“Phi…”

I whispered the honorific like it was a prayer. Or a confession. Or a secret I wasn’t supposed to say out loud.

My voice was deliberately soft, innocent laced with that syrupy kind of shyness I’d perfected over the years. Just the right amount of hesitation to make it sound like I didn’t want to bother him. As if I hadn’t walked straight across a sunlit field in front of half the university to do exactly that.

I stood at the edge of the bench, slightly breathless, holding out a cold water bottle with both hands like a peace offering.

“You looked tired, so… I brought you some water.”

Johan blinked up at me, shadowed by sweat and sunlight, his towel looped loosely around his neck. His brows twitched—just a flicker—but I caught it.

Annoyance. Discomfort. Contempt.

Excellent.

I tilted my head ever so slightly, my lashes fluttering like they had minds of their own. I knew exactly what I looked like in that moment- bashful, fragile, glowing with the kind of soft aura boys usually write poetry about.

Then he groaned.

Actually groaned.

Not the good kind. Not the flirty, amused kind.

The "Why the fuck are you here" kind.

His lips curled slightly in irritation, and before I could blink again, he shoved my hands away.

Hard.

The bottle slipped from my grip and hit the grass with a soft thud. It bounced once. Rolled. Settled near his foot. Silent. Unwanted.

The silence stretched.

So did the ache in my chest—not from the shove itself, but from the way he didn’t even seem to care. Didn't look twice. Just turned back toward his stupid towel like I was some invisible ball boy.

My fingers hung frozen midair for a moment, palms still open like I didn’t understand what just happened.

My expression dropped—just a little. Not too much. A crack, not a collapse.

The ache wasn’t fake, not entirely.

I stared at the bottle on the ground, my lower lip caught between my teeth, a pout forming so naturally it may as well have been born there.

Then came salvation.

“Hey! Johan, what the hell?”
Arthit’s voice rang out, slicing the tension like a whistle on the pitch. “That was rude.”

He stepped in immediately, crouched to pick up the bottle, and gently brushed some grass off the plastic. Then he turned to me, brow furrowed in concern.

“Here, nong.” His tone was warm. Paternal.

I looked up at him slowly, letting my eyes shimmer a bit. Not with full tears—too dramatic. But just enough to look like I was holding them back. A quiet, brave little martyr.

“Ah… thank you, Phi.” I whispered, taking the bottle back with both hands like it was a relic.

Arthit patted my shoulder.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

I nodded, just once. Tight. Small. As if answering hurt.

Tonfah jogged over next, eyes widening when he saw me. He crouched beside me immediately like I’d skinned my knee and needed first aid.

“Nong North, what happened? Are you alright?”

I glanced at Johan briefly—just enough for them to connect the dots—then looked away quickly, biting my lip and hugging the bottle to my chest.

Tonfah turned to Johan instantly, his voice sharp. “What did you do? Look at him, he’s shaking.”

“I didn’t ask for water,” Johan said flatly, standing up from the bench now, irritation flickering behind his eyes.

Perfect. Let him get angry. Let them think he’s unhinged.

“You didn’t need to knock it out of his hands either,” Arthit retorted. “What is wrong with you today?”

“He’s not a damn baby.”

“Then why do you keep treating him like garbage?” Tonfah snapped. “He was trying to be nice.”

“Exactly,” came another voice. Hill, the Student President, tall and gleaming and infuriatingly perfect, had finally arrived. He gave me a kind, steady smile the kind reserved for small animals and victims of bullying.

“It’s alright, nong. Some people just don’t know how to accept kindness.”

I lowered my gaze, shoulders hunching slightly. “I… I didn’t mean to be too forward,” I murmured. “I just thought maybe he’d be thirsty, and…”

My voice cracked. Subtle. Controlled. A little break in the middle of the sentence, like it hurt to admit it.

Hill immediately placed a hand on my back.

“You did nothing wrong. Don’t apologize for being thoughtful.”

Johan exhaled sharply through his nose and muttered something under his breath.

“What was that?” Tonfah asked, squinting at him.

“I said he’s not what you think he is.”

Hill raised a brow. “Oh? And what is he, then?”

Johan glared at me. “A stupid annoying rat.”

Dead silence.

My bottom lip trembled. I turned my face away, as if the word physically stung.

“Johan!” Arthit barked. “That’s enough. You’re being cruel.”

