilled. There had always been this feeling, deep and steady, that something had been taken from him too soon. A love that had not gotten the chance to live, now echoing in his bones like a song unfinished.

And then he met Pharm.

From the first time they'd locked eyes across the cooking club meeting, something inside Dean had stilled. He hadn't known why, but he'd felt it—that ancient pause, like a name remembered just before sleep. And now, after the kiss, after Pharm's trembling confessions and all the fractured pieces that were finally beginning to make sense, he was starting to understand.

He hadn't said anything yet, not because he was afraid of the truth, but because Pharm was already carrying so much. Pharm's memories weren't flashes—they were wounds. And Dean, even as he held him, didn't want to give Pharm another reason to question what was real. So he waited. He listened. And when Pharm was ready, when the time was right, he would tell him.

They reached the old stone steps near the edge of the park, slick with rain and moss, and Pharm pulled them both to a stop, exhaling softly. He looked out over the city, its buildings blurred beneath the silver haze that still hung low over the skyline. Dean watched him from the side, the sunlight catching the curve of his cheek, the damp curls at his temple. Pharm's presence was quiet but powerful, the kind of quiet that could hold someone together. The kind of quiet Dean had never realized he needed until he'd found it.

"I used to think memories defined who we are," Pharm said after a long moment, his voice low, reflective. "But now I wonder if it's what we choose to remember that matters most."

Dean let the thought settle, then nodded slowly. "Or maybe it's how we carry them. Whether we let them chain us, or shape us."

Pharm turned to him, a faint, almost wry smile curving his lips. "You sound like Manaow."

Dean laughed softly. "She's rubbing off on all of us."

They stood there for a while longer, neither speaking. The city exhaled beneath them, and the sun broke fully through the clouds at last, bathing everything in light.

Dean didn't say it then. Didn't speak of the flickers he saw when he closed his eyes, of Korn's steady hands or the way Intouch's laughter curled like smoke in his chest. But he would. Soon. Because no matter how tangled the past was, this—they—were becoming real.

And love, he knew now, wasn't always about grand gestures or perfect timing.

Sometimes it was just two people standing quietly in the aftermath of rain, learning how to remember.

And learning, most of all, how to begin again. The rain had stopped hours ago, but the scent of it still lingered—earthy and fresh, curling through the humid air like a half-forgotten memory. The paths of the old park were quiet now, washed clean by the afternoon storm. Here and there, puddles mirrored the low-hanging clouds, and above them, birds sang with cautious cheer. Dean and Pharm sat side by side on a weathered stone bench near the koi pond, the same one where they had kissed not long ago.

Neither of them had spoken for several minutes.

Pharm leaned forward slightly, his elbows on his knees, watching the surface of the pond. The koi moved languidly beneath the lily pads, bright splashes of orange and white stirring the water like slow breaths. The peace of it should have calmed him, but something in his chest was still tight—some knot that hadn't yet loosened since the nightmare.

Beside him, Dean sat upright, hands loosely clasped between his knees. He could feel the weight of Pharm's silence, the careful way he was holding himself, like one wrong breath would crack him open. Dean wanted to reach for him again, to reassure him like he had that morning, but he knew Pharm needed space too. He always did when the memories came.

Pharm finally exhaled, the sound quiet and unsteady. "I keep thinking," he said, his voice low, "about what comes after."

Dean looked over at him, brows furrowed. "After what?"

Pharm hesitated, staring at the ripples in the water. "After Korn died."

The words hung there like mist.

Dean didn't answer right away. Pharm had told him the nightmare—how vivid it was, how real it felt. He'd described the gun, the look on Korn's face, the blood. The horror. The grief. Dean had listened silently, holding Pharm's shaking hands while the morning light filtered weakly through the window.

But this—this new question—it felt heavier somehow.

Pharm sat back slightly, folding his arms across his chest. "It's strange, isn't it? Everyone talks about Korn's death. The way it shattered everything. But... no one ever talks about Intouch."

Dean swallowed. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Pharm said softly, "he watched the man he loved die in front of him. And then what? He just... kept living? Alone?"

The question, though gentle, was raw. It pulsed with something deep and painful.

"I can't imagine that," Pharm continued, shaking his head. "I can't imagine not following him."

Dean looked away, his jaw tightening.

He had imagined it. More than once. Even before Pharm's dream, he'd wondered—idly, then obsessively—what had happened to Intouch after Korn was gone. But there was never any mention. No records. No graves. No stories passed down. Just... silence. And in that silence, a possibility had bloomed, dark and unspoken.

He hadn't told Pharm.

He hadn't told anyone.

Not even himself, really.

But Dean had seen something—something that hadn't been part of Pharm's dreams. Something that slipped into his mind late at night, when he was most vulnerable. Not a nightmare. Not even a vision, exactly. Just a flicker. A shadow.

A boy on the floor. The gun.

And then... nothing.

Dean's hands clenched. The memories—if that's what they were—never showed more than that. Never gave him clarity. But he felt it. The absence of Intouch in the world that came after. The emptiness. The silence that followed Korn's death, and swallowed everything else.

He felt it like a bruise beneath his ribs.

"No one ever talks about Intouch," Pharm said again, quieter this time. "But I think he died that day too."

Dean turned back to him, his throat tight. "Pharm..."

Pharm's eyes found his, and for a moment, the grief in them looked ancient.

"I think he killed himself," Pharm whispered.

The wind stirred the leaves in the trees, scattering golden droplets from the canopy above. Somewhere nearby, a bird took flight.

Dean reached for Pharm's hand then, unable to hold back any longer. "I've thought that too," he admitted, his voice barely above a breath. "I've... seen something. Not like your dreams. Just fragments. Impressions. I don't even know if they're real."

Pharm's grip tightened. "What did you see?"

Dean hesitated. Then, quietly, he said, "A gun. A boy alone. I couldn't see his face, but I knew it was Intouch. I felt it. And then nothing."

Pharm was silent, but Dean could see the tremble in his jaw.

"I didn't want to tell you," Dean added, "because I wasn't sure. I didn't want to make it worse."

Pharm shook his head. "No. You... you should have told me. I needed to know I wasn't the only one feeling it."

They sat there, holding hands, the weight of two lives—not just their own, but ones they hadn't asked to remember—pressing between them.

Dean looked out at the pond again. "If he did... if Intouch followed Korn... then it wasn't just a love story. It was a tragedy. One that never got to finish."

Pharm nodded slowly. "But maybe... maybe that's why we're here."

Dean turned to him, eyes narrowing slightly. "What do you mean?"

Pharm's voice was low, but steady now. "Maybe we're the finish."

Dean's breath caught.

"I don't know what any of this means," Pharm continued. "I don't know why we remember, or why this life brought us together again. But maybe it's not about reliving their pain. Maybe it's about healing it."

Dean blinked, the weight of Pharm's words sinking in. "You think... we're supposed to fix what happened?"

Pharm gave a half-smile, tinged with sadness. "I don't know if we're supposed to do anything. But I think... I want to. I don't want to carry their grief. I want to carry their love."

Dean stared at him, and something inside him—a wound he hadn't named—stirred. "You think that's what we are? Their second chance?"

Pharm's gaze didn't waver. "No. I think we're our own story. But maybe we're the continuation they never got. And maybe that matters."

Dean reached out, brushing Pharm's cheek with his thumb. "It does. It has to."

For a long time, they said nothing more. The sun crept lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the park. The koi moved beneath the water, graceful and silent. And the wind carried the scent of rain and flowers.

Pharm rested his head on Dean's shoulder, and Dean leaned into him in return.

Together, they watched the water ripple.

Together, they remembered.

But more importantly—

Together, they began to heal. A fine layer of condensation clung to the café windows as the air conditioning hummed low in the background. Outside, the late afternoon sunlight had softened into a mellow gold, casting long shadows across the brick-paved sidewalk. Inside, Dean sat across from Pharm, their shared table mostly quiet now—only their empty mugs and the cooling remains of a shared dessert remained.

They hadn't spoken much since Pharm's therapy session earlier in the week. Not out of avoidance—there was nothing awkward between them. Rather, it was a silence born of contemplation, as if the pieces of their lives were still falling into place, bit by bit, and neither wanted to disturb the fragile order forming in their hearts.

Pharm broke the silence first.

"I've been thinking about Intouch."

Dean's gaze lifted, steady and unreadable. He didn't speak. He waited.

Pharm twisted his fingers together on the table, not looking at him just yet. "No one really knows what happened to him. After Korn... after the gunshot. The records say so little. Just that he was never the same. Some say he vanished. Others say he moved to the provinces. Some think he lived a quiet life." He looked up then. "But I don't think he did."

Dean didn't flinch. "You think he followed Korn."

Pharm nodded slowly. "It's not something I just thought. It's something I feel." He pressed a hand to his chest. "Here. Like a memory that hasn't fully returned, but the pain of it is still there."

Dean set his mug down carefully, fingers brushing the porcelain rim. He hadn't planned to say anything. He'd told himself again and again that Pharm didn't need his dreams, not when his own were already haunted. But now, with the quiet of the café holding them steady, it felt wrong to hold it back.

"I've seen it too," he said softly. "Not like your dreams. Just... glimpses. Pieces."

Pharm looked at him, startled. "Since when?"

Dean exhaled slowly, like he'd been holding the breath for years. "Since before the kiss. Before America. Even before the cooking club started meeting again. I didn't understand them at first. They weren't vivid like yours. It was like... looking at an old photo that your brain fills in, even though you've never seen it before."

"What did you see?"

Dean leaned back slightly in his chair. "A red room. Intouch sitting on the floor. His hands shaking. And... a gun."

Pharm's eyes widened, lips parting. "That's the same room. From the nightmares."

Dean nodded once, expression unreadable. "I think he waited until Korn died. Maybe not long. Maybe only minutes. Maybe hours. But he didn't live past that day."

"But why wouldn't Korn have seen it?" Pharm asked, voice hushed, as if afraid to ask the question too loud.

Dean looked away. "Because Korn was already gone."

The stillness that followed was deep and full, like the air had thickened between them.

Pharm blinked, realization dawning. "So all this time... you've had memories too. And you didn't say anything."

"I didn't want to burden you." Dean's voice was calm, but the undercurrent was taut. "You were already struggling with your dreams. And... I didn't know if mine were real."

Pharm reached across the table, placing his hand gently over Dean's. "You're not a burden. And neither are your memories."

Dean closed his eyes briefly, the contact grounding him. "Sometimes, I wonder if we were meant to remember all of this. Or if we're just... caught in something that hasn't let go of us yet."

"You mean the past?" Pharm asked.

Dean shook his head. "No. Regret."

The word sat heavily between them.

"Maybe this is what reincarnation really is," Dean continued, his voice soft but steady. "Not just about being born again. But about getting a second chance to undo something that hurt too much the first time."

Pharm nodded, gripping Dean's hand tighter. "But it's not just about them, is it? It's about us too. Who we are. What we choose to do with this second chance."

Dean looked at him then—really looked—and there was something vulnerable in his eyes, something raw and unfiltered.

"I don't want to repeat their ending," Dean said. "I don't want us to carry that pain and call it love."

Pharm's throat tightened, but he nodded. "Neither do I."

They left the café a few minutes later, stepping into the amber wash of the early evening sun. The streets were quieter now, the distant hum of traffic softened by the breeze that had picked up. They walked side by side, not holding hands, but close enough that their shoulders brushed now and then.

As they approached the edge of campus, Pharm broke the silence again. "When I think about Intouch now, I don't see someone weak. I see someone who loved too deeply to survive losing it."

Dean nodded. "But maybe that's the difference between them and us."

Pharm looked at him.

Dean met his gaze. "We don't have to survive love. We get to live with it. We get to choose each other."

The words hit Pharm with more force than he expected. He stopped walking, letting them sink in.

Dean stopped too, turning toward him. "We don't have to be Korn and Intouch, Pharm. We can honor them without becoming them."

Pharm stepped forward, reaching up to press a hand lightly against Dean's chest. "Then let's choose that. Every day. Even when it's hard. Even when the memories come."

Dean covered Pharm's hand with his own, eyes steady. "Every day."

They stood there, quiet in the golden light, while the world moved gently around them. The past didn't vanish. The memories didn't fade. But in that moment, they no longer felt like chains.

They felt like roots.

Anchoring them.

Reminding them who they had once been—and who they still had time to become.

Pharm lay in bed, the hum of the ceiling fan spinning quietly above him. The lights were off, and the curtains fluttered faintly in the breeze. He held his phone in both hands, Dean's last message still open on the screen.

I'm thinking about you. Let me know if the dreams come again. I'll be there.

Pharm tapped a reply.

I will. Thank you. For everything today.

The typing bubble appeared almost instantly.

You don't have to thank me. I'm here. Always.

Pharm exhaled and set the phone on his nightstand, then rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. The image of Intouch wouldn't leave him—not the boy from his dreams, not the flicker Dean had described. But it no longer made his chest tighten with helpless grief.

It made him want to live.

And love.

And never waste a second of this second chance they'd been given.

Outside, the wind shifted.

And somewhere, in a place beyond memory, beyond time, two boys who had loved and lost too soon were smiling—together again, at last.

