Just finished EP1 and honestly, the production quality blew me away.
The cinematography feels so raw and immersive, almost like you’re watching through your own eyes. That first conversation between Jira and Pheem felt incredibly natural thanks to the camera work.
The lighting is gorgeous, especially in Koh’s scenes where they play with contrasts. The color grading and set design really add depth to the characters and story.
Can we talk about the sound design though? The BGM choices, the score, even the quiet moments between dialogue work so well to pull you into the emotions.
GMMTV really raised the bar with this one. I’m genuinely impressed by how everything comes together to create something that feels a cut above their usual BL productions.
In episode seven, Saint leans in and whispers softly into Ice’s ear. Ice breaks into this surprised little smile that blooms across his face. He couldn’t hide it even if he tried.
If I heard it right, the Thai line Saint says is แอบนะ (àep ná). The English subtitle translated it as “I have a crush.”
Let me be nosy for a moment. Telling someone “I have a crush” in English completely misses the vibe that แอบนะ carries.
Let’s break it down.
แอบ (àep) in Thai means “secretly” or “to do something on the sly.” นะ (ná) is a softener that makes the sentence feel gentle, friendly, or like you’re nudging someone to go along with you. Think “okay?” or “you know?”
So by itself, แอบนะ lands more like “It’s a secret, okay?” or “Keep this between us, yeah?” It’s playful, conspiratorial, and feels like sharing something you probably shouldn’t be saying out loud.
So when Saint whispers แอบนะ to Ice, he’s not making a full confession. He’s dropping a hint. He’s saying something closer to:
“I’m secretly into you, okay?” or “Just so you know… I’ve got feelings. But keep it between us, yeah?”
It’s that perfect mix of revealing just enough while keeping it light and deniable. That little spark of nervous energy where he’s testing the waters without fully jumping in. And that entire nuance gets wiped out the moment you flatten it into a simple “I have a crush.”
Safety pins in punk fashion are basically the original “I didn’t fix it, I committed to it” accessory. They’re that moment you spot a tear, shrug, and decide it’s officially part of the outfit. Punk has always lived on that edge between rebellion and practicality, the attitude that says, “Yeah, it’s ripped. And yeah, I’m still walking out the door.” That’s the charm, right there.
Now drop Chiaki and Enaga into that mindset.
Chiaki takes a fall, rips his pants, and suddenly his big runway moment is crashing. Then Enaga steps in with a fistful of safety pins like he keeps them around for moral support. He fixes the outfit so fast and so precisely it gets suspicious – the kind of skill that only comes from someone who’s spent serious time backstage. Which, of course, he has. Because he’s Ai. That’s the kind of move that screams “I’ve done this professionally.” You don’t just casually reconstruct an outfit with safety pins and pure determination unless you’ve been there before.
So what do safety pins mean for these two?
First, they turn disasters into style. Punk doesn’t hide mistakes – it turns them into highlights. Chiaki’s ripped pants stop being a failure and become a look. That’s safety pin philosophy in its purest form.
Then there’s the whole two-identities-snap-into-one deal. Enaga’s student self and Ai’s runway persona are fabrics from totally different worlds. A safety pin symbolizes the moment they finally connect – not perfectly, but truthfully.
There’s also this quiet kind of support wrapped up in the metal. Safety pins basically say, “You’re coming apart a bit, but I’ll hold things together with you.” Not dramatic, not flashy – just steady and there when it matters.
And honestly? It’s a pretty unconventional love language. Forget rose petals and dramatic confessions. These two are built on improvised fixes and a pocketful of metal fasteners. It’s not glamorous, but it’s real. And somehow, it works beautifully.
In the end, safety pins sum up their whole relationship: imperfect, patched together, improvised, and stronger because of it. A little punk, a little messy, completely genuine – and absolutely theirs.
Okay, so after binging the first four episodes, I need to talk about Fan Xiao because this character is doing something to me. He’s not your standard anti-hero where you kind of root for him despite his flaws. There’s something genuinely unsettling about him: this cold dominance mixed with something I can only describe as hungry. And his power isn’t really about the money. It’s more insidious than that. He manipulates emotions like he’s conducting an experiment, and his whole thing with You Shulang feels less like attraction and more like he’s testing how close he can get to the edge before he falls.
Episode four wrecked me though. That’s when the tsunami memory comes back and suddenly his entire psychology makes sense. His mother died saving him. She literally gave her life so he could survive those waters. He made it out physically, but emotionally? He’s still there. He never left that ocean.
And the director knows exactly what they’re doing with the visuals. When adult Fan Xiao narrates this memory, everything drowns in this deep blue filter. It’s not just showing us the past. It’s showing us how he still lives in it. Years later, when he’s recounting what happened, he’s still submerged. That blue isn’t aesthetic choice, it’s his constant state of being. The guilt of surviving, of being the one his mother chose to save, it’s like he’s been underwater ever since, even when he’s standing on dry land.
His internal world is basically an endless sea. Cold, isolating, suffocating. And those matches he’s always lighting, the cigarettes, I realized those are his only connection to warmth. Watch how brief each flame is. It flares up and dies almost immediately. That’s what he’s working with emotionally. Just these tiny flickers of feeling or connection before the darkness closes back in.
Then You Shulang enters the picture, and Fan Xiao literally calls him “Bodhisattva” in his narration. Not as a cute nickname. He genuinely sees him as this enlightened being, this person who exists on some spiritual plane that Fan Xiao himself can never reach. And that creates this fascinating, toxic cocktail of emotions. He’s attracted to him and disgusted by him at the same time. He despises that sanctity, that ability to save lives and control fate. You Shulang represents everything Fan Xiao both craves and resents. So Fan Xiao’s solution? Drag him down. Pull this Bodhisattva off his lotus throne and make him drown too.
What gets me is that every cruel thing Fan Xiao does, every manipulation and mind game, has this dual purpose. On the surface it’s about control and destruction. But underneath there’s this desperate, probably unconscious hope that maybe You Shulang really can save him. He wants to prove that being alive isn’t inherently better than being dead, maybe because that would justify his own half-existence, his own inability to embrace the life his mother died to give him. But he also keeps coming back to You Shulang like maybe, just maybe, this person can finally pull him to shore.
That’s what the title means, right? “To My Shore.” Every attack is actually a reach toward salvation.
Even Zhen Zhen, who could’ve been just a stock character, ends up highlighting something important. His dialogue points to this contradiction in You Shulang. All that tolerance and gentleness is somehow as unfathomable as the ocean itself. Fan Xiao might win him over eventually, but actually getting close to someone like that? That might be impossible.
The tragedy waiting to happen is obvious. When Fan Xiao finally, completely falls in love (and you know he will), You Shulang is probably going to hurt him badly. Maybe not intentionally, but it’ll happen. And weirdly, I think that might be what Fan Xiao actually needs. Not to find someone who’ll survive his darkness with him, but to experience something painful enough that it finally forces him onto solid ground.
