After School

The classroom was a lively hum of voices as the students of Matthayom 6 settled in, chatting animatedly before the start of the day. Groups of girls huddled together, talking about the latest episodes of their favorite series, their voices a mix of excitement and intrigue. Across the room, the boys were deep in conversation about the upcoming interschool football competition.

Satang, a boy in uniform with a tense look on his face, leaned in and spoke with urgency. “Our school has been losing for three years in a row,” he said, his expression tight with worry. “This is our last year, and we can’t afford to lose this time.”

“Absolutely not,” Mark replied, nodding aggressively. He then turned to a fair-skinned boy sitting by the window, gazing quietly at the scenery outside. With a sudden burst of enthusiasm, Mark tapped his shoulder. “This time, the victory is ours,” he declared, his voice full of conviction.

At that moment, a girl named Thu burst into the room, breathless and wide-eyed. She pushed through to her group of friends, face alight with excitement. Taking a deep breath, she couldn’t hold back any longer. “The rumors are true!” she exclaimed, her voice carrying through the room. “The new doctor is freaking hot!”

All the girls in her group squealed, some of them high-fiving in celebration. Milk, another girl, grabbed Thu’s shoulders, trying to calm her down just enough to get more information. In a serious, hushed voice, she asked, “On a scale from 1 to 10, how hot is he?”

Thu took a moment to compose herself, her expression going from excited to deadly serious. “Fifteen!” she announced, her voice brimming with conviction. “He’s freaking handsome!”

The girls erupted into cheers, some of them bouncing on their feet as their laughter and chatter filled the room.

Suddenly, the shrill sound of the bell rang out, bringing the chaos to a sudden halt. The students scrambled back to their seats, each one stifling giggles or excited whispers as they tried to compose themselves.

An elderly woman entered the room, her face set in a stern expression as she looked around the room, her gaze sharp and full of disapproval. “I could hear the noise blocks away,” she scolded, her voice cutting through the silence. With a click of her tongue, she continued, “Time for attendance.”

She opened a file and began reading the names.

“Nattawat Jirochtikul,” she called out.

The fair-skinned boy next to the window raised his hand, his gaze breaking from the scenery outside. “Present!” he replied, his voice carrying clearly, though his expression remained calm and unreadable.

And just like that, the morning’s chaotic energy settled, and the classroom fell into its usual rhythm.

At lunch, the usual crowd gathered in the courtyard. Students filled the benches and under-tree spots, a mixture of laughter and clinking lunchboxes filling the air. Fourth sat with Satang and Mark, who were still passionately discussing the football tournament, oblivious to the world around them.

Mark leaned forward, eyes alight with determination as he outlined an elaborate plan to win the competition this time. He highlighted each player’s strengths with exaggerated gestures, making his ideas sound like an epic strategy session. He turned to Satang, tapping his shoulder aggressively, “You’re the best defender I have ever seen.”

Then, with a dramatic flair, he turned to Fourth. “And you,you are the key to winning this competition, Fourth. Our golden striker!” His expression was so animated it was hard for anyone to take him seriously, but his enthusiasm was contagious.

Satang chuckled and gave Mark’s shoulder a playful tap back. “And what about you?”

Mark took a deep breath, balling his hand into a fist. “I’m the goalkeeper. I will fight till my last breath to block every single goal.” His tone was so proud it could have been mistaken for a knight’s oath.

But just then, Mark lurched forward, catching himself on the table as a girl brushed past him a little too forcefully. He looked back at her, mildly irritated. “Hey! Watch it! You’re ruining my fantasy! Where are you going, in a hurry like that?”

The girl shot him a side-eye, clearly unfazed. “Fantasy, my ass,” she muttered. “I’m going to sneak a peek at the new school doctor.”

Mark looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “The new school doctor?”

She sighed, rolling her eyes. “There are some rumors that he’s ridiculously good-looking. Like, next-level.” She shot Mark a quick look up and down, wrinkling her nose in mock disappointment before walking off.

Mark sighed as she left, mumbling to himself, “Must be nice to be a girl, so carefree.” Then, he turned back to Fourth, shaking his head. “Apparently, we have a new doctor, and he’s so good-looking all the girls are losing their minds.”

He gave his head a quick shake, and then stood up, waving his arms slightly to call over a few more friends to join them at the table. The courtyard around them buzzed with excited chatter, and even as the football plans continued.

Nanon and Ohm joined the table with lunch plates in hand, both looking eager. As soon as they sat down, their faces lit up, and in perfect unison, they asked, “So, what’s the plan?”

