I couldn't believe it.
I, North Natchanan-the so-called untouchable angel of the university-was out here humiliating myself for him.

Johan Ratchata.

Emotionally constipated, rage-fueled Johan Ratchata.

The same man who pinned me on the canteen table and once shoved me into a locker and then calmly informed me he preferred "boobs and vagina" like he was reciting a shopping list.

Embarrassing as fuck.

I rolled my eyes so hard I thought they'd get stuck in my skull.

But on the outside, I kept my expression serene. Sweet. Polished. Perfect. I smiled behind my cup like I was still Thailand's most beloved university heartthrob, sipping boba tea without a care in the world.

"Earth to North," Dao's voice snapped me out of my spiral.

"Hm?" I blinked, feigning innocence as I raised my drink. "Sorry. Zoned out."

I took another sip-classic milk boba, of course. The one thing in this world that had never disappointed me.

Did I mention I loved boba? Because I loved boba. Milk boba tea was my religion.

"You cooked lunch for him again?" Easter asked, incredulous.

I beamed. "Yup."

My friends exchanged a look like they were silently drafting my funeral invitations.

Phoon groaned. "You're terminal, North. Absolutely terminal."

Before I could respond, my eyes caught movement near the canteen doors. My stomach twisted.

"There he is," I murmured. "The devil himself."

Johan walked in like he owned the goddamn building-button-down clinging to his chest from the heat, his dark hair damp with sweat, his face as blank and unreadable as ever. Cold eyes swept across the room like a storm searching for a place to strike.

I was on my feet before my brain could stop me.

"North-" Phoon's voice faltered behind me.

Too late.

I was already halfway across the cafeteria, lunch box in hand, walking toward Johan like a girl possessed.

He was just sitting down at the far end of the table, unbothered as always, arms splayed along the bench, legs spread with arrogant ease.

"Phi..." I started softly.

He glanced at me.

And immediately pinched the bridge of his nose like my very existence gave him a headache.

Good. That meant I was getting under his skin.

"I, um... I made lunch again. Rice noodles this time. I wasn't sure what you liked, so I kept it simple. A little soy, a little garlic. There's chicken in it, too. Unless you're secretly vegetarian, in which case I'll cry and jump out the window."

I smiled brightly and sat down across from him before he could say no.

He didn't respond right away.

He just stared.

Like I was an irritating pop-up ad that wouldn't close no matter how many times he clicked.

Then he groaned-low and guttural-and leaned back, running a hand through his hair in that frustrated, slow motion that made his biceps flex.

"Listen, shorty," he finally said.

I froze.

Shorty? Again?

I will end your bloodline, Johan Ratchata.

But I said nothing. Just tilted my head and blinked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. Doe-eyed and dangerous. He hated that. I could tell.

He leaned forward suddenly-quick, sharp-his palms pressing against the table as he stared me down. His voice dropped, low and edged in threat.

"I already warned you to leave me alone," he growled. "I don't like short, bratty kids who play games with their eyes and think it counts as flirting."

Brat.

Short.

I wanted to leap across the table and punch him in the face.

But instead, I let the silence settle. Let it grow. Let the weight of the cafeteria watching us bear down.

Then I dropped my gaze.

Let my shoulders fall.

Let the smile slip.

A quiet, vulnerable moment-the kind he never saw coming.

"I know," I whispered. "I know you don't like me. You've made that painfully clear."

My voice cracked slightly, just enough.

"But, Phi...I've liked you for a really long time."
I forced my eyes up to meet his. "I don't really know how to say it right. I'm not good at this. At...approaching. But I mean it. I really like you."

For a moment-just a moment-his expression faltered. The sharp lines of his scowl loosened. His lips parted slightly like he wanted to say something but didn't know what.

And then, slowly, his eyes dropped to the lunch box.

He dragged it toward him with one long-fingered hand, then opened the lid without a word.

Steam curled upward.

Rice noodles glistening with sauce. Carefully cut vegetables. A sprinkle of sesame seeds. A half-boiled egg cut into a perfect heart-because I couldn't help myself.

He stared at it.

Then-wordlessly-he picked up the chopsticks and took a bite.

My heart stopped.

He chewed slowly. Thoughtfully.

And then he looked at me. Not with softness. Not with affection.

But with something else.

Something darker.

