5.

What exactly pushed me to leave my old environment?

It started back then...

"You're pretty cute. Do you have a boyfriend?"

"No, I don't."

"Then how about we try dating?"

I think back to when P'Phim, a third-year senior, started to approach me when I was a freshman.

Actually, I'd had a crush on him for a while before that. It wasn't during the freshman
orientation. Although he was one of the disciplinary seniors that many girls liked, I didn't like being yelled at, so I mostly skipped those activities.

My strong impression of him started during our summer semester elective class.

I had just graduated from high school. I didn’t know how to dress well, and my skin was tanned from swimming training before university. I wasn’t very outgoing; my social circle was limited to my old high school classmates, my tutoring group, and my family. Nothing in my life felt remotely "cool." So, I was incredibly impressed when I first met him.

P'Phim, a senior, was tall, handsome, and had a striking look. He wasn't the most handsome guy in the faculty, but something about him kept my eyes glued to him.

I thought many seniors in the faculty were cool, but P'Phim seemed a little more above the rest.

It might have been luck that we ended up in the same group for that class. P'Phim further impressed me when he asked me to be his partner for every presentation.

"Don't worry, I'll help you."

He was cool, smart, and kind.

Initially, I didn't think my feelings for him were romantic. Maybe it was just admiring a cool person, like admiring an idol or something. After the class ended, I didn't talk to P'Phim much.

Then, in the second semester, we met again at another university's music event. My best friend was studying there, so I went to visit him, and I ran into P'Phim and his friends.

He didn't even recognize me at first, but I didn't blame him. I had really changed. My tan from the sun and chlorine had faded, and my skin was actually whiter than it was in high.school because I didn’t have to stand in the sun for morning assembly or ROTC training anymore. I started dressing better, probably influenced by my new environment. My style wasn't the best, but I had definitely improved.

"You're so cute. Do you have a boyfriend?"

The question came after we’d spent several hours together. P'Phim's friends and mine had conspired to leave us alone. I’d had two beers – enough to make a lightweight like me tipsy.

"No," I replied. What had felt like admiration before turned into intense nervousness when he asked.

My flushed face and racing heart were giving me away.

His smile was captivating. His large hand ran through my hair as I gripped my beer can,.letting him continue to touch me.

A mixture of confusion and excitement overwhelmed me.

After that night, I started to notice his increasingly obvious attempts to win me over.

And I didn't feel bad about an older guy doing that to me, not at all.

Around others, he acted like I was just a junior he was particularly fond of. But that friendly gaze changed when we were alone.

His lips pressed against mine, his hand loosely holding mine.

In that moment, despite the blurry vision, my feelings became crystal clear: I liked P'Phim, not just as a friend.

"So, want to try dating?"

I liked him so much I didn't know what to think or feel.

Then I found out that after four months of dating...he was seeing other people at the same time.

Not just from another faculty, but other people from our own faculty as well.

Because he'd asked me to keep our relationship a secret, nobody knew about us except three close friends from my major.

But secrets don’t last long at drinking parties.

I had to hear about my own boyfriend from other people. Stories about sex were casually thrown around, along with countless rumors about P'Phim's past escapades.

We’d only held hands, hugged, and shared a few light, non-passionate kisses.

Because of my heavy study load and struggling to adapt to my second-year classes, we didn't see each other often. P'Phim complained about it several times, but he never really tried to actively make time for me.

That night, I learned he’d spent those months in other people's rooms instead.
I tried to convince myself it was just gossip. I offered to visit his place. His hesitation and attempts to suggest other locations broke my heart. When I insisted on going to his apartment, he started to get annoyed and frustrated.

I didn't react outwardly when I saw various items in his room: a woman's hair tie, long
strands of hair on the bathroom floor, and used condoms by the bed.

I pretended nothing was wrong.

Suddenly, the fear of losing him overwhelmed me.

P'Phim was my first boyfriend. Although I’d tried to get close to girls in high school, it never went beyond holding hands.

So, my first serious relationship started like this.

What rotten luck.

Gus, my closest friend, texted to say that P'Phim knew I was in America for the summer. He sent the message at 9 PM, and it's almost midnight now.