Fourth raked a hand through his hair, clearly frustrated by the repetition. “What do you mean, what’s the plan?” he replied, his voice tinged with exasperation. “We’ve been training for the past six months for this.” He grabbed his juice and stirred it slowly with a straw, taking a deep breath before continuing, “We’re just going to play like we always do.”

Ohm leaned in closer, lowering his voice as though he were sharing a secret. “We just have to be careful with one player on their team. Name’s Bright.” He glanced around, making sure no one else was listening before continuing, “I heard he likes to play dirty.”

The team gathered on the school field after hours, all of them wearing their red jerseys. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the grass, and the air smelled fresh, the remnants of last night’s rain still clinging to the damp earth.

Fourth stood in front of the team, a determined expression on his face as he addressed them. “We have three weeks until the competition,” he began, his voice strong and steady. “We’re going to train hard, and it’s going to be tough, but I promise you, it will all be worth it. This is our time to prove what we’re made of.”

The team nodded, their faces lighting up with enthusiasm. Their eyes sparkled with anticipation, ready to give their all. There was a brief moment of silence before they exchanged encouraging words, each player offering a pep talk to the person next to them.

Then, with a loud shout of “Let’s go!” they broke into action, rushing to the field to begin their practice.

The ground was slightly wet from the rain the night before, and the grass felt slippery beneath their feet. Fourth tied his sports shoes tightly, his focus unwavering, before he started running, his breath steady. The team’s movements were fluid, coordinated. Every pass, every goal was met with a high five and a loud cheer.

Most of the points were scored by Fourth, as he dominated the field with his sharp footwork and quick reflexes. His teammates were always ready to pass him the ball, and when Nanon sent one flying his way, Fourth was already in motion.

He received the ball with ease and began dribbling down the field, the wind rushing past him as he sped forward. But in a split second, as he pushed his legs harder to accelerate, his foot caught on a slick patch of grass. His legs slipped out from under him, and he fell sideways, crashing hard into the ground.

A sharp pain shot through his knee as he instinctively pulled it toward his body, a loud cry of pain escaping his lips.

The boys rushed into the school clinic, carrying Fourth between them as he winced in pain with each jarring step. The small space was filled with the sound of their voices, each one shouting over the other in a mix of concern and frustration. They were all talking at once, trying to figure out what to do, but the elderly nurse who greeted them had no time for the commotion.

“You can’t all go in,” she said firmly, stopping them before they could crowd into the consultation room.

They all protested in unison, trying to convince her to let them accompany their friend. But the nurse’s expression remained stern, her patience running thin.

“This is a clinic, not a social gathering,” she replied. She pointed to a wheelchair in the corner of the room. “Put him in there.”

Reluctantly, and still fidgeting with frustration, the boys helped Fourth, who was clearly in pain, into the wheelchair. His face tightened with every movement, but he didn’t protest. The nurse gave them one final warning.

“Stop making so much noise,” she snapped, her voice leaving no room for argument. “Wait outside. I’ll inform you once the doctor is done with the patient.”

Though they tried one last time to argue, Fourth, barely able to hold himself upright in the chair, looked at his friends with a pained expression. “It’s fine. Do as she says,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Feeling dejected, the boys reluctantly stepped outside, leaving their friend behind. The wooden benches in the waiting area were uncomfortable, but their focus was elsewhere. They couldn’t help but worry about Fourth and what this injury could mean for their chances in the competition.

Inside the clinic, the nurse wheeled Fourth into the consultation room. The small, sterile space smelled faintly of antiseptic, and it looked exactly as he expected a clinic to look: white walls, medical charts hanging neatly, and a bed next to the window with a green curtain drawn to the side. The nurse wheeled him toward the bed, then turned to him.

“Can you climb onto the bed by yourself?” she asked.

Fourth nodded, though his face twisted with discomfort. “I’ll manage.”

With a stiff and labored movement, he attempted to lift himself from the wheelchair, his knee screaming in protest. He couldn’t help but wince with each shift, his leg throbbing. After a few moments of struggling, with a final, painful effort, he made it onto the bed, his body sagging in exhaustion.

The nurse, who had been watching him quietly, gave him a reassuring smile. “Wait here for the doctor,” she said. “It won’t be long.”

She drew the curtain closed around him, leaving him alone in the room. The faint noise from outside the clinic seemed muffled, and Fourth lay back, staring out the window. His mind began to race, his thoughts drifting to the competition and his injury.