Not in this life.

But because of it. The night moved slowly.

Pharm sat by the window in his apartment, legs pulled up to his chest, the breeze from the open panes brushing gently across his face. The city lights outside shimmered like stars cast down from the heavens—soft, flickering, alive. He could hear the distant hum of motorbikes weaving down the streets, the occasional bark of a dog or clatter of a dish from a nearby apartment. Life continued outside as if it didn't know the gravity sitting in his chest.

The weight of dreams. Of memories. Of ghosts he had never met but somehow carried in every breath.

Earlier, when Dean had spoken so clearly—"We don't have to survive love. We get to live with it"—the words had settled into his bones like sunlight into soil. Warm, cautious hope. It had been so easy to romanticize the story of Korn and Intouch, especially in the early days, when all Pharm had were fragmented dreams and flashes of a tragedy he couldn't explain. It had felt poetic then, even noble. But now?

Now, it felt heavy. Raw. Human.

Korn hadn't seen In die.

Dean had told him that.

It seemed like such a simple thing, but it had rattled something deep inside Pharm. Because if Korn hadn't seen it—if he had gone first—then Intouch had died alone. With a gun in his hand. With silence. With nothing left but the echo of a love letter he'd never get to send.

Pharm wrapped his arms tighter around himself, resting his chin on his knees.

He didn't know what was worse—that In had followed Korn into death, or that no one had known. That in every account, every record, every faded newspaper scrap, Intouch had simply vanished. No name on a stone. No closure. Just absence.

As if he had been nothing more than a ghost all along.

Pharm had spent so long wondering who he really was—where Intouch ended and where he began. But now, with the truth creeping closer, he didn't feel like he was sharing his soul with a stranger. He felt like he was carrying the ending that Intouch never got to tell. The pain. The silence. The unbearable choice of a love so deep it drowned him.

And Pharm wasn't sure what scared him more: remembering it... or understanding it.

His phone buzzed from the nearby table.

He glanced at it.

Dean.

You okay?

Pharm stared at the message for a long moment. Then typed:

Not really.

Dean responded almost immediately.

Want me to come over?

Pharm hesitated. He didn't want to seem weak. But hadn't they promised not to carry this alone?

Yes. Please.

No questions. No delay.

Be there in 10.

Ten minutes later, the knock came soft and sure.

Pharm opened the door and let Dean in without a word. He wore a dark hoodie over his t-shirt, and his hair was slightly damp, like he'd rushed straight from the shower. He didn't speak. Just set his bag down quietly and looked at Pharm, eyes steady.

"You want to sit?" Dean asked.

Pharm shook his head. "I need... something else."

Dean tilted his head. "What do you need?"

Pharm looked at him then, the hallway dim behind them, the warmth of the apartment spilling light into the dark.

"I need to not feel like I'm disappearing," Pharm whispered.

Dean didn't hesitate. He stepped forward and pulled Pharm into his arms, wrapping him tightly in an embrace that wasn't gentle—it was solid. Real. Grounding.

"You're not disappearing," Dean murmured into his hair. "You're right here. With me."

Pharm clutched at the fabric of Dean's hoodie, burying his face into his chest. He didn't cry, not yet. The tears felt close, but they hadn't broken the surface. Not yet. What he felt now was older than grief. More elemental. A sorrow that had lived for too long in silence.

"I keep thinking about what it must've been like," he whispered. "For him. For In. Sitting there with that gun... thinking no one would come for him. That no one would remember him. That his whole world had just vanished."

Dean's hand rubbed slow circles along Pharm's back. "You remember more than you want to. That doesn't mean you have to carry it like it's yours."

"But it is mine," Pharm said, pulling back slightly, eyes shining now. "It was me."

Dean didn't argue. Didn't retreat. "Then let me help carry it."

Pharm exhaled shakily and nodded.

They moved to the couch, and Dean didn't let go of his hand. Not once. Pharm sank into the cushions, curling sideways with his feet pulled up, while Dean sat beside him, shoulders touching.

"I don't want to be afraid of remembering," Pharm said softly. "But I'm scared. Because every time I see more... it hurts more."

"Pain means it mattered," Dean replied.

Pharm looked at him. "Do you think they were happy?"

Dean thought for a long moment before answering. "For a while, yes. I think they were. But they were also scared. Caged by a world that wouldn't let them just be. Korn tried to protect In. And In tried to hold them both together. But in the end..." He trailed off.

Pharm finished the thought. "They lost each other."

Dean nodded. "But that doesn't have to be us."

They sat in silence after that, until Pharm finally laid his head on Dean's shoulder.

"Will you stay again tonight?" Pharm asked, voice small.

Dean's response was a soft kiss to the top of his hair. "Of course."

And they did. They stayed curled up together on the couch, the only sound between them the soft hum of the fan and the quiet rhythm of their breathing. Time passed. The city slowed. The moon rose high. But they didn't move.

And slowly, Pharm's eyes drifted shut.

When the dream came, it was different.

He was in the same room—the red velvet curtains, the cracked record player, the bloodstained floor. But this time, he wasn't standing in the doorway, watching. He wasn't outside the memory.

He was inside it.

Korn lay beside him. Still. Quiet. Gone.

And Intouch—he—held the gun in both hands. Not with rage. Not even with sorrow.

But with acceptance.

There was no anger. No panic.

Just... silence.

Intouch looked down at Korn. At the face he had loved so fiercely, so deeply. Then back at the weapon in his hands. The air tasted like dust and perfume and old promises.

"I told you I'd follow you anywhere," Intouch whispered.

And then—

Darkness.

Pharm jolted awake with a gasp, eyes wide, heart hammering in his chest.

But this time, he wasn't alone.

Dean was there, holding him, already awake. Like he'd felt it coming.

"It's okay," Dean murmured. "You're here. You're safe."

Pharm shook in his arms, pressing his face into Dean's neck. "He did it. He really did it."

"I know," Dean whispered. "I think I always knew."

They stayed like that until dawn.

And when the sun rose over Bangkok and painted the sky in shades of soft lavender and gold, Pharm realized something else.

He had survived the dream.

The memory hadn't broken him.

Because Dean was real. The couch beneath him was real. The weight of the tea mug he held in his hands as he sat up later that morning—real.

His life was still his.

And he wasn't alone.

Chapter Text

Previously on Beautiful but Tragic

And when the sun rose over Bangkok and painted the sky in shades of soft lavender and gold, Pharm realized something else.

He had survived the dream.

The memory hadn't broken him.

Because Dean was real. The couch beneath him was real. The weight of the tea mug he held in his hands as he sat up later that morning—real.

His life was still his.

And he wasn't alone.

A month later

It started the way it always did—not with a loud crash, not with a dramatic unraveling, but with quiet.

It was a Tuesday.

The sun was out, the sky a perfect pale blue, and Pharm had just returned from class. Dean had kissed him goodbye on the cheek that morning before heading to his own lecture, his fingers lingering around Pharm's wrist like he didn't want to let go.

Nothing was wrong.

And that was the hardest part.

Nothing was wrong.

The dishes were clean. The jasmine tea was brewed. The air in the apartment was warm and carried the scent of lemongrass from the diffuser Dean had brought over last week. Pharm's plants were doing well. Even the jasmine vine by the window had bloomed again.

But when Pharm sat down on the couch, mug in hand, something in him dropped.

There wasn't a name for it—not immediately. Just a weight. A slow, invisible heaviness pressing down on his chest, spreading into his limbs. His tea tasted like nothing. His heart didn't race. It didn't even beat wrong.

It just... dulled.

He sat there for a long time, unmoving. Outside, the city continued. Students walked past, cars honked, birds chirped. Inside, Pharm barely blinked.

His phone buzzed once. A message from Dean.

Dean: Got out early. Want me to come by?

Pharm stared at the screen.

He didn't know what to say. Didn't know what he wanted to say. His fingers hovered over the keyboard. Then, with slow precision, he typed:

Pharm: Maybe later. Just tired.

And that wasn't a lie.

Not completely.

He was tired. But not from lack of sleep.

It was the other kind. The kind that dragged at the edges of your soul. The kind that sat just behind your ribs and made it hard to take a full breath. The kind that made joy feel like a distant memory rather than a current possibility.

Pharm set the phone down and curled up on the couch, the blanket pulled over his shoulders even though it wasn't cold.

It had been a month since the kiss.

A month since the koi pond. Since their fingers touched for the first time not by accident, but by choice. Since the tea, the talks, the quiet walks through campus where Dean would carry Pharm's bag without asking, and Pharm would pretend not to notice—except he always noticed.

They had gone on dates. They had held hands in public. They had spent nights curled up in Pharm's apartment, watching movies that neither of them really followed. There had been more kisses. Slower ones. Longer ones. Dean's thumb brushing under Pharm's jaw like he was made of something fragile. And Pharm would melt into it because with Dean, the world felt softer.

They had started dating.

And it had felt right. Not forced. Not rushed. Just real.

But Pharm had always known—deep down—that the darkness didn't leave forever.

It waited.

Like a shadow just outside the room. Patient. Unblinking.

And now, it was back.

By Thursday, Pharm hadn't answered most of his messages. Not just from Dean—but from Team, Manaow, even Manaow's dramatic string of voice memos complaining about her new philosophy professor. He listened to them, smiled weakly at her antics, but never found the strength to reply.

He hadn't gone to class. He'd told himself it was just for a day. Then another. Then... it was Thursday.

His apartment had grown quiet again. Not peaceful. Hollow.

The only noise was the occasional kettle boiling or the rustle of fabric when he shifted on the couch. His books remained untouched. His meals were reduced to instant soup or leftover rice he barely tasted.

The strange thing was—he wasn't crying. He wasn't shaking or screaming or curled up in the fetal position. This wasn't a breakdown, not in the cinematic sense. It was a leak, slow and constant, draining him little by little.

Until there was barely anything left to drain.

He didn't know what to tell Dean.

He didn't want to scare him.

Didn't want to explain something that didn't make sense to him, let alone someone who hadn't felt it this way.

But Dean noticed. Of course he did.

Friday.

There was a knock at the door around six in the evening. Three short taps. Familiar. Soft.

Pharm didn't answer. He didn't move. He pulled the blanket tighter around himself.

The knock came again, this time followed by Dean's voice.

"Pharm? It's me."

Silence.

"I brought that sweet egg custard bun from the bakery you like. And those weird coconut rice things you always pretend aren't your favorite."

Pharm's eyes welled slightly, but still, he didn't move.

"I'm gonna leave them here by the door," Dean said after a long pause. "Just wanted to check in."

There was the soft thump of a paper bag being placed gently on the ground.

Then... footsteps retreating.

But not far.

Pharm waited five minutes, then dragged himself up from the couch with lead-heavy limbs. He opened the door just enough to see the bag—neatly folded, tied with a little string. Inside were the pastries, still warm. And a folded napkin with Dean's handwriting:

I'm not going anywhere. Just say when you want me to come in.

Pharm held the note to his chest and slid down against the door, shoulders trembling.

Not crying. Just... cracking.

Saturday morning.

The sunlight streamed into the apartment, too bright for how Pharm felt inside.

He was still in the same clothes from the night before. The untouched food sat on the kitchen counter. The only thing that had changed was the silence inside him—it was now pierced by the smallest, most persistent ache.

Not guilt. Not even sadness.

Just numbness.

He reached for his phone.

Dean hadn't sent another message.

Pharm hated that he noticed.

His thumb hovered over the call button. He almost pressed it.

He didn't.

Dean showed up again Sunday evening.

This time, he didn't knock.

He had a key now—Pharm had given it to him two weeks ago, in a moment of trust, when everything had felt steady. When Pharm believed maybe he'd outpaced the darkness for good.

The door opened quietly.

"Pharm?" Dean called, his voice low, hesitant.

Pharm was on the couch again, curled into the corner, his eyes open but blank.

Dean stepped inside and didn't say anything else. He just walked to the couch and sat down beside him.

He didn't ask questions. Didn't say Are you okay?, because the answer was obvious.

Instead, Dean placed a soft hand on Pharm's knee, grounding. He waited.

Minutes passed like that—just their breathing and the sound of the clock ticking in the background.

Finally, Pharm spoke.

"I don't know why it's happening again."

Dean looked at him, gaze steady. "What's happening?"

"This," Pharm said, his voice thin. "It's like... I woke up and everything had turned gray again. And I don't know how to fix it. I don't even know if I can."

Dean didn't flinch. "You don't have to fix it alone."

Pharm looked down at his hands. "I didn't want you to see me like this."

"I want to see all of you," Dean said. "Not just the parts you think are easy to love."

That undid something in Pharm.

His breath caught in his throat, and for the first time in days, tears came—not sharp or heavy, but slow, steady, almost apologetic.

"I'm sorry," he whispered.

Dean leaned forward, brushing Pharm's hair gently from his forehead. "Don't apologize for feeling. Not to me."

Pharm leaned into his touch, desperate and quiet. "It's like it never really leaves. Just hides in the background until I let my guard down."

"I know," Dean said. "And when it comes back, I'll still be here."

They stayed like that for a long time, until Pharm's body stopped shaking and his breathing leveled out. Dean didn't try to fix it. He didn't offer clichés. He just stayed.