Still no message from P'Phim.

I'm restless. These thoughts are driving me crazy. I can't stop staring at my phone, so I grab it and go downstairs to find something to do. Usually, nobody uses the third floor much; it's just Jasper and me, occasionally switching between sofas. We mostly hang out on the second floor.

As expected, Jasper and Audrey are sprawled on the sofa, snacking. I often find them here late on weekends. Audrey's here so often it feels like she lives here. If she doesn't leave before evening, she stays the night. Sometimes she sleeps on the sofa, sometimes in Hazel's room.

Jasper glances at me with a bored expression, while Audrey quickly waves for me to sit down near them.

They were laughing at The Hustle. "I really love Anne Hathaway, but in this one, I'm team Rebel," Audrey murmured, giggling and nudging Jasper with her foot to get him to return the popcorn.

I sat with them until the movie ended, listening to Audrey talk about guys who were hitting on her, and then sampling the Piña Colada she proudly presented.

No matter what I did, my thoughts kept returning to my phone.

Around 1 AM, they invited me to a party, but I refused, letting the silence replace their laughter as they got ready and left.

I'd secretly been resentful of P'Phim for ignoring me, and I'd probably known this for two months. Maybe it was a cynical attempt to avoid getting my hopes up and getting hurt.

I sank into the sofa until I heard footsteps on the stairs.

If it wasn't Hazel, it had to be Anwar.

Before I could even guess, a deep voice confirmed his presence: "What are you doing sleeping down here?"

"Bored," I replied shortly, staring blankly at the ceiling until Anwar's face appeared. He
seemed confused by my answer. "I mean, I'm bored. I don't know what to do."

"I thought Jasper and Audrey went to a party."

"Yeah, but I'm not really into that kind of thing," I frowned, my neck stiff. "And I don't know anyone there anyway."

"How are you going to meet anyone if you don't try going at least once?" he countered playfully, draping his jean jacket over the sofa before leaving.

"Do you like...parties?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes they're fun, sometimes they're boring."

He seemed the type to be the center of attention at a party; I'm the type who wouldn't even show up, or if I did, I'd be pressed against a wall in a corner.

I couldn't imagine what a fun party, like the ones in movies, would be like in real life.

Back in Thailand, when we wanted to unwind with friends, we never had parties... we'd meet up for a meal – barbecue, shabu-shabu – play computer games, or hang out in someone's dorm room at uni.

I watched Anwar's back as he disappeared into his bedroom, returning with several thick books and blank sheets of paper under his arm.

"Going to work?"

"Yeah."

Despite his answer, he just placed his work on the bar counter, slumped down, rested his forearms on the books, and looked at me.

Since last night, this was the first time we'd been alone together. I still made it, and I wasn't so drunk that I'd forgotten everything that happened. Anwar's
teasing words were still etched in my memory. It was as clear as if he’d whispered them in my ear every time I thought about it.

"I'm sorry for making things difficult last night."

"It's okay."

"I'm not drinking anymore if you're here. I was in terrible shape last night," I said.
Anwar smiled.

"Drink if you want to. You're not the first person I’ve taken care of when they're drunk," he said, noticing my hesitation.
"Jasper's way worse when he's drunk. The absolute worst."

I nodded and went to Anwar's refrigerator. "We haven't bought anything yet, so I'm just storing this, but I'm keeping Jasper's Kit Kat."

I asked for it, fearing I'd get hungry again before he went to the party. Jasper wouldn't even remember having a candy bar with his name on it in the fridge.

Opening the fridge revealed an unfamiliar sight. The usually sparse refrigerator, with only a few items and a couple of water bottles, was now a food storage unit: salmon, meat, cheese, large cartons of milk, orange juice.

"Whoa..." I blinked in confusion. Since coming back last night, I hadn't opened the fridge because I knew it would be empty except for a few things.

But everything added to the fridge now didn't even have a name tag on it.

Not to mention the large box of cereal still unopened and a loaf of bread tucked away on the inside counter.

"Hungry?" Anwar asked, seeing me standing still. "Don't eat?"

