The dimly lit room was steeped in silence, save for the rhythmic ticking of the clock, the low hum of the air conditioner, and the faint, intermittent drip of water from an unseen source. A heavy atmosphere lingered in the air, pressing down on Daotok's chest like an invisible weight. The faint glow of moonlight slipped through the curtains, casting long, distorted shadows across the floor.
It was then that he noticed it—a figure standing at the foot of his bed, half-shrouded in darkness. A chill seeped into his bones, colder than the air-conditioned room should allow. His instincts whispered that something was off, but exhaustion dulled his senses.
He squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to ignore the creeping unease, to brush it off as a half-dream conjured by his weary mind. Then, the blanket at his feet shifted. A tug—gentle but deliberate. Daotok sighed, already suspecting the culprit. With a lazy nudge of his foot, he adjusted the blanket back into place, dismissing the disturbance.
But the presence at the foot of the bed did not retreat. Instead, it moved. A cold grip latched onto his ankle. Then, a violent yank. Startled, Daotok jolted upright, heart hammering against his ribs. His voice, thick with sleep and irritation, cut through the still air. "What are you doing?"
Silence.
The figure remained motionless, a looming shadow with only its outline distinguishable in the dimness. Then, it raised a hand, slowly, deliberately, and pointed directly at him.
Daotok frowned, following the invisible line drawn by the outstretched finger. His fingers instinctively brushed against the cool metal of the necklace resting against his collarbone.
"My necklace? You want me to take it off?" he asked, his voice laced with incredulity. No answer.
"Forget it. I'm going back to sleep." With a huff, he flopped back down, pulling the blanket over his head in a clear dismissal of the eerie visitor. That was a mistake.
The next tug was far from gentle. This time, it was forceful, dragging him across the mattress. His fingers scrambled for purchase, gripping the edge of the bed just in time to stop himself from tumbling onto the floor. His breath came in quick, sharp bursts as he whipped his gaze toward the figure.
"Fine, fine!" he snapped, sitting back up. With a tired sigh, he unfastened the bracelet on his wrist instead, figuring it was close enough. "Yanking someone's leg like that is incredibly rude, you know. If you have something to say, just say it instead of harassing me."
The shadow stirred, its form sharpening in the dim light until a familiar face emerged.
Donut.
Daotok blinked. He looked... normal. No blood. No grotesque wounds. Just a pale young man in a white t-shirt and long pants, his complexion slightly ghostly but otherwise unchanged. Slowly, Donut sat at the end of the bed, his gaze steady.
"You."
Daotok narrowed his eyes. "...?"
"Your name is Dao, right?"
"Yeah. What do you want?" His voice was flat, unimpressed. "If you're here to argue about bed space, don't bother. I have to sleep on the right side, or I won't fall asleep."
"It's not about that." Donut exhaled. "I need a favor."
"A favor?" Daotok echoed, already regretting entertaining the conversation.
"I want some stir-fried basil from Aunt Jum's." A long pause.
Daotok stared blankly. "...You're haunting me for food?"
"Please. I'm begging you. I want to eat it."
"..."
"And also, I need you to find out who killed me."
Daotok exhaled sharply, rubbing his temple. "Wasn't it your girlfriend? That's what the news said."
"I don't believe that." Donut's voice was firm. "Please, help me."
"Nope. Too lazy."
Donut's expression darkened, lips pressing into a thin line. "Why are you so heartless? You seem decent on the outside." Daotok stared at him, unimpressed.
"If you don't help, I'll bother you every night."
No response.
"Did you know you're sleeping in the exact spot where I died?" Donut continued, his voice eerily calm. "I can do whatever I want to you."
A shiver crawled down Daotok's spine. He sighed, resigning himself to his fate. "Fine. What exactly do you want me to do?"
"I don't know."
"What?"
"Try asking the doctor next door. He knew my girlfriend too." Before Daotok could question him further, Donut's form flickered—and then, he was gone.