And that meant more than anything else could have.

Later that night, they lay side by side on Pharm's bed, the overhead light off, only the soft glow of the lamp painting the room in gold.

Pharm stared at the ceiling.

"Sometimes I think it'll always be like this. This cycle. Good days and then... this. And I get tired of hoping it'll stop."

Dean didn't speak right away.

Then he said, "Maybe it's not about it stopping. Maybe it's about surviving it when it comes. And letting people help you through it."

Pharm turned his head toward him. "But I don't want to be a burden."

"You're not." Dean's voice was sure, unwavering. "You're someone I care about. Someone I love. And I don't love you in spite of the hard days. I love you with them. I love you."

The room stilled. Pharm's breath caught.

"You—" he began, then stopped.

Dean didn't push.

Pharm's eyes burned, but this time it wasn't fear or pain. It was something softer. Something that shimmered just under the surface.

"I love you too," he whispered.

Dean's hand found his again beneath the blankets, their fingers weaving together in the quiet.

And for the first time in days, Pharm felt something shift. Not all at once. Not like the darkness vanished.

But like a window cracked open just enough to let in air.

A beginning again. A flicker.

Hope—not loud, not blazing.
But present.

Dean hadn't expected it to return so soon.

The darkness.

He could tell before Pharm said a word.

It had started in small ways—slower replies, shorter texts, the subtle drop in Pharm's tone when they talked. Dean had learned to pay attention to the in-betweens: the pauses, the silences that came a little too soon. The smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

And when Pharm stopped coming to class, stopped answering, stopped reaching—that's when Dean knew.

It was back.

The thing Pharm didn't like to name but sometimes admitted aloud in the quiet safety of their shared spaces: the depression that moved like fog through his bones, slow and invasive, never announcing its return until it was already inside.

Dean had read the articles. Watched the videos. Googled things he couldn't explain but wanted to understand. He thought he was prepared.

He wasn't.

Because this wasn't just about symptoms and coping strategies. This was Pharm. And seeing Pharm go quiet, watching the light dim in his eyes, felt like watching the world go out of focus.

Dean didn't panic.

But it scared him—how powerless he felt.

He had spent years learning to be calm under pressure. He was composed in competitions, at swim meets, even during student council chaos. But this—watching someone you love disappear behind a silence you couldn't reach into—that was a different kind of helplessness.

The first time he stood outside Pharm's apartment with the custard buns, he almost didn't leave.

He almost knocked again.

Almost texted Please, let me in.

But he didn't want to push. So he left the food and the note and walked back to his dorm with a sinking weight in his chest.

Dean didn't cry about many things. Not often.

But that night, lying on his bed alone, his phone silent beside him, he stared at the ceiling and wondered if Pharm would ever let him all the way in.

He wasn't angry. He wasn't hurt.

He was just scared.

Not of Pharm. Not of the depression.

But of not being enough to stand beside him through it.

And he hated that feeling—because love wasn't supposed to be about being enough or not enough. It was about choosing someone. Staying. Weathering. Even when they couldn't ask you to.

Dean had never said it out loud before. That he loved Pharm.

He wasn't even sure if Pharm was ready to hear it.

But the feeling had been there since before the koi pond, before the kiss, before the realization that they were somehow stitched together by a past neither of them had asked for. It had been there in the way Pharm brewed tea. In the way he folded his notes with precise corners. In the way he listened—really listened—even when he didn't understand.

It was love, plain and steady.

And now it was being tested.

The day he used the spare key to enter the apartment, Dean was careful. Every footstep felt like a negotiation with gravity.

He saw the blanket on the couch. The untouched food. The lights off even though it was evening.

Pharm was curled in the corner, pale and quiet, eyes open but not really seeing.

Dean sat beside him, not touching him at first, just letting the silence settle between them like dust.

It took Pharm nearly fifteen minutes to speak.

And when he did, it broke Dean in a way he hadn't expected.

"It's like it never really leaves. Just hides in the background until I let my guard down."

Dean had no script for that. No pep talk. No sports metaphor that made sense.

He only had truth.

"And when it comes back, I'll still be here."

That was all he could offer.

And it was everything.

That night, lying beside Pharm in bed, Dean kept his eyes open long after Pharm had fallen asleep again. He counted the ceiling tiles. Listened to the hum of the city through the window. And thought about the future.

Not the romantic version with candlelit dinners and perfect weekends. The real one.

Where Pharm might wake up some mornings and not want to move. Where his laughter might fade for weeks. Where love didn't cure anything, but it stayed anyway.

Could Dean do that?

He asked himself, honestly.

And the answer came—not loud or brave, but firm.

Yes.

Because love wasn't about saving someone. It was about staying when they couldn't save themselves.

He would stay.

He would sit beside Pharm in the silence.

He would hold his hand in the dark.

He would learn Pharm's language of sadness—not to speak it, but to listen to it, to recognize when it returned like an old, unwelcome guest, and never make him feel like he was broken for not being able to chase it away.

Dean reached over and brushed a piece of hair from Pharm's forehead.

"I'm not afraid of the dark," he whispered.

And he meant it.

Pharm didn't sleep easily that night.

Even with Dean curled beside him, arm draped gently around his waist, the quiet in his chest wouldn't settle. It wasn't the kind of restless sleep that came from stress or caffeine. It was deeper than that—like something inside him was stirring, reaching backward into a part of himself he didn't fully know how to hold.

He slipped under again just after 2 a.m., and that was when the dreams returned.

But this time, they weren't dreams.

They were memories.

The room was too quiet.

The only sound was the ticking of a clock—sharp, surgical, slicing through the air like it didn't belong in such a soft, dim world.

And Intouch was sitting at the edge of a neatly made bed, hands limp between his knees. The windows were shuttered. The air was still. And his smile—usually so easy, so reckless, so bright—was nowhere to be found.

He was still.

So still, in fact, that Pharm wanted to reach out and shake him. But he couldn't move.

He was him.

He was watching and feeling and remembering, all at once.

Intouch blinked slowly and exhaled through his nose. His voice was a thought, a ghost of a sound.

"I'm tired all the time now. I laugh so hard at dinner I feel dizzy, and then I cry when I'm brushing my teeth."

He wasn't talking to anyone. He wasn't writing in a diary.

He was just saying it, aloud, into the empty air—like he didn't expect anyone to hear.

Pharm could feel it through him—like the weight pressing into In's chest was the same one that sometimes lived in his own. That relentless heaviness. That dull ache. That familiar sense of feeling too much and nothing at all in the same breath.

Flash.

The scene changed.

Now Intouch was standing in front of a mirror, one hand on the edge of the sink, his face pale and drawn. The bathroom light buzzed above, and in the reflection, Pharm saw what no one else had.

A boy slowly unraveling, from the inside out.

"Korn doesn't see it," Intouch whispered. "He thinks I'm just tired. Or dramatic. Or that I'll bounce back like I always do."

His laugh was sharp, but empty.

"But I don't bounce anymore. I fall. I stay fallen."

Pharm wanted to scream. To hold him. To tell him—you were struggling. You were hurting. Why didn't you say something? Why didn't anyone see?

But Pharm understood the answer even as the questions surged.

Because Intouch did say something. Just not loud enough for the people who only saw his shine.

And now, years—lifetimes—later, Pharm was the one who heard it.

Flash.

Another memory. This one softer. More dangerous because of it.

Korn sat beside Intouch on a rooftop at sunset, passing him a bottle of something sweet and fizzy. Intouch took a sip, leaned against Korn's shoulder. They laughed. They touched. They kissed.

But beneath it all, Pharm could feel it.

The ache inside In. Hidden behind the joy. Masked by affection. Covered over with tenderness that felt more like armor than relief.

And Korn, for all his love, didn't see it.

Couldn't.

Maybe wouldn't.

Pharm jolted awake.

His breath left him in a sharp exhale, chest heaving like he'd surfaced from deep water. Dean stirred beside him but didn't wake. The room was still dark, the air cool.

And Pharm sat there in the quiet, eyes wide, heart aching—not from fear, but from the awful, quiet grief of understanding.

Intouch had been depressed.

Undiagnosed. Unspoken. But it was there, coiled in the soft edges of his solitude, hiding behind every bright laugh and teasing word. And no one had known. Or they had known just enough to look away.

Pharm pressed a hand over his mouth, tears rising, silent and sudden.

Was this one of the reasons?

Was this why Intouch had made the choice he did?

Not just because of fear.

Not just because of Korn's father, or the threats, or the shame of their love being torn apart.

But because he had no more strength left to keep climbing out of the pit every time it pulled him under.

Pharm thought of the letter.

The one In had written, right before—

"We said we'd be together. So if we can't live in this world, I'll wait for you in the next."

How much of that was love?

And how much of it was despair?

The next morning, Pharm didn't tell Dean.

Not yet.

He needed time to sit with the truth. To let it settle.

But as he stood at the window, tea cooling between his palms, he looked out into the morning light and whispered something to the boy he once was.

"I see you now."

"I hear you."

And maybe—just maybe—that meant he could finally begin to heal not only himself, but the boy whose pain had been carried forward into every life since.

Not to erase it.

But to honor it.

To forgive it.

The clinic was quieter than usual that day. No distant laughter from children in the pediatric wing. No echo of phones at the front desk. Even the receptionist's usual soft greeting had been replaced by a nod, like everyone in the building had agreed—today was a day for hush, not habit.

Pharm sat with his hands in his lap, staring at the scuff mark on the tile just beneath his chair.

The same chair. The same waiting room. The same faint lemongrass scent in the air.

And yet everything in him felt different.

When Dr. Sutthida opened her door and called his name, Pharm stood slowly and followed her in without a word. He didn't sit right away. Just stood in front of the armchair, eyes still distant, before lowering himself down like his body was heavier than usual.

"Good to see you," she said gently. "How are you feeling today?"

Pharm blinked once. Then twice. "I think..." His voice broke. "I think I remembered something I wasn't supposed to."

Dr. Sutthida didn't flinch. She only folded her hands and waited.

Pharm leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, fingers laced so tight his knuckles paled. "Not just a memory. Not like the others. This one—this one felt like mine. But I know it wasn't. Not really. It was In's."

He paused, swallowing hard. "It was the first time I saw him... not okay."

"Can you tell me what you saw?"

Pharm nodded, but didn't lift his head. "He was sitting in a room alone. Quiet. Not crying. Not angry. Just... empty. And I knew what that was. I felt it. That silence. The kind that doesn't mean peace."

A pause.

Then, softer, "It was depression. He was depressed. And no one knew. Not even Korn."

Dr. Sutthida tilted her head slightly. "How did that realization affect you?"

Pharm sat back slowly. His hands fell to his lap again. "I haven't stopped thinking about it. It made me wonder... how much of what I feel—now, in this life—is mine. And how much is his. If I inherited more than just memories."

He looked up, eyes glassy. "What if I've been carrying his pain all along, without knowing it?"

Silence followed. Not the heavy kind. Not the silence that Intouch had lived inside.

This silence had space in it.

Room.

Dr. Sutthida's voice, when it came, was soft but firm. "What if it's both?"

Pharm blinked. "Both?"

"Your own pain. Your own chemistry. Your own journey. And also... echoes. Imprints. The unresolved grief of a soul that didn't get to heal. That stayed behind. Maybe not to haunt you, Pharm—but to ask for something."

Pharm's breath caught. "Like what?"

"Recognition. Compassion. Maybe even... forgiveness."

He looked down, fingers tightening again. "I think that's what the dream was. Not a warning. Not a memory. But a cry. One I finally heard."

Dr. Sutthida nodded, her gaze steady. "Then what you do next isn't about separating yourself from him. It's about making space for both truths. You are Pharm. But part of you remembers what Intouch never got to say. And part of you gets to say it now."

Pharm exhaled sharply, like his lungs had been waiting for permission.

"I was so afraid," he admitted. "Of turning into him. Of... ending the same way. But maybe the difference is—he never had someone to listen. Not really. I do."

"You do," she said gently. "And you're not alone now."

Pharm nodded, the tears finally slipping past his lashes. Not like a storm—just steady, like rain that had waited too long.

"And Dean," he whispered. "He's part of this too. He feels it. Even when I haven't told him yet."

"Do you want to tell him?"

"Yes," Pharm said. Then, after a beat, "But I want to tell myself first."

Dr. Sutthida smiled softly. "That's where healing always begins."

When the session ended, Pharm stood slowly, but he didn't feel heavy this time. Not the same way.

He stepped outside, blinking into the sunlight as it warmed the pavement. The shadows weren't gone. But they weren't swallowing him either.

He pulled out his phone. Texted Dean.

Can we talk tonight? Something I want to share. Something real.

The reply came not even a minute later.

Always. I'm here. Just say when.

Pharm smiled faintly, the wind brushing past his skin.

Maybe this was what In never had.

And maybe Pharm would be the one to finish what that boy once began—to survive the silence.

To speak through it.

To live beyond it.

Dean arrived at Pharm's apartment just after dusk, his knock light, careful. Pharm opened the door almost immediately, as if he'd been standing nearby, waiting—not anxious, just ready.