Because that’s what he’s really looking for, isn’t it? Not just survival. Not just someone who can tolerate him. He’s waiting for something that can finally end his drowning, pull him out of that endless ocean of grief and guilt. He’s been waiting since he was a child for someone to finish what his mother started: to actually save him, not just his body, but whatever’s left of his soul.
Look, I need to talk about this BL series with the merman storyline, because honestly? It had SO much potential and then just… didn’t deliver. You know that feeling when you’re watching something and you keep waiting for it to get good, and then the finale happens and you’re sitting there like “wtf?” Yeah. That was me.
But here’s the thing—I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not because it was great, but because I kept imagining all the ways it could have been. So naturally, I did what any reasonable person would do: I completely rewrote it in my head. And honestly? My version slaps.
First Off: Give Nava Something To DO
In my version, Nava isn’t just vibing in the human world looking pretty and mysterious. No, he’s on a mission. My guy is actively hunting down the people who murdered his parents. Like, he’s got a whole revenge plot going on. Every person he meets is a potential lead or a possible enemy. Don’t get me wrong, I love the pretty boys in soft lighting, but give me some stakes with that, you know?
The Love Triangle That Actually Makes Sense
Phurit starts pursuing Nava, which, fine, expected. But instead of Phraphai just pining sadly in the background like some kind of beautiful wounded gazelle, he actually does something about his feelings. He confesses to Nava too. Both of them are putting their hearts on the line, and suddenly we have an actual triangle instead of whatever geometry the original show was trying to do.
Nava’s attracted to Phurit and turns down Phraphai. But here’s what saves this from being just another sad rejected suitor situation—Nava and Phraphai team up to investigate the merman murders. They become detective partners, which is honestly way more interesting than watching Phraphai turn into a villain and die in front of Nava in the most traumatizing way possible. Seriously, who thought that was a good idea?
The Part Where We Let Characters Actually Communicate
They’re investigating, things are getting intense, and then boom—an accident happens and Phurit starts suspecting that Nava might be a merman. This is usually where shows milk the tension for like six episodes of increasingly ridiculous near-misses and dramatic irony. But you know what my version does? Nava just tells him. Wild concept, I know. He’s like “Yeah, I’m a merman, here’s the deal,” and instead of this being a huge dramatic breakup moment, it becomes the foundation of their relationship. Revolutionary, really.
When Things Get REALLY Messy
Then the merman chief—who happens to be Phraphai’s dad—gets murdered and everything goes sideways. They’re piecing together this conspiracy and the closer they get, the more personal it becomes. And here’s the gut punch: they discover that Phraphai’s dad, before he was killed, was behind the original merman killings. His own father was the big bad who’d been orchestrating the murders. Your dad killed your new best friend’s parents, and then someone killed your dad. The layers of betrayal and grief here are chef’s kiss.
The Ending That’s Actually Satisfying
Nava forgives Phraphai’s father, even posthumously. Not in a “it’s fine, water under the bridge” way, but in a “I refuse to let your hatred become my hatred” way. And then Nava and Phraphai have this moment where they confirm what the audience has been feeling all along—they’re brothers. Not by blood, not by romance, but by choice and shared trauma and all those late-night investigation sessions.
My version doesn’t treat the love triangle like someone has to “lose.” Phraphai doesn’t end up being a manipulative jerk just because his romantic feelings weren’t returned. Can we please stop doing that to characters? The romance plot and the mystery plot aren’t two separate shows fighting for screen time. They’re woven together so that solving the mystery IS the relationship development. Everyone has clear motivations beyond just “I want to kiss that person.”
And can we talk about how much more interesting it is to show that not all love has to be romantic? Phraphai and Nava’s brotherhood would be one of the most important relationships in the show, and that’s something we don’t see enough of in BL dramas. Sometimes the person you almost dated becomes your ride-or-die best friend, and that’s beautiful too.
OMG okay so like, if I were Jerome? With all those nightmares and visions constantly hitting him? I would literally NOT be able to handle it. Watching him deal with all that anxiety and panic and still drag himself to college classes? My mom instincts went into OVERDRIVE. I just wanna give him the biggest hug and like, make him some comfort food or something!
I have a feeling Jerome and Jinn are about to go through some serious drama ahead, and honestly I’m already stressing about these two.
I haven’t read the source material and I’m staying FAR away from spoilers, but it’s pretty clear this BL coming-of-age story is really digging into themes about fear of loss, courage, and the wisdom it takes to navigate all of that. So yeah, let’s buckle up for the next episode because I am SO here for it!
Than and his dad did not sit around talking about how to forgive the dude who literally shot him. Nope.
They were basically unpacking the whole “so… if love almost kills you, are you still supposed to forgive the guy?” situation.
And honestly, Dad came through with the wisdom. He tells Than, “If you wanna forgive him, you gotta actually believe you’re forgiving him. Like, for real.” Because if you don’t buy your own forgiveness, you’re just gonna stay stuck in that emotional traffic jam forever.
Very enlightened. Very therapist-core. Very California-approved.
In this episode, Pond Naravit is out here flashing those tiny sneaky smiles like he’s trying to kill us softly. Every. Single. One. is meme material. Like hello GMMTV, can we get those reaction stickers ASAP? Chop chop, babes.
And that ending? Oh my god. If I were Peach? I would’ve marched right over and shoved Thee down those stairs without a second thought. What kind of psycho nonsense is that? I climbed all those floors and you hit me with *that* conversation? Absolutely not. Go fall dramatically somewhere else.
And let’s talk about the sugar daddies of the episode: Lactasoy soy milk and MAMA OK noodles. The CEOs must be doing victory laps because they definitely bet on the right horse. Other shows are like “here are two bottles for product placement.” Meanwhile this show pulls out an entire industrial fridge like they’re hosting a sponsored food festival. Subtlety? Never heard of her.
By the way, I had beef with that Michelin restaurant serving fries. FRIES. On a fine-dining table. But then it hit me—Thee might be obsessed with fries. Still though, sweetie, even as an American, I cannot accept fries at an Italian fine-dining place. Jail.
Thee also switched cars again. Last episode he’s in a Bentley, this episode he’s lounging in a Mercedes-Maybach S680 like it’s no big deal. Next episode? We’re probably getting a Porsche cameo. At this point it’s less “romantic comedy” and more “Top Gear: Unhinged Mafia Boyfriend Edition.”
We also got a crash course in Thai. Turns out “bully” in Thai is… literally “bully” but said in Thai. Educational queen behavior. Then Thee goes to Peach’s house, sees a janky chair, and goes, “Can someone actually sit on this?” Immediately Peach hits him with, “Stop bullying other people’s furniture.” Dead. I’m dead.
This episode is so stupidly funny I rolled my eyes so hard I saw my own brain.
And listen… I seriously thought Peach kept answering the door in his underwear. But no, apparently these are “thin sleep shorts.” Sir, at that point the distinction is spiritual, not practical.
Thee telling Mok to stay one meter away from Peach is hilarious because they literally stood at “two Williams stacked vertically” distance. Precision. Measurement. Science.
