COLD RAIN

CHAPTER 24

“You are not… say it again, you are not?”
Sailub’s voice was very low and no emotion could be heard in it.

If not for his slightly jerking cheeks as if he was gritting his teeth to hold back something, Pon would have almost thought that he was not angry but was just repeatedly asking for confirmation in hope to get the most accurate answer.

Pon took a deep breath and said, “I am not.”

After saying that, he released the tension in his body and found that it was not that difficult to lie.

Especially after saying it once, it became very easy to say it again, and Sailub’s sneer failed to make him feel scared again.

After another chuckle, Sailub asked, “At the airport that time, at the painting exhibition, how can you explain your reaction?”

“I’m afraid of people. Of course I want to avoid the crowd at the airport.” Pon answered each point, “Normal people are nervous and scared when they are stopped by a stranger in a public place like at the painting exhibition.”

These answers made perfect sense, but because of his inability to find loopholes, Sailub had even more doubts in his heart.

When he asked the next question, he was not as confident as before, “Then you… why did you draw me?”

He was talking about the painting that won the award and participated in the exhibition.

Pon expected that he would be asked this and recited the hastily prepared explanation, “My brother is your fan. When I participated in the competition, I accidentally drew a figure that looked similar to you. Later, I felt that there might be a suspicion of copyright infringement, so I took the initiative to pay a penalty for breach of contract and withdrew the painting.”

This answer, which was even more impeccable than earlier, left Sailub stunned for a moment.

He still didn’t believe it, but there was no way to brush it off with another chuckle, “Accidentally? What a good ‘accident’.”

Pon strained his neck to meet his eyes, his frank gaze tearing the little confidence he had left to shreds.

Sailub’s throat was tight, his breath was heavy, and he struggled like an arrow at the end of its flight, “Don’t lie to me, don’t try to lie to me… No matter what you become, I can recognize you.”

Until he returned home and laid on the bed, all that Pon could see were those bloodshot eyes and the two tiny versions of himself reflecting in them.

He rolled over and covered his head with a quilt. The hand that had been squeezed hard still felt a little painful.

He hugged that hand and pressed it to his chest. It felt chilly at first but got a little more comfortable later.

When he was about to fall asleep, he took off the mask he was using as a disguise and temporarily let go of his identity as Thanapon Kitjaruwannakul.

In his drowsiness, Pon thought wistfully, why couldn’t you have done it sooner, held Pon PonPon’s hand a little sooner, held it as tightly as you did today. Maybe he would have lasted a little longer, lasted until you found how good he was, lasted until you were willing to look back at him.

After dreaming all night, Pon woke up and sat by the bed for a long time, rubbing his dizzy head, unable to recall a coherent plot in his dreams, only remembering some strange fragments.

For example, Benz killed his favorite big goose and braised it and five large porcelain bowls were not enough to hold it.

Because the picture was too real and shocking, he hurriedly called Aunt Lisa and learned that the geese were all staying behind the fence.