Dean stepped inside, his usual presence warm and grounding. "Hey," he said gently. "I brought food. Manaow gave me grief for not feeding you properly, so—fried rice and spring rolls. No arguments."

Pharm gave a small, grateful smile. "You can thank her for me later."

They didn't eat right away. The food stayed in its containers on the counter. Instead, Dean followed Pharm to the living room, where the overhead light had been left dim and the window cracked open just enough for the night breeze to stir the curtains.

Dean didn't sit until Pharm did, and when he did, it was close—but not too close. Enough to be near. Not enough to crowd.

Pharm folded his hands in his lap, his thumbs fidgeting slightly. "Thanks for coming."

Dean shook his head. "I'll always come when you ask."

The words hit something soft in Pharm's chest. He took a deep breath, letting the air settle before he spoke.

"I remembered something," he said quietly. "About In."

Dean didn't react visibly. Just listened. Attentive. Present.

"It wasn't like before," Pharm continued. "It wasn't some romantic memory of love or laughter. It was... stillness. Isolation. He was sitting alone. Just sitting. But everything in him looked—gone."

Dean's brows knit slightly. "Gone?"

Pharm nodded. "He was depressed. I know what that looks like because I've felt it too. It wasn't grief yet. Not fear. Just... emptiness. The kind that wraps around your ribs and convinces you no one would notice if you disappeared."

He looked at Dean, eyes glassy but dry. "I think he'd been living like that for a long time. And no one saw it. Not even Korn. Maybe not even himself."

Dean didn't speak right away. He reached out slowly, resting a hand on Pharm's knee. "That's a heavy thing to carry."

"I didn't ask for it," Pharm whispered. "But it's in me now. And I don't know where I end and he begins. Sometimes, I feel like I'm living in his shadow. Like I'm borrowing his sorrow and pretending it's mine."

Dean's hand tightened gently. "It's not pretending. You're not making it up. Memory, emotion, trauma—it all leaves fingerprints. Just because it didn't start with you doesn't mean it isn't yours now."

Pharm let out a shaky breath. "That's what scares me."

"What does?"

"That it's always going to be this way. That no matter how good things are, no matter how much I love you—or how much you love me—it's still going to be there. Sitting in the corner. Waiting."

Dean was quiet, but his grip didn't loosen. "I know."

Pharm blinked. "You do?"

"I see it," Dean said simply. "Even when you think you're hiding it. The way your smile falters when no one's looking. The way you get quiet—not peaceful quiet, but protective. Like you're bracing yourself."

He leaned closer now, voice soft. "I don't love you despite that, Pharm. I love you with it. Through it."

Pharm closed his eyes, as if the weight of that was too much and exactly what he needed.

"I don't want to become him," he said finally. "I don't want to lose myself to someone else's ending."

"You won't," Dean said, unwavering. "Because you're not alone. And we're not who we were. Not anymore."

Pharm's eyes opened. "What if it happens again? What if one day I wake up and it's worse? What if I can't pull myself out?"

Dean's answer was immediate.

"Then I'll sit beside you. In the dark. As long as it takes. I won't leave. I won't fix what can't be fixed. But I'll be there. Always."

There was no flare of music. No dramatic embrace. Just stillness—and in that stillness, truth.

Pharm leaned forward slowly, pressing his forehead to Dean's. "You always say just the right thing."

Dean smiled faintly. "No. I just mean it."

They stayed like that, close and quiet, for several long minutes. Outside, the night deepened. The city's soft murmurs filled the space around them, but within the room, there was only breath. Contact. Safety.

Finally, Pharm whispered, "Thank you for seeing me. All of me."

Dean's answer was a kiss—not urgent, not seeking. Just a promise pressed gently to Pharm's temple.

And when they finally pulled away, Pharm exhaled with something like relief. The kind that follows honesty. The kind that comes when you've stopped running from yourself.

He stood and walked to the kitchen, cracking open the takeout containers, letting normalcy ease the heaviness of the hour.

Dean joined him wordlessly, and together they ate—two boys in the quiet, sharing spring rolls and secrets.

Not every conversation had to end in resolution.

Some just needed to be heard.

And tonight, that was enough.

Chapter Text

Previously on Beautiful but Tragic

And when they finally pulled away, Pharm exhaled with something like relief. The kind that follows honesty. The kind that comes when you've stopped running from yourself.

He stood and walked to the kitchen, cracking open the takeout containers, letting normalcy ease the heaviness of the hour.

Dean joined him wordlessly, and together they ate—two boys in the quiet, sharing spring rolls and secrets.

Not every conversation had to end in resolution.

Some just needed to be heard.

And tonight, that was enough.

The rain came down soft and steady, whispering against the balcony glass like a secret too fragile to say aloud.

Pharm stood in the kitchen, tea steaming between his hands, the quiet of the apartment broken only by the low hum of the electric kettle winding down and the gentle tap of water hitting metal outside. His body moved with muscle memory—pour, steep, wait—but his thoughts floated somewhere else entirely.

Last night’s conversation with Dean hadn’t erased the weight inside him.

But it had made room for it.

And somehow, that was enough.

Behind him, Dean moved around the apartment with practiced ease, barefoot and quiet, his presence no longer something Pharm had to brace for. Dean belonged here. Not in the way people often mean that—out of habit or proximity—but in the way certain songs settle into your bones, the ones you never realized were missing until they filled the silence.

Dean had stayed the night again. Not out of concern. Not out of fear that Pharm might crumble the second he was left alone. But simply because they both wanted him to.

Pharm set the mug down and leaned against the counter, watching the rain without really seeing it.

There’d been another dream.

Or maybe it hadn’t been a dream at all.

This time, it hadn’t been a final moment. Not the echo of a gunshot, or the unbearable silence that followed. No—this one had come in between. A soft sliver of time, quiet but piercing.

Intouch had been writing.

Pharm could see the desk clearly now—an old wooden thing, worn around the edges, with little notches in the surface from years of scribbled frustration. The lamp glowed warmly. Rain tapped the window, just like now. And Intouch— he —was hunched over the page, jaw tight, hand trembling slightly as he scrawled out words with urgency that didn't feel dramatic, but necessary. Like a confession. Or a will.

Pharm hadn't seen the whole letter. Just flashes. Sentences.

“There’s a part of me I never let you see, and I think that’s what doomed us.”
“I wasn’t brave. I was just loud.”
“Some nights, I feel like I’m vanishing, even when you're holding me.”

He hadn’t told Dean about it yet. Not because he was hiding it, but because he didn’t know how to explain the pain of someone else's handwriting lodged inside his chest.

Footsteps approached. Dean appeared in the doorway, toweling his damp hair, his T-shirt clinging to his frame from the light shower he’d stepped out into earlier to pick up breakfast.

“You okay?” Dean asked, voice still raspy from sleep.

Pharm nodded, though it was more of a gesture than an answer. “Yeah. Just… remembering again.”

Dean didn’t need clarification. He moved closer and set the small paper bag on the counter before curling an arm gently around Pharm’s waist, warm and real. “Bad one?”

Pharm leaned into him. “Not bad. Just… sad.”

Dean kissed the side of his head. “Want to talk about it?”

Pharm was quiet for a moment. Then: “He wrote a letter.”

Dean’s hand paused at Pharm’s side. “Korn?”

Pharm shook his head. “In. I didn’t see the whole thing. Just pieces. It felt like he was trying to say something that no one let him say when he was alive.”

Dean turned him gently to face him, his thumb brushing under Pharm’s eye where the dark circles had deepened. “You don’t have to carry all of this alone.”

“I know,” Pharm whispered. “But sometimes I wonder… what if I’m not just carrying it? What if I am it?”

Dean looked at him for a long moment, then pulled him fully into a hug. “You’re Pharm,” he said firmly, voice against his hair. “You're you. I won’t let you get lost in someone else’s ending.”

Pharm nodded slowly against Dean’s chest. “It’s just hard to untangle sometimes. I can feel his sadness in places I didn’t know I had.”

They stood like that for a while, the rain still whispering against the windows, the smell of warm tea curling in the air. The city beyond was still waking up. But inside the apartment, time moved slower—gentler.

Eventually, Pharm pulled back and looked up. “Can we stay in today?”

Dean smiled faintly. “Already canceled my meetings.”

Pharm blinked. “You had meetings?”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah. But I figured something more important might come up.”

Pharm reached up and cupped Dean’s cheek, thumb brushing his skin softly. “I don’t deserve you.”

Dean caught his hand and kissed his palm. “Stop that. You deserve everything.”

Pharm didn’t argue. Not because he believed it entirely. But because he was trying to learn how.

Dean turned toward the counter, opening the breakfast bag. “We’ve got sticky rice and grilled pork. Also, mangoes. Because you looked like you needed mangoes this morning.”

Pharm chuckled under his breath. “You always know.”

Dean shot him a soft glance. “I’m starting to.”

Dean passed the food containers across the counter and pulled out utensils, his movements deliberate but relaxed. Pharm moved beside him, helping arrange everything without speaking, their hands brushing now and then — small, grounding touches that didn’t startle or pull them apart.

They ate at the window, floor cushions pulled close, knees bent and pressed just barely together. Outside, the rain had slowed to a light drizzle, the sky still gray but not menacing. It cast the apartment in a pale, muted tone, like everything had been softened — less color, less noise.

Pharm took small bites, chewing slowly. His body was hungry, but his heart… not quite.

Dean watched him without intruding. He didn’t ask how the food was. He didn’t ask how Pharm was doing. He just sat there, presence offered like a blanket — warm, steady, and quietly there.

After a while, Pharm looked up. “You ever think about how memory works?”

Dean blinked. “Sometimes.”

“I’ve been wondering if I’m remembering the wrong things.”

Dean tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

Pharm set his spoon down carefully. “When I was little, I thought memories were like pictures. Still and clean. But now… they feel like echoes. Like… like someone else's grief leaking into places inside me that were supposed to stay dry.”

Dean nodded, leaning back against the glass. “Do you think it’s In’s grief?”

“I don’t know,” Pharm whispered. “I think it’s mine. But also his. And maybe that’s the problem.”

Dean didn’t speak right away. He leaned forward instead, reaching for Pharm’s hand and lacing their fingers together. “Then maybe we find out which is which. Together.”

Pharm looked at their hands, then at Dean. His voice was quieter now. “What if we can’t? What if it’s all just… one ache now?”

Dean’s eyes didn’t waver. “Then we live with the ache. Not alone. Not lost. Just here.”

Pharm bit the inside of his cheek. Something tightened in his throat — not sadness exactly. Not fear. Just a stretch of emotion too big for words. He squeezed Dean’s hand. “Thank you.”

Dean leaned forward and kissed the side of his head, not letting go. “You don’t have to thank me for loving you.”

And Pharm didn’t reply. Because that was what this was. Love, quiet and hard-earned. Not wrapped in drama or sweeping declarations. Just steady presence. Someone choosing to stay, even when they don’t know how to fix the things you can’t name.

They cleaned up slowly. Dean insisted on doing the dishes, and Pharm let him. He stood at the edge of the kitchen, watching the rhythm of Dean’s back and the way his shoulders moved beneath the soft cotton of his shirt. It was domestic and comforting and a little surreal — how life could look so calm on the outside when Pharm still felt like something was unraveling within.

But it wasn’t all darkness.

Not anymore.

Later that afternoon, Pharm curled onto the couch with a blanket and a book he wouldn’t end up reading. Dean sat beside him with his laptop open, half answering emails, half watching the clouds shift through the balcony glass.

It should’ve been ordinary.

But somewhere between the stillness and the hum of the city, something in Pharm’s mind tugged loose.

He blinked.

And suddenly, he wasn’t in the apartment anymore.

Flash.

Korn’s bedroom.

The heavy scent of sandalwood. Curtains drawn. A record player spinning something low and orchestral in the background.

Intouch sat cross-legged on the floor, knees tucked under him, a journal open in his lap. He was writing. Slowly. Carefully. His handwriting a little crooked from fatigue.

I don’t know how to tell you that some nights I hate myself so much I can’t breathe.
You think I’m light, but I’m only loud. I smile so you don’t see the fracture.
I’m tired of being brave for the both of us.
I love you. I love you. I love you.

He stopped.

Hands shaking.

Inhaled.

Pressed his forehead to the page.

And wept.

“Pharm?”

The voice pulled him back.

Not Intouch’s. Dean’s.

Pharm gasped softly and blinked again, the living room swimming back into place. The couch. The blanket. The sound of the kettle starting up again.

Dean was beside him now, leaning in, his face full of concern.

“You went somewhere just now,” Dean said gently. “Was it a memory?”

Pharm nodded. “Yeah. It felt… more real than the others.”

Dean touched his knee. “Can I ask what you saw?”

Pharm swallowed. “He was writing again. I saw more of the letter this time. I think… he was trying to say something no one let him say out loud.”

Dean waited.

“He was breaking,” Pharm continued. “Smiling all the time. Carrying everything for both of them. And I think he thought… if he admitted it, he’d ruin it.”

Dean’s jaw tightened. “He shouldn’t have had to carry it alone.”

Pharm’s eyes glistened. “No. He shouldn’t have. But he did. And now I think… I think that sadness lived too long. It didn’t end with him. It came with me.”