For a long moment, Daotok simply sat there, staring at the empty space where Donut had been. Then, with another sigh, he flopped back down, pulling the blanket over his head once more.
"I'll think about it later. I just want to sleep..."
~~~~
Arthit leaned back against the worn leather of the sofa, letting the chaotic symphony of the bar wash over him. Laughter and conversation swirled together, mingling with the rich, intoxicating scent of alcohol.
The dim lighting flickered, casting shadows against the brick walls as a live band played a bluesy tune in the background. He swirled the whiskey in his glass before downing the last of it, the slow burn tracing a familiar path down his throat. Setting the empty glass down, he reached for the bottle beside him— only to find it just as empty.
"Already finished?" he muttered, tilting the bottle to confirm there wasn't a single drop left.
"Order another one," a friend suggested lazily, lounging beside him.
Arthit exhaled, rubbing his temple. He had just come back from a long- anticipated car race, his first in months. With brand-new rims—ones he made Direk pay for, no less—he had dominated the track without hesitation.
The adrenaline rush had been indescribable, the thrill of speed, the wind roaring past his ears, and the sharp turns that demanded every ounce of his focus. And of course, he won. The prize money sat comfortably in his pocket, and he intended to celebrate in style with his fellow racers.
The drinks had been flowing for nearly two hours now, and the effects were catching up with him fast. He hadn't had alcohol in a long time, which made his tolerance weaker than usual. His throat felt dry, and he kept drinking, not bothering to pace himself. By the time someone suggested heading back, the room was spinning, and his body felt like lead.
"Let's get you home," one of his friends said, clapping him on the shoulder.
"Leave your car here. I'll drop you off."
Arthit barely managed a nod, his eyes half-lidded. Someone hauled him up, and he let them guide him out. Their voice was a distant murmur, barely registering in his muddled mind. Before he knew it, he was being dumped into a car, his limbs too heavy to move.
The last thing he remembered was the hum of the engine before darkness swallowed him whole. When he stirred again, he was being dragged out of the vehicle.
"Thanks, man. Who is this?" a voice asked.
"It's me, Mai. Whatever, just take him."
"Fine. I'll head up myself. You drive safe."
"Yeah."
Arthit barely registered the exchange, stumbling into the condo lobby. He forced himself to the elevator, slamming his palm against the button and waiting impatiently. The moment the doors slid open, he stepped inside, pressing the button for the seventh floor. His stomach churned violently, and his head throbbed in protest. Normally, he could handle his liquor, but tonight had been different.
He had gone overboard, and his body was punishing him for it. When the elevator finally stopped, he stumbled out, making his way down the dimly lit hallway. Reaching his door, he leaned against the wall and fumbled through his pocket for his keycard. His fingers grasped at nothing.
Damn it. Where was it? He patted himself down, checking every pocket. Still nothing. Great. Just great. Sighing, he gave up and turned to the only other door on this floor. He knocked sluggishly, waiting. After a few moments, the tenant cracked the door open slightly.
"I lost my keycard. Can I crash here?" Arthit slurred.
The neighbor stared at him blankly before shutting the door without a word.
Arthit blinked. What the hell? Annoyed, he knocked again, more insistent this time.
The door opened a fraction once more. "What now?" came the flat voice.
"Even the couch is fine. I lost my keycard. I'm drunk."
The tenant sighed but didn't say anything, simply shutting the door again. This time, they didn't reopen it despite Arthit knocking once more.
"Fucking bastard," he muttered under his breath, rubbing his temples. Feeling too exhausted to argue, he pulled out his phone and called North. After a few rings, someone finally answered.
"What's up?" Johan's groggy voice came through the line.
"Let me talk to your boyfriend."
"What do you want with my boyfriend?"
"Asshole, is this really the time to be possessive? I can't get into my room."
"That's your problem."
"Johan, you bastard, hurry up! His friend won't open the door for me. I'm drunk, my keycard is lost!"
Johan groaned in irritation. "Fine, fine."
After a moment, North's sleepy voice replaced Johan's. "What, P'?"