"It's not mine."

"But there's no note on it, right?"

"Yours?" I countered, looking at Anwar's slight smile.

"If there's no note, it means it's everyone's, right? It's ours, yours too," Anwar leaned in to open the fridge again, his arm brushing against mine. "If you don't eat it, Jasper and Audrey will finish it all anyway. They never hesitate to go through the stuff in here."

Why?

The simple question hung on my tongue.

I didn't want to get my hopes up, but it felt like Anwar bought all this… because of me?

Probably not.

He might just always buy groceries for everyone. Jasper didn't seem like the type to take on that responsibility. This wasn't Audrey's room, and Hazel didn't seem to care if anyone in the house starved.

Anwar stood up. He went upstairs without waiting for me to say anything else.

Would "thank you" sound appropriate?

I was considering what to say when a LINE notification popped up on my screen.

Blue

I miss you.

Want to call?

He called the instant I opened the message.
My heart pounded in my chest.

I quickly strode upstairs, catching sight of Anwar mixing drinks at the bar before hurrying into my bedroom.

"Hello?"

"Hello," I collapsed onto the bed. Just hearing his voice made my mind go blank.
"Blue, what are you doing?"

"...Nothing much. What about you, P'Phim?"

"Missing my boyfriend," he chuckled.

Boyfriend...which boyfriend?

That awful question popped into my head unexpectedly, but I pushed it away and chuckled awkwardly. "You mean Blue, right?"

"Of course. Who else could he be?" I pursed my lips, not understanding why he used polite pronouns with me, since I'm a guy.
Whatever. Maybe it's a habit from talking to his female girlfriends.

"Blue, are you still there?" He asked when I was silent.

"Yeah."

In the end, I still felt resentful. My sadness hadn't faded. Being here helped me forget about him sometimes, but when he talked to me like this, it felt strange.

"I heard from Gus and Ice. You went to study abroad for the summer?"

"Yeah," I felt myself being more economical with words than usual. Maybe it was because I felt so hollow. The sadness made it hard to speak, afraid I might let my voice crack.

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"My mother made me go to study. I had to do a lot of things. It was so hectic, I couldn't even react in time," I lied.

It wasn't true. I had intended to hide it from him from the start.

Telling him wasn't difficult. A text or even a phone call wouldn't have taken more than five minutes.

"Oh, that explains it. I noticed you were quiet," But P'Phim acted understanding, even though just listening showed how nonsensical my statement was.

"P'Phim," I called out.

I wanted to ask him directly about everything I'd heard and seen.

The gossip from others, his sexual escapades that had leaked out in a drinking session, women's hair ties, women's belongings in his room...

...The image of his bare back as he turned away and took a swig of water. Someone else's feet and the edge of a bed were in the picture, too.

I wanted to ask why he did those things.
To ask what I had done wrong, and what should happen between us now.

"Yes?" His deep voice replied. It was low and warm, the same voice he used when he asked me to be his boyfriend, the same voice he used when he said how cute I was.

Ultimately, I was truly afraid of losing him.

"Nothing, I...miss you too."

"Ouch!"

"P'Phim! What's wrong?" I sprang upright. He'd suddenly cried out, making my heart
plummet.

P'Phim was silent for a moment before softly replying,

"You're cute."

"..."

I turned my face away, even though he couldn't see me. My heart pounded wildly, almost exploding.

"Cute? What do you mean?" When I touched my cheek, I felt the heat.

"When are we coming back?"

"August. It coincides with the start of the semester." I have two courses to take: the summer one and two; and even if I rush to get the earliest flight back, I still won't be back in time for the first week of classes.

Four months. It seems like a long time, but in a blink, I've been here for over ten days
already.

"We won't see each other for so long. Practice posting pictures and stories on Instagram. I want to see pictures of you often. Okay?"

I'm not someone who likes taking pictures very much.

I don't think I'm photogenic, and I don't know how to pose. On top of that, I'm shy.

My past life was so simple that I rarely had the opportunity to pick up my phone to take pictures of anything, because everything was the same - simple, mundane, nothing new or exciting.