Dean reached for his hand again. “Then it’s time it had somewhere else to go.”

Pharm frowned, confused. “What do you mean?”

Dean squeezed his fingers gently. “You don’t have to hold it anymore. Not all of it. Give some of it to me.”

Pharm felt a tear slip loose. “I don’t know how.”

Dean pulled him in, not caring about the dampness of his shirt or the way Pharm trembled slightly against him.

“You don’t have to know how,” he whispered. “You just have to let me be here.”

And Pharm did.

He pressed closer.

Letting go without letting go.

Letting Dean be the ground beneath a heart that still didn’t know where it had fallen from. 

Pharm didn’t speak for a long while.

He simply let Dean hold him, his forehead pressed to Dean’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of coffee and chamomile and something warm beneath it all — the scent he’d come to associate with safety.

When he finally pulled back, the tear tracks on his cheeks had dried, and something in his eyes looked clearer. Not happier, not unburdened — but seen. And that was its own kind of relief.

“Thank you,” Pharm said again, voice soft.

Dean brushed his fingers gently through Pharm’s hair. “Anytime.”

They sat together until the light began to shift, that slow golden stretch that marked the edge between afternoon and evening. Dean stood to close the curtains slightly, the room slipping into a gentle dimness, and Pharm moved to the small shelf near the sofa, drawn by something he hadn’t looked at in weeks.

A small, leather-bound journal.

It wasn’t his. It hadn’t belonged to anyone he’d ever known in this life.

But it had appeared in a dream, and the moment he saw it in an antique bookstore months ago, something in him knew . The cover was worn. The clasp old brass. The first time he opened it, it had been blank.

Now, when he picked it up — it wasn’t.

His hands trembled slightly as he opened the first few pages. And there, in familiar script — writing that was becoming as known to him as his own — were words.

Not his. Not from now.

But from then .

Do you think we’ll make it, Korn?
I want to believe in forever, but I’ve been told my whole life it’s not meant for people like us.
But I look at you and I think — maybe the world was wrong. Maybe the sky does open if we dare to stand beneath it.

Pharm’s breath caught.

He didn’t remember reading that line before. But it was there. In ink. Real.

Dean came to his side, brow furrowed. “What is it?”

Pharm handed the journal to him. “This is his. Intouch’s. Or… mine. Then.”

Dean took it carefully, reading the lines with slow reverence. His eyes moved across the page, then lingered.

I’m scared I’m not enough for you.
You carry everything like it’s easy, but I see the cracks when you think I’m not looking.
Sometimes I think you want to disappear just to see if anyone would notice. I would. I would notice if you stopped breathing. I’d feel it in my bones.

Dean’s breath hitched, a tremor moving through him like wind against still water.

He handed the journal back slowly, his fingers lingering on the cover.

Pharm looked up. “Are you okay?”

Dean didn’t answer right away. His expression had changed — not panic, not confusion. Something quieter. Recognition. And fear of that recognition.

“I’ve never seen that before,” he murmured. “But that… line. About disappearing. It felt like someone said it to me. Before.”

Pharm blinked. “You mean—?”

Dean looked at him, and for the first time, he seemed unsure. “Maybe I’ve just heard it too many times. Maybe it’s just grief playing tricks.”

Pharm reached out and touched his hand. “Or maybe… the echoes aren’t just mine.”

Dean didn’t respond. But his silence had a different weight now.

The past was stirring. And it wasn’t only Pharm who felt it.

That night, they didn’t talk much.

They cooked something simple — noodles with soft-boiled eggs and bok choy — and curled up on the floor to eat, the window cracked open just enough to let in the scent of rain-washed streets.

Dean read aloud from the book Pharm had tried and failed to focus on earlier. The words didn’t really matter. It was the sound of Dean’s voice, steady and low, that anchored him.

Later, they sat side by side again, knees drawn up, the journal between them on the floor like something sacred neither of them was quite ready to open further.

“I keep thinking about that tree,” Pharm said suddenly. “The one at the koi pond.”

Dean turned to him. “The one with the carving?”

Pharm nodded. “Yeah. I was looking for proof, I think. That they were real. That I wasn’t losing my mind. But now…”

Dean waited.

Pharm’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Now I wonder if maybe I was looking for permission. To still love someone, even if I didn’t understand why.”

Dean reached for his hand. “You don’t need permission, Pharm. Not from the past. Not from anyone.”

Pharm looked at him, heart tight. “What if I mess this up?”

Dean squeezed his hand. “Then we fix it. Together.”

A silence settled between them again, but this one was different. Full of unspoken promises. Of time. Of patience.

Of love.

Later, as Pharm drifted into sleep, the dreams came again.

But this time, they weren’t violent. Not full of blood or screaming.

Just quiet things.

The scratch of pen against paper.

A hand in his hair.

Korn, not young, not old — somewhere in between — standing beneath the same flame tree at the park, looking up as petals drifted down like embers.

And Intouch — smiling, soft and tired, whispering something just out of reach.

This time, let it end differently.
This time… live.

Pharm woke just after midnight.

Dean was beside him, arm curled around his waist, breathing slow and deep.

Pharm watched him in the dark for a long moment.

And whispered, “I’ll try.”

Then he closed his eyes again.

And for the first time in weeks, the quiet inside him felt like rest.

Not absence.

Not loss.

Just peace .

A few days later…

The rain had come softly that morning, soaking the city without rage or drama. Just a quiet, steady drizzle that blurred the skyline and dampened everything with the kind of melancholy Pharm had grown too familiar with. He stood beneath the overhang outside Dr. Sutthida’s clinic, his hoodie pulled up, hands buried in the pockets of his jeans. He wasn’t cold, but he couldn’t quite seem to warm up either.

Inside, the receptionist offered him her usual soft smile. He returned it with something smaller, nodded, and took a seat in the waiting room.

He didn’t bring anything to distract himself today.

No phone. No earbuds. No book to hide behind.

He was here to face something. And he knew it.

When the door opened and Dr. Sutthida called his name, Pharm stood slowly, like his limbs were heavier than usual. He stepped into the office with that familiar scent of lemongrass oil and old books, and as he sat down on the soft beige couch, his fingers clenched briefly into the fabric.

Dr. Sutthida didn’t speak right away. She just watched him. Gave him space.

It was Pharm who broke the silence.

“I think I need to talk about it.”

Her expression didn’t change, but there was a soft shift in her posture. The kind that said I’m here. Go ahead.

Pharm exhaled, dragging both hands through his hair. His voice came out low.

“I saw it again. The… the gun. The blood. His eyes.”

A pause. Then:

“I think I’m remembering dying.”

Dr. Sutthida said nothing, but Pharm could feel her attention sharpen.

“I mean— his death. Intouch’s. But it feels like it’s mine.”

He swallowed, throat dry.

“And I think he was depressed. I think I am, too. And I don’t know if I’ve been pretending not to see it or if I’ve just been… hoping that love would be enough to make it go away.”

There it was. The rawness. The cracked truth at the heart of everything.

“I keep wondering,” he said, his voice thick now, “if that’s why Intouch died. Not just because Korn pulled the trigger. Not just because they were trapped. But because… he’d been holding so much for so long that he didn’t know how to ask for help.”

He blinked hard, forcing back the sting behind his eyes.

“I think he smiled a lot. I think he made everyone laugh. And I think nobody knew how bad it really was.”

Dr. Sutthida’s voice was soft when it came.

“And how does that feel? Believing that?”

Pharm shook his head. “It terrifies me. Because sometimes… I do the same thing.”

His words spilled out like water through cracked glass.

“I don’t always tell Dean when I’m slipping. I don’t always say when it gets too quiet in my head. Or when I wake up feeling like I’m already behind on breathing.”

He stared at the floor.

“I don’t want to become a ghost before I’m dead.”

Silence stretched.

“I keep thinking that if I just love him enough, if I just stay close enough to what’s real , the shadows won’t come back. But they do. They always do.”

Dr. Sutthida waited until his breath steadied, then asked, “Do you believe Dean would want to carry the truth? Even the hard parts?”

Pharm nodded without hesitation. “Yes. He would. He already does.”

“Then why do you still hesitate?”

It was the kind of question that was both gentle and piercing.

Pharm licked his lips, his voice barely audible. “Because I don’t want to be too much . I don’t want him to see me the way I see myself when it’s dark.”

“And how is that?”

“Like I’m… a weight. Like I’m broken in ways even I can’t explain.”

Dr. Sutthida leaned forward slightly, her eyes kind but unwavering.

“Pharm, do you believe that loving someone means only showing them the light?”

He shook his head slowly. “No. I know better. But it’s hard not to fall into that trap.”

“It’s human,” she said gently. “Especially when you’ve been taught to feel responsible for other people’s peace. Especially when your own survival once depended on making yourself small, quiet, invisible.”

Pharm blinked at that.

“You’ve learned to minimize your pain,” she continued, “to avoid becoming a burden. But your pain is real. And it deserves space. So do you.”

His lips parted slightly, but no words came.

“I want to go back to something you said,” she added after a moment. “You said you’re afraid you’ll become a ghost before you’re dead.”

Pharm nodded.

“That’s something people with chronic depression often feel. It’s not just sadness. It’s the erosion of self over time. It’s not just a storm—it’s fog. Unshakable, quiet. You walk through it for days before you even realize you’re lost again.”

Pharm’s throat tightened.

“Yes,” he whispered. “That’s what it is. Exactly.”

Dr. Sutthida let the words settle.

“And if I told you,” she said softly, “that you don’t have to survive this alone?”

“I’d want to believe you.”

Her smile was faint. “Then start there.”

“Then start there.”

Pharm sat in stillness, Dr. Sutthida’s words lingering in the air like the scent of rain after a storm.

You don’t have to survive this alone.

It should’ve been obvious. But it wasn’t. Not when your earliest coping mechanism was silence. Not when the softness in your soul had been taught over and over again to stay quiet so it didn’t become a liability. Not when even grief had been something you learned to carry politely.

He swallowed. “Do you think it’s possible to inherit emotion?”

Dr. Sutthida tilted her head. “What do you mean?”

“I mean—” He struggled, then started again. “I don’t just feel sad . Sometimes, I feel haunted . By things I didn’t live. And I keep wondering… if what I’m carrying is mine. Or his.”

She didn’t ask who he was. She didn’t need to.

“I think Intouch was depressed for a long time,” Pharm continued, voice thinner now. “But he smiled through it. I keep remembering him doing that. Making jokes. Laughing too loud. Holding everything together for the people around him. And maybe… maybe nobody ever asked if he was okay.”

His voice cracked.

“I think he believed that if he could just hold on long enough, Korn would fix everything. That love would be enough to make the pain go away.”

He looked up slowly, his eyes glassy.

“But love wasn’t enough.”

The room was still. Heavy.

“And I hate that,” he whispered. “Because I want it to be. I want love to save people. But it didn’t save him. It didn’t stop him from pulling the trigger.”

His hands trembled in his lap.

“And sometimes, I wonder—if I get too tired, will it not be enough for me either?”

There it was. Out in the open.

He didn’t say the word. But they both knew what he meant.

Dr. Sutthida didn’t flinch. She didn’t rush in with comfort. Instead, she nodded, gently.

“Thank you for saying that out loud.”

Pharm blinked fast, then looked away. “I don’t want to die,” he said, barely audible. “But sometimes… I just don’t want to be .”

“That’s a very important distinction,” she said. “And a common one. Especially for people with chronic depression. The desire isn’t always for death. It’s for relief . For quiet. For rest.”

She leaned forward slightly, her tone gentle, but firm.

“I want you to hear this, Pharm: The pain is real. But it lies to you when it says it’s permanent. It lies when it tells you that you’re too much to love. And it lies when it says you won’t be missed.”

He pressed his lips together, hard.

“You’re allowed to be tired,” she continued. “But you’re also allowed to stay.”

Something broke behind Pharm’s eyes.

He let the tears fall quietly. No sobbing. Just a slow, soft unraveling.

“I don’t want to be a legacy of death,” he whispered. “I don’t want to be another In.”

“You’re not,” she said simply.

“But I remember him. I am him. I don’t know how to separate us.”

Dr. Sutthida gave him space for the grief, the blur of identity, the ache of two lives converging in one body.

“You don’t have to separate entirely,” she said after a moment. “Maybe that’s not the goal. Maybe the point is to honor who he was—his joy, his struggle, his truth —without letting it dictate who you get to become.”

Pharm looked up, his voice a breath. “But what if I break anyway?”

Dr. Sutthida didn’t hesitate. “Then you break. And we help you put the pieces back together.”

He let out a shaky laugh that wasn’t quite amusement. “That simple?”

“No,” she said. “But that possible.”

Another silence stretched, this one softer. When Pharm spoke again, his voice was quieter, but clearer.

“I want to stay.”

Dr. Sutthida nodded slowly, her eyes shining with quiet approval.

“I want to live a life that’s mine,” Pharm continued. “Not just a continuation of someone else’s pain. I want to love Dean and not wonder if I’m destined to lose him the same way. I want to wake up and not dread the day.”

He sat back, breathing through the ache in his ribs.