"Tell your friend to open the damn door for me."
"Huh?"
"I'm drunk, I can't stand, and your friend is acting like a heartless bastard. We're literally the only people on this floor."
"So, you want to sleep with him?"
"I don't care! The sofa, the floor, whatever. Just not outside. Last time, I woke up thinking I had dengue from all the mosquito bites."
"Alright, alright. I'll try."
Arthit groaned, letting his head fall back against the wall. He had barely shut his eyes when the door next to him creaked open. His neighbor emerged, holding something out to him. A bottle of mosquito repellent.
"Wait," Arthit croaked.
"No need to return it," the tenant muttered before shutting the door again.
Arthit stared at the bottle in disbelief. "Fucking bastard..."
Resigned, he called North again. "What now, P'?"
"Your friend gave me mosquito repellent."
North burst out laughing. "Guess he really doesn't like your face."
"Tell him if he doesn't let me in, I'll puke on his door."
"Fine, fine."
Not long after, the door finally opened. Arthit barely acknowledged the annoyed look on his neighbor's face before stumbling inside, heading straight for the bathroom. His stomach rebelled, and he didn't even botherclosing the door before throwing up.
Between dry heaves, a sound reached his ears. A woman crying. Arthit froze. The cries grew louder, pained, desperate. His blood ran cold.
"Shut up," he muttered, clutching his pounding head. The crying only intensified. Gritting his teeth, he let out a strained breath. "I told you to shut up, or I'll beat the crap out of you!"
Silence. Arthit closed his eyes. What the hell was going on in this place?
~~~~
Daotok stood in the doorway of his bathroom, arms crossed, silently watching the drunk man sprawled against his toilet. His guest—if he could even be called that—was hugging the porcelain bowl like a long-lost lover, his breath heavy with the acrid stench of alcohol and regret.
At first, Daotok had refused outright when the man had asked to crash here, intending to leave him outside to fend for himself. But then North had called, practically pleading with him to help out. Reluctantly, he had relented, setting a bottle of mosquito repellent nearby before eventually letting the drunkard inside to avoid an even worse mess at his doorstep.
Daotok drank too, of course, but never to this extent. Judging by the state of the man groaning into his toilet, he must have downed enough to tranquilize an elephant. Just earlier, Daotok had heard him yelling at someone in the bathroom—someone who had been crying. No, not someone—something.
A ghost. The damn idiot had actually threatened her. And now, the presence had completely vanished, as if even the supernatural couldn't tolerate his nonsense. Well, that was one problem solved. But now, what the hell was Daotok supposed to do with the drunk mess passed out in his bathroom?
He had no intention of dragging him out—too much effort. Cleaning him up? Absolutely not. He wasn't a babysitter. The best course of action was probably waking him up and getting him out of here as soon as possible.
With a sigh, Daotok stepped closer and gave the man's shoulder a tentative shake. No response. He shook harder. Still nothing. Maybe security could deal with this. Picking up the condo phone, Daotok dialed the front desk and requested assistance. A few minutes later, two security guards knocked on his door.
"He's in the bathroom," Daotok said, leading them inside. The guards hesitated, exchanging wary glances before peering at the unconscious man.
"He said he lives in the unit next door but lost his keycard," Daotok explained, watching their reactions.
"Ah, that's unfortunate," one of them said with an awkward chuckle. "The management office is closed for the night. We can help move him out, but if he's lost his keycard... he'd have to stay outside."
"Would you mind letting him stay here for the night?" the other guard asked hesitantly.
Daotok narrowed his eyes. "Could you at least move him out of my bathroom?"
The guards exchanged another set of uneasy glances.
"Well... for his safety, it's better if he stays inside," one of them admitted.
"Unless this is causing you trouble?"
Daotok pressed his lips into a thin line, contemplating. It was a hassle. But arguing with them was even more of a hassle. With a resigned sigh, he relented. "Fine. Sorry for bothering you so late. I'll handle it myself."
The guards looked relieved. "Alright. But please don't hesitate to call us if you need anything."