"You really want me that badly, huh?" he murmured.

My breath caught.

His voice was lower now, quieter. Like a dare. Like he was testing me.

"You go this far," he said, "just to get my attention. Just to make me touch you again?"

He reached out-slow and deliberate-and pressed two fingers under my chin, tilting my face up.

Not rough. Not violent.

Just... firm.

Intimate.

Controlling.

My throat went dry.

"Careful," he murmured. "You don't know what you're asking for."

My pulse thundered in my ears. My legs felt weak beneath the table. But I refused to look away.

"I know exactly what I'm asking for," I said softly.

He stared at me a moment longer.

Then leaned back, slowly releasing my chin like it burned him.

He went back to eating without another word.

But the air between us had shifted.

Students were still watching. Whispering. But I didn't care.

Because Johan Ratchata had touched me again. Had eaten my food. Had looked at me like he was thinking about it.

And that was more than I'd gotten yesterday.

Progress. In Johan terms.

A victory.

Even if I was bleeding dignity all over the floor.

Just as Johan took his third bite—still glaring at his food like it personally betrayed him—the sound of chairs scraping and familiar loud voices cut through the cafeteria noise.

P'Tonfah dropped into the seat next to me like he owned the table. “You cooked again nong?” he asked, gesturing toward the container of rice noodles.

P’Arthit followed with a whistle, sitting on my other side. “Ooooh, heart-shaped tofu pieces this time? North, you spoil this man more than my mother ever spoiled her husband.”

P’Hill leaned over Johan’s shoulder to peek into the box.

“I just tried,” I shyly said.

“You precious, perfect little creature,” P'Hill cooed, cupping my face like I was a small endangered bunny. “You’re too good for him. I hope you know that.”

“I’ve been saying that,” P'Tonfah added. “If Johan doesn’t accept you, his loss.”

“Please,” I said sweetly. “At least one of you appreciates the labor I put into this.”

“I do!” P'Arthit declared. “You even packed it in a pink thermal box, that is adorable.”

“I have a theme, okay?” I said, pouting a little. “Today was pink day. The rice noodles even have beet juice coloring for the sauce base.”

P'Hill gasped in awe.

Meanwhile, Johan sat there.

Stone-faced.

Chewing.

Murder in his eyes.

But chopsticks still moving.

Not stopping.

Not tossing the food aside.

Not telling me to fuck off like usual.

Progress.

“I swear to god,” Johan finally muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose, “You guys are embarrassing.”

P'Tonfah reached across the table and pinched my cheek. “You hear that nong? He didn’t say you are embarrassing. He said us. That means he’s accepting you into the fold.”

P'Hill leaned in toward Johan now, voice dropping to a taunting whisper. “You know… I’ve never seen you finish lunch this fast.”

“Maybe I’m just starving,” Johan snapped.

“Uh huh,” P'Tonfah said. “Starving for love.”

Johan shot him a glare that could curdle milk.

And yet—he kept eating.

Quietly. Reluctantly. But… thoroughly. Not a speck left behind in the box.

I sat there, completely content, sipping my boba and watching him with a soft smile I couldn’t hide even if I wanted to.

And his friends?

They doted on me.

P'Arthit grabbed a tissue and dabbed my forehead like I was a princess at war. “You worked so hard nong. Did you break a sweat cutting those carrots into stars?”

“Actually,” I whispered, “I almost sliced my pinky again.”

“Are you hurt?,” Hill suddenly asked seriously.

I shook my head with a shy smile.

Tonfah nodded solemnly. “North, if Johan doesn’t put a ring on it soon, we’re stealing you.”

Johan groaned. “Can you all shut the hell up?”

“We could,” P’Hill said. “But we’re too invested in your domestic future now.”

“You’re so lucky,” P'Arthit added with a mock sigh, reaching over to smooth my hair. “Do you even know how rare it is to get a North-original lunchbox? This is elite-tier boyfriend energy.”

“I’m not his boyfriend,” Johan growled.

“You’re not not,” P'Tonfah muttered into his water bottle.

And still, chopsticks to mouth.

He didn’t stop.

And that—more than anything—made me smile again.

I leaned in just a little and said quietly, “I’m glad you ate, Phi.”

He didn’t respond.

Didn’t look at me.

But he didn’t tell me to leave, either.