“I’m scared. But I’m still here.”

Dr. Sutthida smiled. “That’s the bravest thing I’ve heard all day.”

When Pharm left the clinic, the rain had stopped.

The pavement still shimmered with silver, the sky a pale slate grey above. The city moved around him as it always did—indifferent, alive—but Pharm walked slower than usual, each step deliberate. His mind felt sore, but clearer.

He didn’t have all the answers. He didn’t know how long the shadows would stay gone.

But something had shifted.

He had spoken truth without shrinking from it. He had cracked open something heavy and found that he was still standing.

And maybe that was enough for today.

Not healing.

Not fixing.

But staying.

And choosing, quietly but firmly, to live.

Pharm unlocked the door and stepped inside.

The scent of home met him before anything else — lemongrass, something sweet left over from yesterday’s tea, the faintest trace of Dean’s cologne on the throw blanket draped over the couch. The door clicked shut behind him, muffling the city’s voice to a distant hush.

He didn’t turn on the lights. Let the soft grey of early evening fill the space instead. It suited the quiet inside his chest — not peace exactly, but something adjacent. A pause. A hush before the next breath.

He toed off his shoes and dropped his bag by the door.

There were no missed calls, no messages demanding anything from him. Just a soft notification blinking on his screen.

Dean:
Let me know if you want company. Or just a long nap and no questions. I’m good with either. Or both. Or something in between.

Pharm stared at the message longer than he needed to. Then, slowly, he typed back.

Pharm:
Can you come over?

The reply came in less than thirty seconds.

Dean:
Already on my way.

Twenty minutes later, Dean stepped into the apartment like someone entering a sacred place. He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t fill the air with chatter or concern or even affection. He just came in quietly, left his shoes by the door, and looked at Pharm with that calm, unwavering gaze of his — like he knew Pharm would speak when he was ready.

Pharm sat on the couch, legs pulled up close, a pillow hugged against his chest. He didn’t smile. But he didn’t cry either.

“I talked about Intouch today,” he said, his voice soft and even. “More than I ever have.”

Dean sat down slowly beside him, careful not to crowd. He didn’t reach for Pharm’s hand right away, just leaned in slightly, enough to be near.

Pharm didn’t look at him. He stared ahead, past the window, into the soft fading blue of dusk.

“I told her I don’t want to be him,” he continued. “I don’t want to be a repeat.”

Dean’s voice came after a moment, quiet but certain. “You’re not.”

Pharm exhaled, the sound almost like a sigh. “I know. I think… I’m starting to believe that. But it’s hard not to see the overlaps.”

He finally turned, met Dean’s eyes.

“I think he was depressed,” Pharm said. “Undiagnosed. Hidden. But it was there — the exhaustion, the overcompensating, the way he smiled so loud to make sure no one could hear him falling apart. And when the world told him he couldn’t be who he was, couldn’t love who he loved, he just… stopped trying.”

Dean’s brow furrowed slightly. “You think that’s why he—?”

Pharm nodded. “Part of it, maybe. Not the only reason. But I think… he was already tired. The heartbreak just tipped it over.”

Dean shifted a little closer now, his knee brushing Pharm’s. “And you? How are you feeling now?”

Pharm was quiet for a long time.

“I’m tired too,” he admitted. “But not the same kind. Not the kind that wants to disappear. Just… the kind that needs rest. That needs something to hold on to.”

Dean’s hand found his now. Their fingers tangled, warm and steady.

“You don’t have to hold everything by yourself,” Dean said. “Not anymore.”

Pharm nodded, his grip tightening slightly.

“I told her… I don’t want to die,” he said, almost to himself. “I just want the noise to stop sometimes. I want to feel like I have the right to be here.”

Dean’s expression didn’t shift. But something in his posture did — the subtle tension of someone wanting to reach in and take all of Pharm’s pain, even if they knew they couldn’t.

“You do,” Dean said. “You have every right. You don’t have to earn that.”

Pharm bit his lip. “But I feel like I do. Like I have to justify it — like being here means I have to be okay all the time. For you. For my friends. For the people who didn’t get to stay.”

He paused, voice thinner now.

“For Intouch.”

Dean shook his head gently. “You don’t owe Intouch a life he didn’t get. You just owe yourself the chance to live yours.”

Pharm looked down at their hands.

“Sometimes I feel like I’m walking through two lives at once. Mine, and his. And I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins.”

Dean’s thumb brushed over the back of Pharm’s hand.

“Maybe you don’t need to draw a line,” he said. “Maybe they can exist together. Maybe the point isn’t to untangle it all, but to integrate it. To take what Intouch never got to finish and let it inform — not define — the life you’re still building.”

Pharm’s breath hitched.

He looked at Dean like he was seeing him for the first time, and not the hundred quiet ways Dean had held space for him — in silence, in softness, in presence.

“I’m scared it’ll always be like this,” Pharm whispered. “This shadow. This weight. That I’ll never feel… free.”

Dean’s hand didn’t leave his.

“Maybe not,” he said honestly. “Maybe it’ll always be there, in some shape. But shadows don’t mean there’s no light.”

Pharm blinked fast.

Dean continued. “You don’t have to fight this every second. Just some of them. Just enough. And I’ll be there for the ones you can’t.”

Something inside Pharm cracked then — not in a way that hurt, but in the way thawing happens slowly after a long, cruel winter. A breaking open. A shift.

“I want to live,” he said. “Really live. Not just survive. Not just make it through the day. But live. Even when it’s messy. Even when I’m not sure how.”

Dean smiled softly. “Then start with that.”

Pharm breathed in. Breathed out.

“I’m going to need time.”

“I’ve got time.”

“And patience.”

“I’ve got that too.”

“And space to figure out what’s mine and what’s his.”

“I’ll help you find the edges. No rush.”

Pharm reached out, cupped Dean’s cheek gently.

“I don’t want to be someone you have to fix.”

“You’re not broken,” Dean replied. “You’re just healing. ”

Pharm closed the distance between them slowly, their foreheads brushing, the air between them warm and shared.

“I’m still scared,” he said.

Dean nodded, eyes closing. “Me too. But being scared doesn’t mean we stop.”

A long moment passed.

When Pharm spoke again, his voice was almost a whisper.

“Can we just… sit here for a while? Not talk. Just… be.”

Dean kissed the top of his head.

“Yeah. We can just be.”

And so they were — two boys on a couch in the fading light, sharing the silence, the weight, and the stillness that came after choosing — quietly, painfully, intentionally — to stay.

Not healed.

Not fixed.

But here .

And for now, that was enough

Chapter Text

Previously on Beautiful but Tragic

When Pharm spoke again, his voice was almost a whisper.

“Can we just… sit here for a while? Not talk. Just… be.”

Dean kissed the top of his head.

“Yeah. We can just be.”

And so they were — two boys on a couch in the fading light, sharing the silence, the weight, and the stillness that came after choosing — quietly, painfully, intentionally — to stay.

Not healed.

Not fixed.

But here .

And for now, that was enough

Pharm was asleep beside him.

Or, at the very least, he was doing a convincing impression of it — breathing slow and steady, one hand curled near his face, his cheek pressed into Dean’s shoulder. The throw blanket had slipped off his legs, and Dean gently tugged it back up over Pharm’s body without shifting him too much.

Outside the window, the city had gone still. Midnight crept through the cracks in the curtains, soft and silver. The apartment was quiet, save for the gentle hum of the fridge and the occasional car passing far below.

Dean wasn’t asleep.

His eyes had adjusted to the dark, and he lay still, unmoving, listening to the rhythm of Pharm’s breath. It calmed him, steadied him. Every inhale and exhale was a tiny promise: I’m still here. I’m still choosing to be here.

He didn’t need more than that.

Not tonight.

Not after the way Pharm had looked earlier — like he was standing at the edge of a cliff only he could see, trying not to fall back into a memory that wasn’t entirely his.

Dean had known, when they started this, that loving Pharm would mean navigating shadows.

He just hadn’t expected to care so fast, or so deeply.

Pharm was gentle, but he burned through Dean in ways no one else ever had — with that quiet intensity, with the way he tried so hard to be whole, even when he didn’t feel it. He was thoughtful to a fault, always second-guessing if his presence was a burden. He apologized too often, laughed too softly, gave more than he realized he had to give.

And then there were the silences — the ones filled with ghosts.

Dean had learned, slowly, how to recognize them.

Sometimes, Pharm would go quiet in the middle of a conversation, as if something had brushed too close to a nerve he hadn’t named yet. Other times, he would laugh, bright and careless, and then fall still like the echo had reminded him of something lost.

Dean never pushed.

He didn’t need to know everything at once. But he listened. Watched. Held space.

He knew what grief looked like when it had no clean beginning.

He knew what trauma sounded like when it borrowed someone else’s voice.

And more than anything, he knew what it meant to love someone who didn’t always believe they deserved to stay.

Dean turned his head slightly, just enough to see the soft line of Pharm’s jaw in the dark.

His thumb brushed lightly along Pharm’s wrist, the same spot where their hands had curled together earlier. He didn’t hold tightly. Just enough.

Pharm had said, “I want to live.”

And Dean believed him.

But he also knew that wanting to live wasn’t a constant — it was a choice that sometimes had to be remade every day. Every hour. Some days, every breath.

He thought of Intouch.

He’d only ever seen glimpses through Pharm’s words, fragmented dream-like memories, the way Pharm would sometimes talk about In like a person he both knew intimately and didn’t know at all.

The stories painted a picture — a boy who was loud with love and reckless with hope. A boy who believed he could change everything, until the world told him he couldn’t.

And now, Pharm carried that ending like a bruise beneath his ribs.

Dean didn’t know what Intouch had felt in those final moments. No one ever truly did.

But he could imagine the loneliness. The way it must have felt to hold so much pain in a world that didn’t want to make room for it.

Dean hated that Pharm had inherited that silence. That ache. That shadow.

It wasn’t fair.

But Dean also knew life wasn’t fair.

It was just real.

It was real when Pharm held his tea with both hands like it was the only thing anchoring him.
Real when he folded in on himself after a long day.
Real when he said “I’m fine” and didn’t mean it, but didn’t know how to ask for help.
Real when he let Dean see the cracks — not because he wanted to, but because he trusted him to stay.

Dean wasn’t here to fix Pharm.

He wasn’t interested in being anyone’s solution.

He was here because he loved him.

Because loving Pharm meant choosing him in the mess and in the quiet.

In the days when he lit up like sunlight, and in the ones where he disappeared into himself.

It meant listening to the hard truths. Sitting through the bad nights. Learning what Pharm didn’t always have the words to explain.

Dean hadn’t said it yet — not out loud. I love you.

He didn’t know if Pharm was ready to hear it.

But it was there.

In every time he picked Pharm up without asking.
In every tea he brewed, even though Pharm usually remade it.
In the way he remembered Pharm’s class schedule, his triggers, his need for silence before bed.
In the softness of his touch, the steadiness of his voice, the patience he didn’t even know he had until Pharm came into his life.

Dean had never been good at big feelings.

He was steady, yes. Reliable. Grounded. But not always expressive. Words sometimes failed him.

But with Pharm, the feelings weren’t loud.

They were true.

And tonight, as Pharm shifted in his sleep and tucked closer without waking, Dean let the weight of that truth settle quietly in his chest.

This wasn’t easy.

Loving someone who carried inherited pain meant there would be days when Pharm questioned if he wanted to stay.

And Dean would have to hold the line when Pharm couldn’t.

He didn’t resent that.

He just worried sometimes — in the dark, when the world fell quiet — about what would happen if one day, Pharm fell too deep into the memories to climb out.

He trusted him.

But he also knew depression didn’t always play fair.

Dean closed his eyes for a moment, not to sleep, but to listen.

Pharm’s breathing was still slow. Still steady.

Dean opened his eyes again.

And whispered into the dark, “I’m still here, too.”

Not a promise. Not a plea. Just a fact.

He was here.
He would stay.
For Pharm.
For the life they were slowly building, in all its quiet, complicated beauty.

Tomorrow, the world would be waiting again — with its noise, its questions, its ache.

But tonight, Dean would watch over this boy who had learned to hold his own hand in the dark.

And if Pharm forgot how to stay — just for a moment — Dean would remind him.

Not with pressure.
Not with panic.
Just with presence.

Soft, quiet, unrelenting presence.

Because sometimes, love wasn’t a grand gesture.
It was just being there.
Fully.
Gently.
Always.

Dean pressed a kiss into Pharm’s hair.

Closed his eyes.

And finally, slowly, let sleep come.

Together, they breathed.
Together, they stayed.
And together, they would try again tomorrow.

The alarm buzzed softly at 6:30 AM, and Dean was already half-awake by the time it vibrated against the nightstand. Beside him, Pharm stirred but didn’t open his eyes, face still slack with sleep, his cheek creased from the pillow. Dean silenced the alarm quickly, not wanting to jar Pharm from the comfort he so clearly needed.

The room smelled faintly of tea and warm cotton. Morning sunlight filtered through the thin curtains, casting muted shadows across the floor. Dean lay still for another minute, listening. Pharm’s breathing was steady, untroubled. That, at least, was something Dean held onto.