Peach’s breakfast? Iconic minimalist behavior. Just grilled pork skewers and sticky rice—like 45 baht total. King of affordable cuisine. He and Mok sit at a park bench eating and Mok’s like, “Wow, you really live like the common folk, huh?” Rude and true.
This episode also gives us Thee’s backstory. Mafia baby! Parents living in Hong Kong “doing business.” Translation: he was basically raised by trauma and premium cologne. And the soap opera he loves watching? Surprise—it’s literally his mom’s old drama. Nepo baby in 4K.
Then at the studio, Thee sees Peach getting flowers and lights up like a Christmas tree. And that bouquet? Honey… it looks like someone emotionally mixed all four seasons together because they couldn’t choose a vibe.
At the restaurant, Thee is so over humanity he starts snapping at Aran and compares him to Soraya from “Defendant of Love”—the iconic 1963 Thai film that’s been remade seven times. And guess who starred in one of the remakes? Yup. Thee’s mom. It’s an Easter egg wrapped in more Easter eggs.
Later, at Peach’s place, the TV literally airs the old soap opera featuring Thee’s mom as a young star. The moment Thee sees it, his eyes glue to the screen like gravity suddenly got personal. Peach is like, “OMG he REALLY loves soap operas??” Sweetie, no—that was the sound of unresolved childhood longing hitting him like a truck.
And here’s the thing: in that moment, I ended up learning—all on my own, zero exposition—that Thai sometimes uses the same word for “missing” and “nostalgia.” Peach was talking about missing old soap operas. Totally casual. Meanwhile Thee said the exact same word… and he meant missing his mom. Babe, why would you emotionally sucker-punch me like that? My heart did a whole somersault.
Then Peach starts playing the Handpan, which looks like a wok that did ayahuasca and found enlightenment. Phuwin even said the thing is super delicate—you can’t hit it hard, can’t take it outside, can’t get it hot. It’s basically a diva instrument with abandonment issues.
And Thee’s cheesy lines? There are so many I could publish a whole “Mafia Boyfriend Cringe Poetry Collection.” One day when I have the energy, I’ll compile them. Anyway—next episode, hurry up. My popcorn is ready, my stress tolerance is not.
So in episode 6, Watarai’s friends were talking about the way he treats Hioki, and they dropped two Japanese fandom terms that absolutely destroyed me.
1. “強火担” (kyoubi tan) This is not a casual crush. This is full superfan mode. We are talking “I would throw elbows in a Costco Black Friday stampede for this man” dedication. That is a kyoubi tan. Someone living at a permanent emotional simmer that is basically one degree away from a rapid, rolling boil.
2. “同担拒否” (dou tan kyohi) This gem means “I love him so much I cannot emotionally handle anyone else loving him too.” It is territorial in that dramatic, fandom-coded, unintentionally adorable way. Picture a tiny chihuahua in a Prada collar guarding its favorite human with its whole six-pound soul.
So when his friends slapped these labels on how Watarai feels about Hioki, I grinned like the freaking Cheshire cat. Because what they were really saying was, “He is down catastrophically bad, quietly possessive as hell, and everyone can see it from space.”
Peak BL flavor. Peak romcom fuel. Pure chef’s kiss.
I just cannot get over the fact that Phraphai chose to end his own life right in front of Nawa. That is such a massive emotional trauma to put on someone. I honestly cannot deal with how reckless he was!
Just a gentle heads-up. This episode contains a self-harm scene with a stabbing action and some blood shown. It might be triggering. Take care of yourself as you watch.
I finished the latest episode a few days ago, and honestly? I’ve been chewing on it ever since. Something about what Asami goes through in season two just stayed lodged in my mind. You know that feeling when a story slips under your skin because it brushes up against your own life a little too neatly? Yeah. That.
Part of me really didn’t want to pin Asami’s depression on Shirasaki. It felt too easy and honestly too unfair. But I get why some viewers feel protective of Asami and think he deserves someone more emotionally available. On the surface, people act like it’s just basic emotional drama. Except Asami is not basic, and his emotions definitely aren’t either.
As I tried to make sense of it all, my mind drifted back to when I worked in Tokyo. In my memory, Akasaka was always this bright, buzzing nerve center for media and entertainment. TBS headquarters, the ACT Theater, Myna live hall where bands and big-name artists performed night after night. Agencies everywhere. Johnny’s had its whole empire rooted there. And the restaurants, bars, and late-night spots felt like places entertainers slipped into as naturally as breathing.
So when a BL drama sets its world in Akasaka and calls itself At 25:00 in Akasaka, it just makes sense. That “25:00” label is how Japan marks late-night programming, and BL dramas often live in that timeslot. The title is practically a whispered clue. Everything important happens after the city stops pretending it has everything under control.
Season one gives us Asami and Shirasaki falling for each other on set. Cute. Cinematic. Classic BL magic. Season two shifts the focus. Shirasaki gets famous and keeps climbing, and somewhere along the way he starts drifting out of Asami’s emotional orbit. It feels real, but it still isn’t the whole story.
Because the real weight has nothing to do with Shirasaki’s schedule. It is Asami wrestling with ghosts that existed long before he set foot on that BL set. His parents’ divorce. His mother’s fragile mental health and their distance from each other. A new film that forces him to confront family themes he has avoided for years. And then his estranged father suddenly reaching out to ask him to star in a movie based on his autobiography. For someone who has stepped away from both parents, that kind of request isn’t just pressure. It is emotional dynamite.
No boyfriend alive could fix that. And expecting one to is a recipe for disappointment.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized this show isn’t just telling a romance. It is showing two very different paths of growth. Shirasaki is breaking through by taking on roles that push him forward. Asami is healing, slowly and painfully, through the same craft. And Akasaka, with its neon nights and sky-high ambitions, becomes the perfect metaphor. Everything looks bright and loud on the surface. Everything hides something underneath.
Asami is gentle, but he is also closed off in that quiet way people become when life has nicked them too many times. He is brilliant and beautiful, almost like a billboard people pause to admire, yet the cracks sit right under the gloss. He only lets the pain rise when he can no longer hold it down. So when he finally reaches a moment of healing, it feels seismic.
I keep wondering whether Shirasaki can actually catch him when he falls. Maybe he can. Maybe he can’t. But if I’m being honest, I don’t think Shirasaki’s place in Asami’s life is meant to be comfort. It is meant to be ignition. He sparks change. He is inspiration, not salvation.
Expecting one person to save another person’s entire life is a weight no relationship can carry. What Asami needs is the courage to be vulnerable through his work, the space to face the past he keeps avoiding, and the steady push that comes from being loved by someone who challenges him to grow, even when it stings.
And if that isn’t one of the most painfully honest truths about real relationships, I don’t know what is.
Friendly reminder up top: this show is absolutely not a mealtime companion. Don’t do it. Don’t test your digestive system. Put. The. Chopsticks. Down.