Once the door shut behind them, Daotok turned back to the drunken troublemaker, feeling a familiar wave of irritation settle in his chest. Nobody liked having a stranger in their home—especially a drunk one. He wasn't about to play host any longer than necessary. Without hesitation, he shut the bathroom door and turned the lock.
"Are you really going to leave him in there all night?" Emma's voice carried from the bed, amusement lacing her words.
"Yup."
"Why?"
"Not my problem."
"You're so heartless." She sighed. "He's a neighbor, you know. And North did ask you to help."
Daotok didn't respond. He just sighed again, louder this time, making Emma chuckle.
"What's so funny?" he muttered.
"Just that you always give in when it's North, Ter, or Phoon asking," she teased.
"They're my friends."
"Exactly. So be nice. It's not that hard."
Daotok scoffed. "I don't want to be nice anymore."
"I know," Emma said softly. "But not everyone in the world is cruel, Daotok. Your friends prove that."
He didn't respond. There was nothing to say. Emma sighed, clearly knowing when to drop it. Silence fell between them. The night stretched on, and before Daotok realized it, sunlight streamed through the balcony window. He had worked through the night again.
Stretching, he walked over to the bathroom and unlocked the door. Stepping inside, he nudged the man's shoulder. "Wake up."
A groggy groan followed, and the man slowly lifted his head, squinting around. "Bathroom?"
Daotok stared. "Yeah."
"...Did I sleep here?"
"Yeah."
"Ah. Alright. Thanks for the place to crash." He yawned and stretched.
"What time is it?"
"Six."
"Got it."
Without another word, he stood and walked out, surprisingly unbothered. Daotok had half-expected him to throw a fit about being left in the bathroom, but he didn't seem to care in the slightest. Glancing around, Daotok noted that the room was still spotless. No mess.
No vomit. Nothing out of place. That was a relief, at least. With a sigh, he turned on the warm water, letting the tub fill as he stripped off his clothes. He soaked for a while, the tension slowly melting from his shoulders. Afterward, he collapsed onto his bed, finally ready to get some sleep. Drunken idiots weren't his problem. Not anymore. Not ever again.
~~~~
Arthit groaned as he stretched his stiff limbs, his muscles aching with the aftereffects of a rough night. "God, I'm so sore..." he muttered, rolling his shoulders to shake off the discomfort.
He couldn't decide what was worse—passing out outside or spending the night curled up in a bathroom stall. At least in the bathroom, he hadn't woken up covered in his own vomit or riddled with mosquito bites. It wasn't exactly comfortable, but it had been clean enough, and honestly, he could sleep just about anywhere when he had to.
Dragging himself out of his makeshift bed, he made his way down to the condo's management office first thing in the morning. Fortunately, they were open, and after explaining his situation, he was given a replacement keycard. With a sigh of relief, he trudged back to his unit, peeling off his stale clothes the moment he stepped inside. A long shower later, he collapsed onto his bed, exhaustion pulling him under almost instantly.
He wasn't sure if he was dreaming or still half-awake. The room was shrouded in darkness, making the presence beside him all the more surreal.
"It's you again..."
Sitting on the edge of the bed, looking as casual as ever, was Donut. Arthit groaned, rubbing his temples. "Seriously? I'm trying to sleep."
"Don't be like that. Talk to me for a bit."
"I'm still hungover."
"Last night, I wanted to help you, but they wouldn't let me in."
Arthit frowned. "They? Who wouldn't let you into the bathroom?"
Since this was clearly a dream, he didn't feel as disturbed by the conversation as he normally would. He studied Donut, who looked exactly the same as he had before he died—plain T-shirt, long pants, his usual messy hair. No blood. No wounds. But his skin was deathly pale.
"That lady, P'Cream. The one who got her throat slit by the tub. She's intense, man. But when you shouted at her, she froze. Honestly, it was hilarious." Donut chuckled, shaking his head. "Last time, you yelled at that hanging ghost, and now you're threatening P'Cream. You're such a jackass."