He got up carefully, padded to the bathroom, and splashed cold water on his face before pulling on his shirt and sweats. He scribbled a quick note on the small pad Pharm kept on the fridge—Gone for morning class. Back before lunch. Text me if you need anything—and left it where Pharm would see it. Quiet gestures had become their language. Not out of fear, but out of respect.

Campus was already alive by the time Dean arrived. Students filtered across the quad, sipping iced coffees and murmuring about assignments, eyes half-shielded by caps and sunglasses. The weight of another ordinary day pressed around them all, and Dean let himself settle into the routine. He liked the predictability of mornings. He liked knowing exactly what was expected.

The class was uneventful—notes, a short lecture on biomechanics, a case study for a future presentation. Dean took thorough notes, not out of obligation, but because it was the kind of discipline that steadied him. There was comfort in order. It made the world feel like something he could hold in his hands.

By the time noon arrived, he was walking toward the pool.

The aquatic center sat like a temple to silence and movement. The air was warm with chlorine, the light refracted through floor-to-ceiling windows casting long stripes across the surface of the water. The swim team was already trickling in, gathering by the edge of the pool with towels slung around their necks, chatting idly as they waited for Dean.

He nodded a quiet greeting and slipped into the role effortlessly.

Swimming club president. Captain. Leader.

These were the identities that came naturally to him. Steady. Unshaken. The one people looked to when timing broke or someone cracked under pressure. Dean didn’t mind the responsibility—he never had—but lately, the weight of what he carried outside the pool had begun to run parallel to what he carried within it.

He gave instructions, dividing them into warm-up lanes and technique drills. The session was tight and efficient, just how he liked it. He walked the perimeter, occasionally crouching beside a swimmer to offer corrections. His voice was low, measured. The water echoed back the rhythm of motion, the slosh of arms and breath and kickboards.

“Dean.” A voice pulled him from his concentration, and he turned to see Win approaching, towel draped over one shoulder.

Win was his co-captain—lean, quick-tongued, and always watching more than he let on. They’d been swimming together since their second year, and there was an ease between them now, forged from hours of laps and after-practice ramen.

“Got a sec?” Win asked, jerking his chin toward the far end of the pool where no one else stood.

Dean glanced toward the team—still mid-set, the assistant coach overseeing—and nodded. “Yeah.”

They walked over in silence. Win tossed his towel onto a bench, then leaned against the wall, arms crossed. “You okay?” he asked finally, without preamble.

Dean blinked. “Yeah. Why?”

Win gave a one-shouldered shrug. “You’ve been... quieter lately.”

Dean raised an eyebrow. “I’m always quiet.”

“True.” Win gave a half-smile. “But this is different. More like... you’re holding your breath all the time.”

Dean didn’t answer at first. He sat on the bench opposite Win, elbows on his knees. The water cast a dappled reflection against the walls, light shifting with every stroke in the pool.

“Things have just been a lot lately,” Dean said finally. It wasn’t evasive, but it wasn’t the whole story either.

Win waited. He always did. He never pushed, just left room open.

Dean exhaled. “It’s Pharm.”

Win’s brow furrowed slightly. “Something happen?”

Dean shook his head. “No. Not like that. He’s okay. Just… going through something.” He paused. “Mental health stuff.”

Win didn’t react with surprise. “And you’re trying to carry it for him.”

Dean looked up, eyes sharp. “I’m not—”

“I didn’t say you shouldn’t,” Win interrupted gently. “Just that I know you. You take care of people. Sometimes so well, you forget to take care of yourself in the process.”

Dean didn’t reply, because that one cut too close to the bone. Win knew his silences. Knew how to listen between the lines.

“It’s not a bad thing,” Win continued. “Pharm’s lucky. But you don’t have to do it all on your own. Even when someone’s not asking for help, they still need a place to put their weight sometimes. You do too.”

Dean nodded slowly, not because it was easy to admit, but because he knew Win wasn’t wrong. He just didn’t always know what to do with what he felt. His emotions didn’t burst out in obvious ways. They sat in his chest, slow-burning, hard to name.

“I just don’t want to fail him,” Dean murmured.

Win tilted his head. “And how would that look?”

Dean looked away. “If he got worse. If he thought he couldn’t come to me. If he slipped and I didn’t see it in time.”

Silence hung between them.

Win’s voice was quieter now. “Then don’t try to outrun his pain. Walk with him through it. And when he stops walking, just sit beside him. That’s all you can do sometimes.”

Dean let the words settle.

He thought of the way Pharm had looked yesterday—raw, quiet, trembling under something he couldn’t name. He thought of that moment on the couch, when he’d simply held Pharm without needing to fix anything. Just being there.

“I’ll keep showing up,” Dean said. “No matter how many times we have to start over.”

Win smiled faintly. “I never doubted that.”

A whistle blew in the distance, signaling the end of the current lap set. Swimmers started climbing out of the pool, shaking out their limbs, toweling off. Dean stood, brushing invisible dust off his pants.

Win stood too, slinging his towel over his shoulder. “Just make sure you show up for yourself too, Captain.”

Dean nodded once. “I will.”

They parted with a quiet pat on the shoulder, no need for more. That was how it worked between them—mutual understanding that didn’t need to be spoken twice.

Dean returned to the swimmers, giving final instructions for cooldown laps. As he walked the edge of the pool, his eyes traced the movement of water, the way it gave and took back, the way it absorbed everything without losing form.

It reminded him of Pharm.

Gentle. Deep. Resilient even in silence.

Dean stayed until the last swimmer was out. He saw them off, checked the locker rooms, and finally made his way back to campus. His shoulders ached from tension he hadn’t noticed during practice. His mind was quieter now though, steadier.

Back at the apartment, he found Pharm sitting on the balcony with a cup of tea, a book resting unread in his lap. The jasmine plant had bloomed again. A soft breeze stirred the pages.

Dean slipped behind him and rested his hands on Pharm’s shoulders. Pharm leaned back into the touch without a word.

“Long day?” Pharm asked, voice soft.

Dean hummed. “You could say that.”

They stood like that for a while, until Pharm looked up at him and asked, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Dean thought of Win’s words. Then, gently, he said, “Yeah. I think I do.”

And just like that, the day slipped into evening—not with grand confessions or painful truths, but with presence. Steady. Quiet. Chosen.

They were both learning how to show up—for themselves, for each other.

One step. One breath. One shared silence at a time.

The door clicked shut with the softest sound, but it still echoed too loudly in the silence that followed.

Krit and Karl had done what they always did—rushed in like twin whirlwinds of concern, tried to glue the pieces of their older brother back together with childish affection and wide, worried eyes. Krit had brought a bag of jelly candies he'd stolen from the kitchen. Karl had tried to make him laugh with that ridiculous impression of their head maid. For a moment, Korn had let himself smile. Pretended. Lied, gently. Told them, I'm okay. It was just a conversation. Told them to go to bed. They’d believed him because they wanted to.

But now, alone in the stillness of his room, Korn couldn't hold the weight of the lie anymore.

He stood there, unmoving, staring at the place on the floor where his father’s cane had struck—angrily, carelessly, just beside his foot. It hadn’t hit him. Not quite. But the intention had been clear. So had the slap. His cheek still burned faintly from it, the ghost of his father’s fury pressed into his skin like a brand.

“You think you’re better than this family? Better than me? Is that what you think, Korn?”

“I think we don’t have to hurt people just because we can.”

“You arrogant little boy.”

“I’m not going to be like you.”

That’s when the slap came. Sharp. Fast. Followed by silence so loud it rang in his ears.

His father had stormed out after that, muttering curses, slamming the door hard enough that the wall had trembled. Korn hadn’t moved. Not for a while.

Even now, he couldn’t bring himself to sit down. His body was tight with something he couldn’t name—rage, maybe, or sorrow, or both. His hands trembled, not from fear, but from how tightly he was holding himself together.

He moved slowly toward the desk near his window, as if floating outside his body. The moonlight spilled across the dark wood, catching on the edge of a photo frame—a rare one of the three Ariyasakul brothers as children. Smiling. Young. Before expectations set in like frost.

Korn picked it up.

Krit’s gap-toothed grin. Karl’s awkward pose. Korn himself, standing behind them with a hand on each of their shoulders. He looked so sure of himself then.

He set the frame back down and let out a breath. It trembled.

What am I doing?

He had tried, over and over, to explain to his father that he didn’t want to inherit the bloodstained empire. That finance could be clean, that business didn’t need to be about threats and manipulation and extortion. That maybe, just maybe, power wasn’t the only way to define worth.

But every time he said that, his father heard weakness.

And maybe that was what he was, after all. Weak. Cowardly. Useless. He could still hear the words:

“You are not a man. You are not my son.”

He sat down, finally, at the edge of his bed. Fingers clasped. Eyes dull.

The room around him was too quiet. Everything he owned—this house, this room, the tailored clothes, the name—felt like a cage more than a crown. He could smell the leather of his father’s gloves still lingering in the air, acrid like smoke.

Korn rested his head in his hands.

He had plans once. He had dreams of starting something real. Of building a business that didn’t rely on threats and shame and violence. But that dream felt childish now, naive even. In this family, you either became your father or became his disappointment.

Krit and Karl deserved better.

I’m supposed to protect them.
I’m supposed to be strong.

But what if he wasn’t?

His eyes drifted to the drawer beside his bed. Inside: old notebooks, receipts, his ID card. And a revolver.

A gift from his father on his sixteenth birthday.

"For protection," he’d said.
"For legacy."

Korn had never touched it. Never wanted to. But now, the knowledge of its presence thrummed at the back of his mind like a pulse.

He stood again. His feet felt distant, heavy.

He opened the drawer slowly, like he wasn’t sure if he would stop himself.

The cold metal gleamed beneath the soft fabric. Unused. Loaded.

He stared at it.

A single breath shuddered from him, like the last leaf of a dying tree.

What if I just ended it?

The thought came not like a scream but a whisper. Calm. Soft. Dangerous.

He didn’t move. Didn’t reach for the gun. Just stood there, looking at it, the way one looks at a drop of water in the desert.

The idea of ending it—of escaping the weight of failure, the endless disapproval, the ache of never being enough—it had curled itself into him before. Quietly. But tonight, it clung tighter than ever.

And yet...

In his mind, he saw Karl’s smile. Krit’s hand slipping into his after a nightmare. Intouch’s laugh—warm and unguarded, like sunlight breaking through stormclouds. The way In had told him once, “You don’t have to become him. You can build something else.”

A sound broke from Korn’s throat—half laugh, half sob.

He shut the drawer with more force than necessary.

Stepped back.

Collapsed onto the bed.

His head fell into his hands again, this time shaking, silent tears threading down his cheeks.

He didn’t want to die.

Not really.

He just didn’t know how to live in this world where kindness was weakness and love was betrayal.

He didn’t know how to be a good son and still be a good person.

And most of all, he didn’t know how to keep holding all this weight without breaking.

He hadn’t fallen asleep easily.

Even with Pharm curled against his side, soft breaths brushing his collarbone, even with the weight of the day settled and the room gone still—sleep had hovered out of reach, fluttering at the edge of consciousness like something wild and reluctant to land.

So when it came, it came all at once.

A flash.
A door slamming.
A voice. “You think you’re better than this family?”
The slap—sharp, shocking.
A gun.
A drawer.
A boy standing over it, breathing like the air itself was poison.
A whisper: “What if I just ended it?”

Dean woke with a strangled breath, heart pounding hard against his ribs.

The room was silent. Still. Warm.

Pharm hadn't stirred, still asleep beside him, face turned into the pillow, lashes casting pale shadows against his cheek.

Dean sat up slowly, dragging a hand down his face.

The image was so real. It hadn’t felt like a dream. Not a memory either—not his memory. But it was familiar, somehow. The way you remember something that never happened to you. The emotion of it clung to him—rage, shame, helplessness, grief. He couldn’t shake it.

He got out of bed, careful not to wake Pharm, and crossed the room in silence.

At the window, he leaned his forehead to the cool glass, grounding himself. His reflection looked back at him in fragments—tired eyes, furrowed brow, skin pale under the flickering streetlight outside.

Korn.

He didn’t know where the name came from—it slipped into his thoughts uninvited, carried by the scent of smoke and cold metal that still lingered from the dream. Korn. He’d never heard it said aloud, but it felt as known to him as his own name.

And whoever Korn was... he had been breaking.

Dean clenched his jaw, arms folding across his chest as he tried to understand the tight ache building in his ribs.

He knew something was wrong. Not now—then. In the past.

He and Pharm had talked about it, in tentative, roundabout ways. About the memories that weren’t theirs. The pull toward each other that defied logic. The park. The tree. The kiss that felt like remembering rather than discovery.

They both suspected something. Reincarnation, maybe. Or spiritual inheritance. Past lives tangled up with present ones. But they’d never dared say it out loud—not fully.

Because saying it meant accepting that whatever this was... it had happened before.

And maybe, it hadn’t ended well.

Dean squeezed his eyes shut.

In the dream—or vision, or memory, or whatever the hell it had been—he’d felt the despair like it was his own. Korn, whoever he was, had been pushed to the edge. Isolated. Stripped of control. And when he opened that drawer—

Dean’s stomach turned. He didn’t need to see what happened next to know how close it had been.