"Okay?" He asked again, coaxingly.

Is that what he really wants? To see my life through pictures?

Does he really miss me...?

"...Okay."

"What time is it there now?"

"It's 2 AM." This was our longest conversation in a month. Before, there were only short calls: Have you eaten? What are you doing, P'Phim? I have to go to class now. I'm working.

That's usually how it goes.

He hadn't been very proactive in starting conversations like this since we started dating. I can count the times on one hand.
"I have to get back to work. It's late. We should get to sleep. I'll call you again tomorrow." Suddenly, P'Phim abruptly ended the call. His hurried tone created suspicion in my heart. In the end, I did nothing more than be myself.

Someone who never dares to disagree.

"Okay. Sweet dreams."

"I love you, Blue," he said quickly and hung up before I could reply, leaving me staring at the ceiling for many minutes afterwards.

Did it feel good?

Of course. I felt good that we talked like this, that I heard the sweet words a boyfriend should say to his lover."

But it felt like there was something unresolved between us. Things P'Phim hid from me, and me pretending to be blind to it all, even though my heart ached.

I sighed.

I left my phone on the bed and went back downstairs, intending to find something light to eat, maybe a couple of slices of toast. There was no way I'd fall asleep easily now anyway.

Anwar was sitting on a tall bar stool, a glass of amber liquid beside him, along with a pile of books and sketches.

The sound of my footsteps made him glance up. His handsome face was composed but
relaxed, inviting a similar feeling in me.

"I...was going to make toast. Want some?"

"No thanks," he said, raising his drink.

"Do art students usually drink while they work?" I started a conversation, busy with the toast.

"Alcohol, I mean."

Trying to stop myself from constantly thinking about P'Phim.

"I don't know. Maybe some people, sometimes."

"Do you like drinking alcohol?"

"You could say that. And not just when I'm working," he grinned. "Though, drinking too much while working isn't good."

"You must have a much higher tolerance than me. I'm envious," I stated bluntly.
Many times I've seen him drink, no matter how many glasses he's had, he always seems normal, like there's no alcohol in his system. Unlike me, even a little bit makes me woozy.

"Why are you envious?" He raised an eyebrow, clearly confused before smiling broadly at my silly answer a moment later.

"You seem so grown-up."

"Alcohol isn't a measure of maturity. You can be grown-up whether you drink milk or Coke," he explained, staring intently at me. "Besides, having a high tolerance is boring because you spend more money than others just to get tipsy."

"That's true."

Anwar didn't say anything else. He twirled the pencil in his hand, watching me spread
avocado on the toast, while sipping his drink.

No matter how many times I turned, I found him still looking at me.

Until I finished two slices of toast and turned to face him. "Is something wrong...? Or do you want me to make you some?"

"No. Are you only going to eat that?"

"Yes, this is enough for me." Anwar was a big eater. He could easily devour a huge deluxe burger and not gain an ounce. I guessed he must work out a lot.

He lowered his eyes to my toast. "No. I mean, you're only putting avocado on it? That's all?" He frowned, stood up, went past me to the refrigerator, and took out a package of smoked salmon.

"Try adding this," he said, offering some small green vegetables I didn't recognize, a small bottle of dark sauce, and another spice bottle.

I followed his instructions, glancing at Anwar who was leaning against the counter nearby.

He raised his glass of alcohol to his lips, watching me as if waiting for my reaction.
"Cheers." I playfully held my toast up to him as if toasting.

Anwar paused slightly, a smile playing on the corner of his lips before gently clinking his glass against mine. His gaze made me feel flustered, like something was churning in my stomach.

"Wow, delicious..." My eyes widened. It was far better than I expected. Anwar seemed like the type who was better at mixing drinks than cooking.

But he'd just shown he could do both, in a single day.

Anwar remained quiet, only a smile lingering on his perfectly shaped lips.
"Is there something on my face?" I raised my hand to touch my cheek, then my chin. He kept looking at me like there was something on my face.

"No. I just think you should smile more often," he shook his head, swirling his glass gently.

His eyes dropped, avoiding my gaze, unlike usual.

"Why?"

"It's cute."