As Fourth lay there, lost in thought, his mind racing with uncertainty about the injury and its impact on the competition, the sound of the curtain being pulled back startled him. He quickly turned his head, expecting the nurse, but instead, a tall, lean man stood in the doorway. The man was probably in his late 20s, with straight, jet-black hair and a slightly tan complexion. His white doctor’s coat fluttered slightly as he moved, and his name was embroidered on the pocket, Gemini.

Gemini gave Fourth a quick once-over before his eyes fixed on Fourth’s leg. “What happened?” he asked, his tone professional, but his gaze intense.

Fourth, not meeting his eyes, stared down at his own leg, his lips pressing into a tight line. “I tripped and fell during football practice,” he muttered, barely audible.

The man nodded and began pressing around the area of Fourth’s knee with practiced precision. “You do know it rained yesterday, right?” he asked in a simple, almost obvious tone.

Fourth’s jaw clenched at the remark. He turned his face away, a sharp irritation building inside him. Gemini continued inspecting his leg, his fingers moving with careful attention, as if Fourth’s frustration didn’t even register.

“Why are you training so hard for?” Gemini asked, his voice low, as though the question was a genuine inquiry, not a criticism.

Fourth’s patience snapped. His voice raised in frustration. “I’m training for a competition. It’s in three weeks. I can’t afford to be injured,” he said, his tone sharp, his eyes now glaring at the man.

Gemini raised an eyebrow, his expression neutral, a small sign of surprise at the outburst. He didn’t respond immediately, instead continuing to examine Fourth’s leg. Fourth shot him a quick, angry look before turning his gaze back to the window, the distant view offering him a momentary escape from the growing tension in the room.

Without warning, Gemini gently raised Fourth’s knee, and the boy let out a sharp yelp of pain. “It hurts!” Fourth shrieked, his voice strained with discomfort.

“Of course, it’s painful. You’ve injured yourself,” Gemini snapped back, his tone tinged with slight frustration.

Fourth furrowed his brows, at the sting of the doctor’s words. After a few more moments of examination, Gemini muttered under his breath, though loud enough for Fourth to hear. “This looks like a mild knee injury.”

Fourth exhaled a long, frustrated breath, his mind still racing as he turned his head slightly, his eyes fixed on the window once more.

Gemini applied gentle pressure to Fourth’s shin, testing for pain in other areas. Each time he pressed, Fourth winced, his body involuntarily tensing. Gemini would stop, making a note in his file with a soft scratch of the pen.

After a moment of silence, Gemini began speaking again, his tone detached, as he explained the next steps. “I’ll prescribe some painkillers for the next few days. With proper care and medicine, you should be good to go in three weeks.”

Fourth wasn’t listening anymore. His mind had already tuned out the doctor’s voice, his thoughts consumed with the competition he couldn’t afford to miss. He turned to look at the doctor and the man was writing something in the file, his movements smooth, confident.

Absent-mindedly, Fourth’s eyes traveled slowly from Gemini’s jet-black hair to his eye lash, to the sharp lines of his cheekbones, and then down to the curve of his earlobe. For a moment, Fourth couldn’t tear his gaze away. Realizing his actions seconds after, he quickly looked away, as he wondered why he was staring so intently.

Gemini, seemingly unaware, continued scribbling notes. Fourth, still unsettled, stole another glance at him, his gaze lingering for just a moment.

Seconds after, he stopped writing and glanced up at Fourth, their eyes briefly meeting. His expression remained neutral. “Wait here,” he said simply before standing up and walking away from the area.

Right after he left, a male nurse stepped in, offering a polite but quiet presence. “Do you need help getting into the wheelchair?” he asked, his voice soft and measured.

Fourth hesitated, his pride telling him to refuse, but the searing pain in his leg quickly overruled that. He nodded reluctantly. The nurse gently assisted him, guiding him into the chair with careful hands. Every movement caused a fresh wave of discomfort, but Fourth bit his lip, determined to remain stoic. The nurse pushed the wheelchair away from the area, maneuvering it smoothly toward the desk where Gemini sat.

Gemini acknowledged the nurse with a brief nod, and then he continued scribbling in a notepad. “I’ll give you pain medication for the next week. Don’t put weight on that leg for a few days.”

Gemini looked up from his pad and met Fourth’s gaze. “I’ll write a letter to exempt you from any other sports. Your leg should get better before the competition”

Fourth nodded without a word, his gaze quickly skimming the room. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Gemini, his eyes flicked everywhere else: the window, the wall, the nurse standing off to the side.

Then, without realizing it, his eyes wandered back to Gemini. They started at the doctor’s knuckles, the way his fingers wrapped around the pen. His gaze then lingered on the curve of Gemini’s fingers before moving upward, tracing the sharp angles of his face.