This episode balances crime-solving with emotional chaos, and finally pulls back the curtain on King and Singha’s history. Also, Thup? Oh honey. He is down so bad for Singha. Man’s basically wagging his tail this episode.
Last week’s ghost-vomit fiasco traumatized half the audience, but this week the ghost count is at least manageable. Sure, the slit-mouth lady is nightmare fuel, but she also stops mid-murder to admire her handiwork. Like girl, priorities.
And then Thup got bricked. I knew it was a prop, but my skull tingled just watching it. Only flaw? No dramatic blood spray. Come on. Give me that “Singha’s face covered in blood, scream in slow-mo” energy. That’s cinema.
The side couple? If we dragged their storyline for two more episodes I’d file a complaint. Good thing Darin got hit by a car this week to speed things along. Because I swear if the ex-boyfriend drama continued any longer I’d pack their bags myself. I liked Sey and Darin at first, but at this point I’m tired. Like, spiritually.
Alright, alright. Story time.
★ Romance line Big reveal: King is the ex. Watching this episode, I nearly slapped on a subtitle that said “All exes can kindly exit the planet.”
Remember the livestream where Singha hugged Thup? Yeah, the fujoshi nation went feral. So King storms into Singha’s house the next morning like he bought the property. He calls it “talking.” I call it “caught you being soft and I’m mad about it.”
Because King walks in like he owns the place, Thup instantly thinks he’s the current boyfriend. And then Thup pulls out the reverse-uno card with the whole “I don’t wanna be the side piece” act. Meanwhile Singha is like, “Sir, I am fully single. Thanks.”
So Thup stays. Comfortably. And ends the episode by throwing himself in front of a falling scaffold for Singha like a full-time knight in shining chaos. Touching, honestly.
Also, Thup gifting those “blessed matching rings”? I didn’t even Google it. Aren’t people supposed to wear amulets? And the rings are… rented. Rental holy jewelry. The spiritual AirBnB of accessories.
Then Thup finds the old lovey-dovey photos of Singha and King. No spicy ones, which deeply disappointed my inner gremlin, but enough to make Thup sulky.
King, meanwhile, is giving “I want you back, but I refuse to say it like a normal person.” He keeps using work as an excuse to hover around Singha like a mosquito that pays taxes. And shouting things like “I’m not the same as before” while acting exactly the same. Sir, please.
Side couple time. I need to know how these two even broke up. Did y’all have one last dramatic breakup hookup, decide your souls were done but your bodies weren’t, and end up in some backwards open-relationship situation?
Darin spends the whole episode jealous of Sey’s maybe-crush, while Sey is trying to move on even though his body is clearly like “but what if we just… didn’t?” Then Bas shows up, and Darin’s attitude basically goes, “Why didn’t you tell him I’m your ex who works with you?” Babe. That’s why he didn’t tell him.
If I were Sey, I’d be fed up too. Like “Sir, I am dating other people. Why are you in my business.” But then Darin gets hit by a car thanks to Slit-Mouth Ghost, so Sey is probably gonna sprint back into his arms out of guilt.
★ Crime line Last week’s ghost-hunting influencers? Utterly useless. Their biggest contribution was yelling “I saw a ghost!” repeatedly. But their uniforms were cute, so they can stay. Victor’s character clearly knows something, but neither Singha nor King caught it during questioning. Pretty sure he’ll be back later.
This week’s clues: victims’ homes all have books from the same spiritual center, so Thup and Singha go check it out. They walk in and immediately ask about the Mae Sue legend like they’re here for a Yelp review. Based on the vibes and the preview, the cult leader is totally the mastermind. But with 13 episodes left, he’s not getting arrested anytime soon.
Thup also notices Slit-Mouth Ghost behaves differently from normal spirits. She has a clear target and seems to be warning them not to mess with the cursed dolls.
When they connect the seven victims to the seven guardian spirits for the seven days of the week? Chef’s kiss. Very Thai astrology, very “this tracks cosmically.”
So Singha decides to search the rest of the victims’ homes for more cursed dolls, and they interrogate the old suspect from Phang Nga. Turns out he was totally framed after accidentally witnessing a ritual. Man was just trying to fish and ended up emotionally destroyed.
Then we get the Darin chaos. He gets the cursed doll, Slit-Mouth Lady pops out like a horror movie notification, Darin panics, gets ghost-pranked, and boom, car crash.
Slit-Mouth Girl then hustles over to Singha’s place, where Thup is already spiraling over the old photos. Suddenly the shrine explodes like a supernatural grenade courtesy of the ghost king Thao Wessuwan.
Thup rushes to the station just in time to see Slit-Mouth Ghost yeet a whole scaffold at Singha. He jumps in to shield him, takes the hit, and honestly? That looked painful even through the screen.
Since she can’t go near Singha, she uses distance attacks. And after knocking over the scaffold she just perches on it watching like it’s a Netflix show starring herself. Adorable menace energy.
This episode was great. The hype is way louder than Pit Babe 2 ever got. Viewers really said “quality content only.”
I’m loving the detective arc. And if King takes his shirt off at any point, I absolutely will not complain.
So the men in Suriya’s family have this mind-reading thing going on, and they give amethyst necklaces to guys they’re into. The necklace basically blocks their powers so they can’t accidentally read the thoughts of someone they actually care about.
In Episode 8, we see Jan (the younger brother) give an amethyst necklace to Taila because he wants a real chance to get to know him without using his abilities. Like, he wants to build something genuine through actual conversation instead of just reading his mind.
Suriya’s given these necklaces to two guys: his ex Yi and his current boyfriend Apo (Phopthorn). And here’s the thing, when Yi tried to give his necklace back after they broke up, Suriya told him to keep it.
So that parking garage scene? Pretty huge. When Suriya catches Ashin (who’s Apo’s half-brother, btw) wearing an amethyst necklace, Ashin’s like “oh yeah, a friend gave it to me.” But the camera work is basically screaming that this “friend” is Yi.
This points to Yi being behind the hit-and-run on Apo.
But here’s where it gets interesting. Ashin’s role could go either way:
He might be actively working with Yi, like fully in on the plan to hurt Apo.
OR he could just be getting played by Yi, set up to look like the bad guy while Yi’s actually pulling all the strings.
Either way, that amethyst necklace is the smoking gun. Yi still has his original one from Suriya, so if he gave one to Ashin, there’s definitely something deeper going on between them beyond just being casual friends.
The Supernatural Rules of Interminable (and How Our Characters Fit Into Them)
Okay so I’ve been OBSESSED with Interminable after watching the first three episodes and I need to talk about how this show is building its supernatural world because there’s an actual system here. Like this isn’t just random ghost stuff for drama, once you start seeing the patterns everything clicks.
The rules (as far as I can tell)
So the basic setup is that souls reincarnate, right? But if you die with really intense unresolved emotions, you can get stuck. The show literally says Khun Yai’s “unfulfilled love and tragic death hindered his soul from being reborn” which is just… wow okay we’re going there.