Arthit snorted. "Yeah? I don't remember anything. Must've been the booze."
"Well, you scared her. She didn't dare cry anymore after that."
The thought made Arthit chuckle, but his amusement faded when Donut suddenly turned serious.
"Listen, Thit. It takes a hell of a lot of energy for me to enter dreams or cross over rooms. So, this is serious."
Arthit sighed. "Spit it out."
"I want to eat Aunt Jum's basil stir-fry."
A long silence followed.
"..."
"Come on, go buy it and light some incense for me. I asked Daotok to do it, but he must've forgotten."
Arthit pinched the bridge of his nose. "Aunt Jum ran off with her younger boyfriend to Surat Thani."
Donut's face fell. "Seriously? Damn. Okay, then tell my mom to stop bringing me braised eggs. I'm so sick of those."
"Why don't you visit her in a dream yourself?"
"I can't. Something's holding me back. And I'm telling you, I don't think Min killed me."
Arthit stiffened. "You're delusional. Min already confessed to the police, remember? You're still defending her even after she killed you. Wake up."
"No way. You know how much Min loved me. She wouldn't kill me."
"Right. Keep telling yourself that." Arthit shook his head. "You cheated on her, dumbass. You think I didn't hear you two fighting every damn day? Honestly, it's no surprise she snapped and killed you."
Donut sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Come on, Thit. I didn't cheat! It was a misunderstanding. Sure, Min's hot-headed, rude, and rough.
She's not soft or gentle like other women. And yeah, she beat the crap out of me and cussed me out daily. But she wouldn't kill me. Especially not when she was drunk."
Arthit frowned. The conviction in Donut's voice gave him pause.
"You really believe that?"
"Yeah, man. Honestly, I don't know. All I know is I can't remember anything. I didn't even realize I was dead for three or four days. Help me find out the truth, Thit. At least that way, I can move on."
Arthit sighed. "Move on to where?"
"To the afterlife, you idiot. Where else? Look, there are some gorgeous ghosts here, but I've had enough."
"Why? What's wrong with staying?"
"Because I'm the only guy ghost here. All the female ghosts gang up on me. It's not fun anymore, man. You know I'm scared of ghosts. I only stayed because Min wasn't afraid. But here? There's hanging Aing, rooftop Prao, bathtub Cream, they're everywhere. And they all bully me. I can't take it."
Despite himself, Arthit smirked. "Alright, fine. Let me sober up, and I'll look into it for you."
"Thanks, man."
Arthit must've drifted off again, because when he woke, it was already noon. After a quick meal and a shower, he headed out to visit Min in prison. Sitting in front of the glass partition, he watched as she entered, dressed in her standard inmate uniform. Her sharp gaze landed on him, surprise flickering across her face.
"Long time no see," she greeted, voice casual.
Arthit studied her—covered in tattoos, exuding the same rough-around-the- edges attitude he had always known.
"Yeah. How's life?"
"Oh, you know. Great. Prison is such a blast," she deadpanned. "What about you? Back to work? Why are you here?"
Arthit leaned forward. "I came to visit because I talked to Donut last night."
Min's brow arched. "Oh, how many joints did you smoke?"
"None. He keeps coming to me in dreams. Ever since he died, he's been crossing over to my room."
That got her attention. Her expression turned serious. "Wait, hold on. You're still in that same room?"
"Yeah. Why?"
Min hesitated. "...You didn't move out?"
"Too lazy to move. Besides, someone already took Donut's old room."
Min stared at him. "You're serious?" Her expression darkened. "Who the hell moves into a haunted room?"
Arthit shrugged. "Rent was cheap. I'm not afraid of ghosts."
Min exhaled sharply. "And Donut... what exactly did he say?"
Arthit met her gaze. "He said you didn't kill him. Is that true?"
Min went completely still. Then, after a long silence, she whispered, "I don't know."
Arthit frowned. "What do you mean?"
Min's voice was quiet, laced with uncertainty. "I really don't know, Thit. And that's the problem."