Hill stepped forward now, all authority. “If you can’t keep your temper in check, maybe you need to sit this one out. Cool off.”

Johan scoffed and kicked the bench lightly. “Fine.”

I didn’t smile. I wouldn’t dare not with them all watching me like a wounded kitten.

But deep inside?

I was grinning.

Because now Johan looked like the asshole. The angry, unpredictable brute. And me?

I was just the gentle-hearted underclassman who offered a bottle of water.

That was all it took.

P'Arthit gave me a bottle of sports drink from his own bag. “Here. Something sweeter. You’ve been standing in the sun.”

“Oh, thank you, Phi,” I said, letting my voice lilt.

“Do you want to sit down somewhere?” P'Tonfah offered. “In the shade?”

“I—” I hesitated, clutching the drink like it was my last defense. “I think I’ll just go back under the tree…”

“Do you want company?” P'Hill asked.

“No, it’s okay.” I gave a little smile, just enough to be brave. “I don’t want to trouble anyone else.”

“You’re not trouble,” P'Arthit said firmly.

I nodded again, turning slowly to walk back across the grass, each step deliberate. Small. Wounded. Angelic.

When I was a few feet away, I let my shoulders relax. My eyes darted back.

Johan was still glaring at me from the bench, jaw tight, hands clenched.

P'Tonfah was still lecturing him. P'Arthit and P'Hill were talking quietly, occasionally casting glances in my direction.

They’d see me as sweet now.

Innocent.

Wronged.

Exactly what I wanted.

By the time I reached the shade of the tree again, I’d composed myself.

Shoulders delicate. Chin lifted. Eyes glistening just enough to catch the light. Like I’d just emerged from a Monet painting of melancholy.

Phoon, Easter, and Dao were exactly where I left them except now all three looked like they’d just seen a ghost strip naked and confess to murder.

Mouths slightly agape. Eyes wide. Utterly silent.

“Unbelievable,” Easter finally muttered, catching the bridge of his nose like he had a migraine. “I—no. I need a moment. I need several.”

Phoon blinked, then looked at me with something between awe and horror. “You just got three seniors to baby you, defend you, and scold Johan—all in under five minutes. North. Are you human?”

Dao whistled low. “I think I need to reevaluate my entire moral compass.”

I sank gracefully onto the grass like a grief-stricken Disney princess, cradling the untouched sports drink P'Arthit gave me.

“Don’t exaggerate,” I murmured, modestly brushing a nonexistent tear from the corner of my eye. “I was just being kind.”

“You weaponized kindness,” Easter said flatly. “That was emotional guerrilla warfare.”

“You looked like a sad bunny,” Phoon added. “An ethereal sad bunny. The bottle drop? The pout? The cracked voice? Textbook.”

Dao nodded. “And the way you tilted your head when Arthit gave you that second drink? That was choreography.”

I exhaled slowly and looked down at the bottle in my hands. “It’s not my fault Johan has anger management issues.”

“No,” Easter snapped, “but it is your fault that half the bench now thinks he needs therapy and a PR agent.”

Phoon flopped next to me, still watching the field where Johan sat surrounded by his friends—shoulders stiff, expression unreadable.

“Is it bad that I felt sorry for him for like half a second?” he asked.

“Just half?” Dao raised a brow. “I was rooting for North the entire time. Did you see P'Hill’s face? He looked ready to adopt him.”

“You are diabolical,” Easter muttered, turning toward me. “You know that, right?”

I tilted my head again, blinking slowly. “You mean... resourceful.”

“Don’t do the blink thing at me,” Easter groaned, shielding his eyes. “I have enough trauma.”

Phoon reached over and gently tapped my forehead. “What now, oh dark prince of deception?”

I smiled faintly, letting the corners of my lips curl just enough to be dangerous. “Now?” I said, watching Johan from afar as his friends clearly argued with him, “Now we let him stew.”

Dao offered me a chip. I took it daintily, chewing slowly like a queen awaiting tribute.

And for the first time all afternoon, Johan glanced in my direction.

One second. Two.

Just long enough to see me sitting under the tree—bathed in shade, surrounded by my friends, gently sipping the sports drink that wasn’t his.

Our eyes locked.

I tilted my head again. Slow. Polite. Blameless.

Then I smiled. A shy smile.

His glare hardened.

I took another sip.

Victory never tasted so sugary.