And it’s not just about individual karma. People who have powerful connections (love, jealousy, whatever) keep getting pulled back together in future lives. Kaewta is reincarnated and “accidentally inherited” the house where Yai’s been waiting. Sophie’s clearly tangled up in this too, probably Saen and his son.
Ghosts are tied to specific places. Yai literally cannot leave the White House. It’s his territory but also his prison which is such a painful dynamic when you think about it.
Here’s where it gets interesting though. Not everyone can see ghosts, and even people who can see them don’t see them all equally. Kaewta can detect Nanny Yam (the household ghost) way before he can properly see Yai. The real turning point is after he does this merit-making ceremony at the house and suddenly he can see Yai clearly AND touch him. So like, merit-making actually does something in this universe, it’s not just symbolic.
Also past life memories don’t just download into your brain. Instead you get dreams, déjà vu, random emotional reactions that feel way too intense for the situation. You’re basically living with feelings you don’t have context for yet.
The characters (buckle up)
Yai is the classic tragic ghost. Died in love, that love never resolved, now he’s chained to the house and can’t move on. Even Kaewta has to go through this whole progression before he can fully see him. The merit-making is what finally bridges the gap between them.
Kaewta is Yai’s past-life lover reincarnated. After he moves into the White House he becomes spirit-sensitive. His connection to Yai comes through as dreams and this pull he can’t explain and when he dances there’s like… echoes of something older. He’s genuinely confused about what’s happening to him which makes it feel real.
Sophie doesn’t seem to have conscious memory of the past but wow does she have FEELINGS. Intense irrational reactions especially around Yai and Kaewta. She’s clearly carrying jealousy from a past life and objects like this hairpin trigger things in her even when she doesn’t get actual memories back. She’s just out here living her karma without understanding why she feels this way.
Saen okay THIS is where my brain breaks a little. He’s connected to the past, he moves freely (not place-bound like Yai), everyone can see him. So is he a ghost? Is he reincarnated with his memories intact? No one’s quite sure. What’s clear is he understands way more about what’s happening than Kaewta does.
Sin is Saen’s son and wait here’s the wild part. Saen looks visibly younger than Sin. Let that sink in. Sin has to be careful about calling him “dad” in front of people because yeah, your supposed father looking younger than you is going to raise questions. Characters like Kaewta and Sin’s mom could understandably be weirded out by the whole situation. Sin talks to Nanny Yam about past lives so he’s clearly karmically connected to all this. The whole father-son thing is definitely not a normal present-life relationship, there’s past-life stuff tangled up in there that the show hasn’t fully explained yet.
Nanny Yam is the gentle household ghost. She’s way easier for Kaewta to perceive than Yai is, she’s not consumed by rage or unresolved passion. She’s just kind of… there, peacefully. Which is a nice contrast to Yai’s situation honestly.
Why I’m losing my mind over this
The White House is basically where all these karmic threads converge. Yai trapped there, Kaewta being pulled back, Sophie showing up with her unexplained obsessions, Saen and Sin with their weird age-reversed complicated dynamic.
The core tragedy is that Yai’s been waiting all this time. Trapped by love that was so strong it wouldn’t let him move on even in death. And now his lover is RIGHT THERE, reincarnated, standing in front of him. But actually being together across the barrier between life and death? That’s the whole challenge.
I’m three episodes in and completely hooked, this show is doing something really interesting with its mythology and I can’t wait to see where it goes.
Just watched the first episode and I’m genuinely hooked. The setup is really well done - you immediately feel Kanō’s isolation and exhaustion in the sales department, and the complicated feelings he has toward Ōkami (admiration mixed with resentment from whatever happened between them in the past). Daigo Kotarō plays that quiet loneliness really well.
The contrast when he enters the “ideal world” hits hard. Suddenly colleagues are warm, and Ōkami is looking at him with this heated, almost lover-like intimacy. It’s such an effective way to show us what Kanō’s been denying himself.
I love that the mirror’s inscription promises he’ll “one day truly reach that form” - it suggests this isn’t just escapism but actual growth. The question is whether the fantasy will help him or trap him.
The emotional stakes are clear: Kanō needs to learn his own worth and decide between comfortable fantasy and the messier work of building something real. Really solid start, I’m invested.
There’s a moment in this week’s episode that’s been sitting heavy with me — the scene where Ice tries to get Mint to confess. It’s messy, uncomfortable, and for some viewers, genuinely triggering. And honestly? Those reactions are completely valid. Watching a sexual assault survivor step back into the orbit of the person who hurt them can be painful in a way that goes way beyond storytelling. Plenty of people carry their own history or a loved one’s trauma into scenes like this. It’s not dramatic to say it can feel like pressing on a bruise that never quite healed.
But the more I’ve sat with it, the more I don’t think the show is trying to humiliate Ice or paint survivors as naïve or self-destructive. The intention feels different. Deeper, maybe.
What we’re seeing is a kid who has been failed at every single turn. Ice did everything survivors are supposed to do. He reported it. He tried to distance himself. He tried to rebuild. And the system still crushed him. The school protected Mint. Adults defended Mint. Mint’s reputation became this impenetrable shield. Ice was literally punished for his own assault.
When you’ve been backed into a corner like that — isolated, unheard, blamed — the choices you make aren’t always rational. They come from fear, shame, exhaustion. From the lonely desperation of fighting a battle nobody is willing to help you fight.
So the scene isn’t saying “victims make bad decisions.” It’s saying victims should never be forced to confront their abuser alone in the first place.
And that’s what the moment exposes. Mint sees through the setup instantly, twists it, uses new threats to tighten his control. It’s not Ice being foolish — it’s Mint being exactly what he is: a practiced, protected predator who knows how to warp every angle. The power imbalance is supposed to feel sickening. If your stomach dropped watching it, the scene did its job.
Narratively, this becomes Ice’s breaking point. When he collapses into Saint’s arms in that hotel lobby, it isn’t melodrama — it’s the first time he stops pretending he can survive this alone. That moment only lands because we’ve watched him carry everything in silence for so long. It’s messy and painful and very human. It’s the beginning of him letting someone else help hold the weight.
Look, I get why some viewers felt the scene went too far. You can be upset about the execution and still see what the writers were going for. I do think both things can be true at once.
For me, though, the scene isn’t about blaming Ice. It’s about exposing the systems that abandoned him. The truth that no survivor should ever be left to face a predator alone.
I really hope the story gives Ice more agency moving forward. More choice. More moments where he actually wins. He deserves that. So do the viewers who saw their own scars in his.
Okay, so Episode 4 of Therapy Game is basically a masterclass in how we all sabotage our own love lives while insisting we are just “protecting ourselves.” Truly iconic behavior from the human species.
Minato is out here playing emotional chess when the situation barely requires checkers. He is so terrified of getting hurt that he makes this bet to seduce Shizuma instead of just… talking to him. Sir. My guy. This is not the life hack you think it is. And honestly, who among us hasn’t built a fortress, labeled it “healthy boundaries,” then wondered why we are alone and spiraling on a Tuesday night.