And what terrified him most—what rooted him there in the dark—was the quiet suspicion blooming like rot at the back of his mind:

What if he didn’t stop himself?

What if that boy had pulled the trigger?
What if someone had found him too late?
What if no one ever knew why?

Dean turned away from the window and looked back toward the bed.

Pharm.

Still asleep, but his brow was furrowed now, his breathing faster, as if he was dreaming too.

Dean walked over and knelt beside the bed, brushing a hand gently against Pharm’s arm. “Hey,” he whispered, trying not to startle him. “Pharm…”

Pharm stirred, eyes fluttering open. “Dean?” His voice was rough with sleep. “What’s wrong?”

Dean hesitated. “Did you… have any weird dreams tonight?”

Pharm blinked, groggy. “I don’t remember. Maybe. Why?”

Dean sat on the edge of the bed. “I saw something. Felt something. It wasn’t mine, I don’t think. It felt… old. Like someone else’s pain, but it still hit me like it was mine.”

Pharm sat up slowly, now more awake. “Like… a memory?”

Dean nodded, rubbing the back of his neck. “There was this boy. I think his name was Korn. His father—” He paused, trying to find the words. “—hurt him. Wanted him to be something he wasn’t. And this boy, he… he looked so close to giving up.”

Pharm stilled.

For a long moment, neither of them said anything.

Then, quietly, Pharm asked, “Do you think it’s connected to us?”

Dean looked at him.

“I think it always was.”

Pharm looked down at his lap. “I've felt it too. That… sadness. Like it belongs to someone else but still lives in me.” He swallowed. “Sometimes I wonder if whoever I was before—if he… didn’t survive it.”

Dean’s heart clenched.

They hadn’t said it until now. Hadn’t even allowed the possibility to surface.

But here it was.

Pharm didn’t just carry memories of a boy named Intouch. He carried his grief. His silence. His lingering sorrow.

And maybe—just maybe—his ending.

Dean reached over and took Pharm’s hand.

“I don’t know what happened back then,” he said quietly. “But I know what’s happening now.”

Pharm met his eyes, his own gaze full of shadows. “And what’s that?”

“That you’re still here. And I’m still here. And whatever came before... it doesn’t get to decide what comes next.”

Pharm didn’t respond right away. But then he leaned forward, resting his forehead to Dean’s shoulder. “I’m scared,” he admitted. “Not of the memories. But of the feelings that come with them. Like they could pull me under if I’m not careful.”

Dean wrapped his arms around him and held tight. “Then we’ll be careful. Together.”

He didn’t know how much of this was fate or unfinished karma or just the stubborn grip of memory. He didn’t know why he and Pharm were here, in this moment, with pieces of other lives stitched into their skin like threads that wouldn’t come loose.

But he knew this:

He loved Pharm.

And love, in any life, was worth fighting for.

Even if the past ended in tragedy—
Even if Korn didn’t make it—
Dean would do everything in his power to make sure this story ended differently.

Pharm’s breath was slow now, pressed close to Dean’s heart. And Dean, wide awake again, stared into the dim room and made a silent promise:

No matter what ghosts try to follow us—I won’t let you go.

Chapter Text

Previously on Beautiful but Tragic

But he knew this:

He loved Pharm.

And love, in any life, was worth fighting for.

Even if the past ended in tragedy—
Even if Korn didn’t make it—
Dean would do everything in his power to make sure this story ended differently.

Pharm’s breath was slow now, pressed close to Dean’s heart. And Dean, wide awake again, stared into the dim room and made a silent promise:

No matter what ghosts try to follow us—I won’t let you go.

The jasmine plant on his balcony had bloomed again.

It shouldn’t have surprised him—it was the end of August, after all, and the rains had been kind—but Pharm still stared at it like it was a small miracle. Tiny white blossoms peeked through the climbing green, delicate and unassuming. Their scent drifted into the apartment through the open door, faint and sweet, and it pulled at something in him he couldn’t name.

He was watering the plant when Dean called.

“Hey,” Pharm said, balancing the watering can between his wrist and the railing.

“Hey.” Dean’s voice was warm with sleep. “You up already?”

“I never really went back to sleep,” Pharm admitted.

A pause on the other end, then, “Nightmares?”

“No. Just thinking.” He watched a droplet of water roll down a leaf and fall.

“You okay?”

Pharm exhaled slowly. “I think so. Just... it’s strange. How you can carry the past inside you and still wake up to something as ordinary as jasmine blooming again.”

Dean was quiet for a second. “Yeah. Life keeps going, even when you’re not sure how it’s supposed to.”

Pharm smiled faintly. “Want to come over for breakfast?”

“I’m already halfway there.”

“You knew I’d ask?”

“I hoped.”

Pharm rolled his eyes affectionately, even though Dean couldn’t see him. “You’re getting smug.”

“I’m getting better at reading you.”

Maybe, Pharm thought, that’s the same thing.

They cooked together in the small kitchen like they had dozens of times now, slipping into an easy rhythm—Pharm chopping scallions and cracking eggs while Dean sliced mangoes and set the table. There were few words between them, but the silence wasn’t heavy. It was domestic. Familiar.

When Dean handed him the spatula, their fingers brushed.

Pharm glanced at him, wondering if they were both remembering the same things. The long night. The flashbacks. The ache. The promises.

But Dean just smiled, easy and steady, and Pharm felt something in his chest unclench.

They ate on the balcony with their feet propped up on the railing, knees touching. The city yawned and stretched below them—motorbikes whining in the distance, someone shouting at a dog, the rattle of laundry poles being set out in the next building over. The world, completely unaware of the ghosts still sitting between them.

Pharm sipped his tea. “Do you think they ever felt this? Korn and Intouch. Just... mornings like this.”

Dean didn’t answer right away. “I hope so.”

Pharm set his mug down. “I don’t want to live my life only remembering theirs.”

Dean looked at him, really looked. “You’re not.”

“But I could.” He turned his face to the sun. “If I let myself.”

A breeze stirred his hair. Jasmine petals drifted down like snow.

Pharm went to class that afternoon.

He sat through a two-hour lecture on dietary deficiencies, took decent notes, and even managed to raise his hand once during discussion. Manaow raised both brows at that.

Afterward, Team clapped him on the back, uncharacteristically gentle. “You seem better today.”

Pharm considered that. “Maybe.”

“Or at least less haunted,” Team amended.

“Don’t say haunted,” Pharm muttered.

“You know what I mean.” Team gave him a half-smile. “You’ve got more color in your face. You’re laughing again.”

Pharm shrugged. “I’m trying.”

Manaow slipped between them. “That’s all anyone can do.”

“Also,” Team added, “Dean came to swim practice today with that ‘don’t-mess-with-me’ look, but the second someone mentioned you, he smiled like he was about to write a love poem in his head.”

Pharm flushed. “He did not.”

“I know what I saw. His heart was practically floating out of his chest.”

Manaow laughed. “Stop teasing him. He’s in love. Let him suffer in peace.”

“I hate both of you,” Pharm muttered, but he was smiling.

The week passed in pieces.

On Tuesday, Pharm ran into one of his professors at the library and ended up in an impromptu discussion about food sustainability. On Wednesday, he overslept and missed his morning class, but Dean brought him soup and a mango smoothie after swim practice anyway.

On Thursday, he dreamed of a hallway soaked in rain and someone screaming, “Don’t leave me!”

He woke up breathless. Dean wasn’t beside him that night—he’d gone home late to check on his brother—but his absence hit like a punch to the ribs. Pharm sat in the dark until dawn, knees pulled to his chest, the memory of thunder lingering in his ears.

On Friday, he told Dr. Sutthida.

“I keep thinking I’m better,” he said softly, sitting cross-legged on the couch. “But it keeps sneaking up on me. Like it’s waiting for me to get comfortable before it hits again.”

“That’s how grief behaves,” she said. “It’s not a straight line. It loops. It returns. And this kind of grief—this generational, inherited sorrow—it’s even trickier. It’s not only yours.”

Pharm picked at a thread on his sleeve. “Sometimes I feel like I’m carrying someone else’s ending.”

She didn’t rush him. She never did.

“But I want my own. I want to choose it.”

“Then keep choosing,” she said. “Every morning. Every hour if you have to.”

Pharm nodded. “Some days are harder.”

“That’s okay. Hard days don’t erase the progress you’ve made.”

He blinked at her, then whispered, “Thank you.”

On Saturday morning, Dean texted:

[Dean]: Can I steal you for a few hours?

[Pharm]: Depends. Will there be food?

[Dean]: Always.

He picked Pharm up just after ten. The sun was already high, the heat thick and sticky, but Dean’s car was blessedly cool and smelled faintly of lemongrass from Pharm’s air freshener.

“Where are we going?” Pharm asked.

“It’s a surprise.”

“Is this the part where you tell me we’re actually going to buy groceries and you just wanted to make it sound exciting?”

Dean grinned. “No groceries. Promise.”

It turned out to be a tiny museum just outside the city—a historical home converted into a quiet exhibition space filled with old letters, pottery, and photographs. Dean knew the owner through one of his professors.

“There’s not much here,” he admitted as they walked up the shaded path. “But it reminded me of you.”

“Because I belong in a museum?”

“No,” Dean said, a little softer now. “Because it’s quiet. Beautiful. Full of things that matter.”

Pharm’s heart stuttered.

Inside, the rooms were cool and dimly lit. They wandered without speaking for a while, reading placards and leaning close to examine worn journals behind glass. Pharm stopped at a photo of two young men sitting beside a pond, their faces smudged with age.

Dean leaned over his shoulder. “They kind of look like us.”

Pharm smiled faintly. “Or maybe we look like them.”

They didn’t kiss. Not there. Not then.

But Pharm reached down and took Dean’s hand.

That felt like enough.

By the end of the month, Pharm knew something was shifting.

The pain hadn’t disappeared. It still lived in his chest like a knot, coiled and pulsing. But it wasn’t the center of him anymore. It wasn’t the whole story.

He was learning how to cook for pleasure again—not just habit. He started sketching again, rough outlines of food carts and sleeping cats and once, when he couldn’t help himself, Dean at the kitchen sink.

They spent their nights together more often than not. Sometimes talking. Sometimes quiet. Sometimes holding each other through the dreams that still crept in like fog under the door.

Once, Dean kissed his knuckles and whispered, “You’re here. I’m here. We’re okay.”

And Pharm believed him.

Not because the sadness was gone—but because even with it, life went on.

It had rained that morning. The air smelled like wet pavement and leaves—clean, heavy, with a faint tinge of jasmine from the neighbors' balcony. Pharm liked days like this. The world felt softer, quieter, like it had been freshly washed and was waiting to be made new again.

The plan was simple: he, Team, and Manaow were going over to Dean’s house so he could help Del practice making a special Thai dessert—kanom tom, sweet coconut rice dumplings—for when her parents returned from their short trip to Chiang Mai. Del was excited, and honestly, so was Pharm. Cooking with someone who wanted to learn was always a joy.

Don had announced he’d be staying home because there was a football match he refused to miss. Dean had returned late from swim practice and was, reportedly, still asleep upstairs.

“Let Pharm wake him up,” Manaow said with a smirk as she washed her hands in the kitchen sink. “They have that... psychic boyfriend connection.”

“I’m right here, you know,” Pharm muttered as he rolled out dough for the dumplings.

“And I fully support it,” Team chimed in, grinning. “Waking your hot boyfriend from a nap? That’s domestic bliss. Go, Pharm. Live your romance novel dreams.”

Del giggled, still standing by the prep counter with flour on her cheeks. “He’s grumpy when he wakes up, though.”

“Not with Pharm,” Manaow said knowingly.

Pharm sighed, dusted his hands on a towel, and excused himself from the kitchen. “Fine. But if he throws a pillow at me, I’m blaming all of you.”

As he left, Del called after him, “Tell him to come down soon! I want him to taste the dumplings while they’re warm!”

He waved over his shoulder, heading through the hallway with a faint smile.

Dean’s house had always felt like a home—warm tones, old wooden floors, the distant hum of Don’s match playing in the living room. There were photographs on every shelf and hallway wall: baby pictures, graduation portraits, a blurry shot of Del falling off a swing with Dean mid-catch.

Pharm had seen many of them before.

But today, something caught his eye that hadn’t before.

He paused in the hallway just before the stairs, gaze drawn to a small silver frame resting on a narrow table beneath a lamp. It held a picture of a woman—striking, elegant, smiling. Her features were gentle but sharp in a way that felt... hauntingly familiar.

Dean’s mother.

Pharm took a step closer without meaning to, drawn to the photograph like a moth to flame.

And then it hit him—so fast, so full it nearly took his knees out.

A face. A name.

Alin.

His chest stilled. His breath vanished.

He saw her—not Sinjai, but Alin—her face younger, eyes full of laughter, teasing Intouch at the lakeside retreat their family used to visit in the dry season. Her long hair pulled into a messy ponytail, her voice high and bright, echoing across the water.

“In! I swear, if you cannonball near my book again—!”

And Intouch—laughing, free, alive—grinning at his niece like she was the sun.