Naturally the whole thing falls apart because when you choose mind games over honesty, everyone loses. It is giving situationship energy. It is giving modern dating app delusion. It is giving two people strategizing their way into heartbreak instead of just communicating like adults. Meanwhile you are still up at 2 AM wondering how you got here.
What I appreciate is that the episode refuses to let Minato wiggle out of this one. He breaks his own heart with these choices and has to sit in the consequences. The pain ends up doing the teaching. Very “feel it to heal it” energy, which we all hate but unfortunately remains correct.
The real question the episode asks is the one everyone avoids: how long are you going to keep playing defense before you realize the bigger risk is never letting anyone in at all.
Honestly, Episode 4 put the “therapy” in the title. Do the inner work. Retire the bets. Use your words. Radical, I know.
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The cinematography feels so raw and immersive, almost like you’re watching through your own eyes. That first conversation between Jira and Pheem felt incredibly natural thanks to the camera work.
The lighting is gorgeous, especially in Koh’s scenes where they play with contrasts. The color grading and set design really add depth to the characters and story.
Can we talk about the sound design though? The BGM choices, the score, even the quiet moments between dialogue work so well to pull you into the emotions.
GMMTV really raised the bar with this one. I’m genuinely impressed by how everything comes together to create something that feels a cut above their usual BL productions.
If I heard it right, the Thai line Saint says is แอบนะ (àep ná). The English subtitle translated it as “I have a crush.”
Let me be nosy for a moment. Telling someone “I have a crush” in English completely misses the vibe that แอบนะ carries.
Let’s break it down.
แอบ (àep) in Thai means “secretly” or “to do something on the sly.”
นะ (ná) is a softener that makes the sentence feel gentle, friendly, or like you’re nudging someone to go along with you. Think “okay?” or “you know?”
So by itself, แอบนะ lands more like “It’s a secret, okay?” or “Keep this between us, yeah?” It’s playful, conspiratorial, and feels like sharing something you probably shouldn’t be saying out loud.
So when Saint whispers แอบนะ to Ice, he’s not making a full confession. He’s dropping a hint. He’s saying something closer to:
“I’m secretly into you, okay?”
or
“Just so you know… I’ve got feelings. But keep it between us, yeah?”
It’s that perfect mix of revealing just enough while keeping it light and deniable. That little spark of nervous energy where he’s testing the waters without fully jumping in. And that entire nuance gets wiped out the moment you flatten it into a simple “I have a crush.”
Now drop Chiaki and Enaga into that mindset.
Chiaki takes a fall, rips his pants, and suddenly his big runway moment is crashing. Then Enaga steps in with a fistful of safety pins like he keeps them around for moral support. He fixes the outfit so fast and so precisely it gets suspicious – the kind of skill that only comes from someone who’s spent serious time backstage. Which, of course, he has. Because he’s Ai. That’s the kind of move that screams “I’ve done this professionally.” You don’t just casually reconstruct an outfit with safety pins and pure determination unless you’ve been there before.
So what do safety pins mean for these two?
First, they turn disasters into style. Punk doesn’t hide mistakes – it turns them into highlights. Chiaki’s ripped pants stop being a failure and become a look. That’s safety pin philosophy in its purest form.
Then there’s the whole two-identities-snap-into-one deal. Enaga’s student self and Ai’s runway persona are fabrics from totally different worlds. A safety pin symbolizes the moment they finally connect – not perfectly, but truthfully.
There’s also this quiet kind of support wrapped up in the metal. Safety pins basically say, “You’re coming apart a bit, but I’ll hold things together with you.” Not dramatic, not flashy – just steady and there when it matters.
And honestly? It’s a pretty unconventional love language. Forget rose petals and dramatic confessions. These two are built on improvised fixes and a pocketful of metal fasteners. It’s not glamorous, but it’s real. And somehow, it works beautifully.
In the end, safety pins sum up their whole relationship: imperfect, patched together, improvised, and stronger because of it. A little punk, a little messy, completely genuine – and absolutely theirs.
Episode four wrecked me though. That’s when the tsunami memory comes back and suddenly his entire psychology makes sense. His mother died saving him. She literally gave her life so he could survive those waters. He made it out physically, but emotionally? He’s still there. He never left that ocean.
And the director knows exactly what they’re doing with the visuals. When adult Fan Xiao narrates this memory, everything drowns in this deep blue filter. It’s not just showing us the past. It’s showing us how he still lives in it. Years later, when he’s recounting what happened, he’s still submerged. That blue isn’t aesthetic choice, it’s his constant state of being. The guilt of surviving, of being the one his mother chose to save, it’s like he’s been underwater ever since, even when he’s standing on dry land.
His internal world is basically an endless sea. Cold, isolating, suffocating. And those matches he’s always lighting, the cigarettes, I realized those are his only connection to warmth. Watch how brief each flame is. It flares up and dies almost immediately. That’s what he’s working with emotionally. Just these tiny flickers of feeling or connection before the darkness closes back in.
Then You Shulang enters the picture, and Fan Xiao literally calls him “Bodhisattva” in his narration. Not as a cute nickname. He genuinely sees him as this enlightened being, this person who exists on some spiritual plane that Fan Xiao himself can never reach. And that creates this fascinating, toxic cocktail of emotions. He’s attracted to him and disgusted by him at the same time. He despises that sanctity, that ability to save lives and control fate. You Shulang represents everything Fan Xiao both craves and resents. So Fan Xiao’s solution? Drag him down. Pull this Bodhisattva off his lotus throne and make him drown too.
What gets me is that every cruel thing Fan Xiao does, every manipulation and mind game, has this dual purpose. On the surface it’s about control and destruction. But underneath there’s this desperate, probably unconscious hope that maybe You Shulang really can save him. He wants to prove that being alive isn’t inherently better than being dead, maybe because that would justify his own half-existence, his own inability to embrace the life his mother died to give him. But he also keeps coming back to You Shulang like maybe, just maybe, this person can finally pull him to shore.
That’s what the title means, right? “To My Shore.” Every attack is actually a reach toward salvation.
Even Zhen Zhen, who could’ve been just a stock character, ends up highlighting something important. His dialogue points to this contradiction in You Shulang. All that tolerance and gentleness is somehow as unfathomable as the ocean itself. Fan Xiao might win him over eventually, but actually getting close to someone like that? That might be impossible.
The tragedy waiting to happen is obvious. When Fan Xiao finally, completely falls in love (and you know he will), You Shulang is probably going to hurt him badly. Maybe not intentionally, but it’ll happen. And weirdly, I think that might be what Fan Xiao actually needs. Not to find someone who’ll survive his darkness with him, but to experience something painful enough that it finally forces him onto solid ground.
Because that’s what he’s really looking for, isn’t it? Not just survival. Not just someone who can tolerate him. He’s waiting for something that can finally end his drowning, pull him out of that endless ocean of grief and guilt. He’s been waiting since he was a child for someone to finish what his mother started: to actually save him, not just his body, but whatever’s left of his soul.
But here’s the thing—I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Not because it was great, but because I kept imagining all the ways it could have been. So naturally, I did what any reasonable person would do: I completely rewrote it in my head. And honestly? My version slaps.
First Off: Give Nava Something To DO
In my version, Nava isn’t just vibing in the human world looking pretty and mysterious. No, he’s on a mission. My guy is actively hunting down the people who murdered his parents. Like, he’s got a whole revenge plot going on. Every person he meets is a potential lead or a possible enemy. Don’t get me wrong, I love the pretty boys in soft lighting, but give me some stakes with that, you know?
The Love Triangle That Actually Makes Sense
Phurit starts pursuing Nava, which, fine, expected. But instead of Phraphai just pining sadly in the background like some kind of beautiful wounded gazelle, he actually does something about his feelings. He confesses to Nava too. Both of them are putting their hearts on the line, and suddenly we have an actual triangle instead of whatever geometry the original show was trying to do.
Nava’s attracted to Phurit and turns down Phraphai. But here’s what saves this from being just another sad rejected suitor situation—Nava and Phraphai team up to investigate the merman murders. They become detective partners, which is honestly way more interesting than watching Phraphai turn into a villain and die in front of Nava in the most traumatizing way possible. Seriously, who thought that was a good idea?
The Part Where We Let Characters Actually Communicate
They’re investigating, things are getting intense, and then boom—an accident happens and Phurit starts suspecting that Nava might be a merman. This is usually where shows milk the tension for like six episodes of increasingly ridiculous near-misses and dramatic irony. But you know what my version does? Nava just tells him. Wild concept, I know. He’s like “Yeah, I’m a merman, here’s the deal,” and instead of this being a huge dramatic breakup moment, it becomes the foundation of their relationship. Revolutionary, really.
When Things Get REALLY Messy
Then the merman chief—who happens to be Phraphai’s dad—gets murdered and everything goes sideways. They’re piecing together this conspiracy and the closer they get, the more personal it becomes. And here’s the gut punch: they discover that Phraphai’s dad, before he was killed, was behind the original merman killings. His own father was the big bad who’d been orchestrating the murders. Your dad killed your new best friend’s parents, and then someone killed your dad. The layers of betrayal and grief here are chef’s kiss.
The Ending That’s Actually Satisfying
Nava forgives Phraphai’s father, even posthumously. Not in a “it’s fine, water under the bridge” way, but in a “I refuse to let your hatred become my hatred” way. And then Nava and Phraphai have this moment where they confirm what the audience has been feeling all along—they’re brothers. Not by blood, not by romance, but by choice and shared trauma and all those late-night investigation sessions.
My version doesn’t treat the love triangle like someone has to “lose.” Phraphai doesn’t end up being a manipulative jerk just because his romantic feelings weren’t returned. Can we please stop doing that to characters? The romance plot and the mystery plot aren’t two separate shows fighting for screen time. They’re woven together so that solving the mystery IS the relationship development. Everyone has clear motivations beyond just “I want to kiss that person.”
And can we talk about how much more interesting it is to show that not all love has to be romantic? Phraphai and Nava’s brotherhood would be one of the most important relationships in the show, and that’s something we don’t see enough of in BL dramas. Sometimes the person you almost dated becomes your ride-or-die best friend, and that’s beautiful too.
I have a feeling Jerome and Jinn are about to go through some serious drama ahead, and honestly I’m already stressing about these two.
I haven’t read the source material and I’m staying FAR away from spoilers, but it’s pretty clear this BL coming-of-age story is really digging into themes about fear of loss, courage, and the wisdom it takes to navigate all of that. So yeah, let’s buckle up for the next episode because I am SO here for it!
Than and his dad did not sit around talking about how to forgive the dude who literally shot him. Nope.
They were basically unpacking the whole “so… if love almost kills you, are you still supposed to forgive the guy?” situation.
And honestly, Dad came through with the wisdom.
He tells Than, “If you wanna forgive him, you gotta actually believe you’re forgiving him. Like, for real.”
Because if you don’t buy your own forgiveness, you’re just gonna stay stuck in that emotional traffic jam forever.
Very enlightened. Very therapist-core. Very California-approved.
And that ending? Oh my god. If I were Peach? I would’ve marched right over and shoved Thee down those stairs without a second thought. What kind of psycho nonsense is that? I climbed all those floors and you hit me with *that* conversation? Absolutely not. Go fall dramatically somewhere else.
And let’s talk about the sugar daddies of the episode: Lactasoy soy milk and MAMA OK noodles. The CEOs must be doing victory laps because they definitely bet on the right horse. Other shows are like “here are two bottles for product placement.” Meanwhile this show pulls out an entire industrial fridge like they’re hosting a sponsored food festival. Subtlety? Never heard of her.
By the way, I had beef with that Michelin restaurant serving fries. FRIES. On a fine-dining table. But then it hit me—Thee might be obsessed with fries. Still though, sweetie, even as an American, I cannot accept fries at an Italian fine-dining place. Jail.
Thee also switched cars again. Last episode he’s in a Bentley, this episode he’s lounging in a Mercedes-Maybach S680 like it’s no big deal. Next episode? We’re probably getting a Porsche cameo. At this point it’s less “romantic comedy” and more “Top Gear: Unhinged Mafia Boyfriend Edition.”
We also got a crash course in Thai. Turns out “bully” in Thai is… literally “bully” but said in Thai. Educational queen behavior.
Then Thee goes to Peach’s house, sees a janky chair, and goes, “Can someone actually sit on this?”
Immediately Peach hits him with, “Stop bullying other people’s furniture.”
Dead. I’m dead.
This episode is so stupidly funny I rolled my eyes so hard I saw my own brain.
And listen… I seriously thought Peach kept answering the door in his underwear. But no, apparently these are “thin sleep shorts.” Sir, at that point the distinction is spiritual, not practical.
Thee telling Mok to stay one meter away from Peach is hilarious because they literally stood at “two Williams stacked vertically” distance. Precision. Measurement. Science.
Peach’s breakfast? Iconic minimalist behavior.
Just grilled pork skewers and sticky rice—like 45 baht total. King of affordable cuisine.
He and Mok sit at a park bench eating and Mok’s like, “Wow, you really live like the common folk, huh?”
Rude and true.
This episode also gives us Thee’s backstory. Mafia baby!
Parents living in Hong Kong “doing business.”
Translation: he was basically raised by trauma and premium cologne.
And the soap opera he loves watching? Surprise—it’s literally his mom’s old drama. Nepo baby in 4K.
Then at the studio, Thee sees Peach getting flowers and lights up like a Christmas tree. And that bouquet? Honey… it looks like someone emotionally mixed all four seasons together because they couldn’t choose a vibe.
At the restaurant, Thee is so over humanity he starts snapping at Aran and compares him to Soraya from “Defendant of Love”—the iconic 1963 Thai film that’s been remade seven times. And guess who starred in one of the remakes? Yup. Thee’s mom. It’s an Easter egg wrapped in more Easter eggs.
Later, at Peach’s place, the TV literally airs the old soap opera featuring Thee’s mom as a young star. The moment Thee sees it, his eyes glue to the screen like gravity suddenly got personal.
Peach is like, “OMG he REALLY loves soap operas??”
Sweetie, no—that was the sound of unresolved childhood longing hitting him like a truck.
And here’s the thing: in that moment, I ended up learning—all on my own, zero exposition—that Thai sometimes uses the same word for “missing” and “nostalgia.” Peach was talking about missing old soap operas. Totally casual. Meanwhile Thee said the exact same word… and he meant missing his mom. Babe, why would you emotionally sucker-punch me like that? My heart did a whole somersault.
Then Peach starts playing the Handpan, which looks like a wok that did ayahuasca and found enlightenment.
Phuwin even said the thing is super delicate—you can’t hit it hard, can’t take it outside, can’t get it hot. It’s basically a diva instrument with abandonment issues.
And Thee’s cheesy lines? There are so many I could publish a whole “Mafia Boyfriend Cringe Poetry Collection.” One day when I have the energy, I’ll compile them.
Anyway—next episode, hurry up. My popcorn is ready, my stress tolerance is not.
1. “強火担” (kyoubi tan)
This is not a casual crush. This is full superfan mode. We are talking “I would throw elbows in a Costco Black Friday stampede for this man” dedication. That is a kyoubi tan. Someone living at a permanent emotional simmer that is basically one degree away from a rapid, rolling boil.
2. “同担拒否” (dou tan kyohi)
This gem means “I love him so much I cannot emotionally handle anyone else loving him too.” It is territorial in that dramatic, fandom-coded, unintentionally adorable way. Picture a tiny chihuahua in a Prada collar guarding its favorite human with its whole six-pound soul.
So when his friends slapped these labels on how Watarai feels about Hioki, I grinned like the freaking Cheshire cat. Because what they were really saying was, “He is down catastrophically bad, quietly possessive as hell, and everyone can see it from space.”
Peak BL flavor. Peak romcom fuel. Pure chef’s kiss.
Part of me really didn’t want to pin Asami’s depression on Shirasaki. It felt too easy and honestly too unfair. But I get why some viewers feel protective of Asami and think he deserves someone more emotionally available. On the surface, people act like it’s just basic emotional drama. Except Asami is not basic, and his emotions definitely aren’t either.
As I tried to make sense of it all, my mind drifted back to when I worked in Tokyo. In my memory, Akasaka was always this bright, buzzing nerve center for media and entertainment. TBS headquarters, the ACT Theater, Myna live hall where bands and big-name artists performed night after night. Agencies everywhere. Johnny’s had its whole empire rooted there. And the restaurants, bars, and late-night spots felt like places entertainers slipped into as naturally as breathing.
So when a BL drama sets its world in Akasaka and calls itself At 25:00 in Akasaka, it just makes sense. That “25:00” label is how Japan marks late-night programming, and BL dramas often live in that timeslot. The title is practically a whispered clue. Everything important happens after the city stops pretending it has everything under control.
Season one gives us Asami and Shirasaki falling for each other on set. Cute. Cinematic. Classic BL magic. Season two shifts the focus. Shirasaki gets famous and keeps climbing, and somewhere along the way he starts drifting out of Asami’s emotional orbit. It feels real, but it still isn’t the whole story.
Because the real weight has nothing to do with Shirasaki’s schedule. It is Asami wrestling with ghosts that existed long before he set foot on that BL set. His parents’ divorce. His mother’s fragile mental health and their distance from each other. A new film that forces him to confront family themes he has avoided for years. And then his estranged father suddenly reaching out to ask him to star in a movie based on his autobiography. For someone who has stepped away from both parents, that kind of request isn’t just pressure. It is emotional dynamite.
No boyfriend alive could fix that. And expecting one to is a recipe for disappointment.
The more I thought about it, the more I realized this show isn’t just telling a romance. It is showing two very different paths of growth. Shirasaki is breaking through by taking on roles that push him forward. Asami is healing, slowly and painfully, through the same craft. And Akasaka, with its neon nights and sky-high ambitions, becomes the perfect metaphor. Everything looks bright and loud on the surface. Everything hides something underneath.
Asami is gentle, but he is also closed off in that quiet way people become when life has nicked them too many times. He is brilliant and beautiful, almost like a billboard people pause to admire, yet the cracks sit right under the gloss. He only lets the pain rise when he can no longer hold it down. So when he finally reaches a moment of healing, it feels seismic.
I keep wondering whether Shirasaki can actually catch him when he falls. Maybe he can. Maybe he can’t. But if I’m being honest, I don’t think Shirasaki’s place in Asami’s life is meant to be comfort. It is meant to be ignition. He sparks change. He is inspiration, not salvation.
Expecting one person to save another person’s entire life is a weight no relationship can carry. What Asami needs is the courage to be vulnerable through his work, the space to face the past he keeps avoiding, and the steady push that comes from being loved by someone who challenges him to grow, even when it stings.
And if that isn’t one of the most painfully honest truths about real relationships, I don’t know what is.
This episode balances crime-solving with emotional chaos, and finally pulls back the curtain on King and Singha’s history. Also, Thup? Oh honey. He is down so bad for Singha. Man’s basically wagging his tail this episode.
Last week’s ghost-vomit fiasco traumatized half the audience, but this week the ghost count is at least manageable. Sure, the slit-mouth lady is nightmare fuel, but she also stops mid-murder to admire her handiwork. Like girl, priorities.
And then Thup got bricked. I knew it was a prop, but my skull tingled just watching it. Only flaw? No dramatic blood spray. Come on. Give me that “Singha’s face covered in blood, scream in slow-mo” energy. That’s cinema.
The side couple? If we dragged their storyline for two more episodes I’d file a complaint. Good thing Darin got hit by a car this week to speed things along. Because I swear if the ex-boyfriend drama continued any longer I’d pack their bags myself. I liked Sey and Darin at first, but at this point I’m tired. Like, spiritually.
Alright, alright. Story time.
★ Romance line
Big reveal: King is the ex. Watching this episode, I nearly slapped on a subtitle that said “All exes can kindly exit the planet.”
Remember the livestream where Singha hugged Thup? Yeah, the fujoshi nation went feral. So King storms into Singha’s house the next morning like he bought the property. He calls it “talking.” I call it “caught you being soft and I’m mad about it.”
Because King walks in like he owns the place, Thup instantly thinks he’s the current boyfriend. And then Thup pulls out the reverse-uno card with the whole “I don’t wanna be the side piece” act. Meanwhile Singha is like, “Sir, I am fully single. Thanks.”
So Thup stays. Comfortably. And ends the episode by throwing himself in front of a falling scaffold for Singha like a full-time knight in shining chaos. Touching, honestly.
Also, Thup gifting those “blessed matching rings”? I didn’t even Google it. Aren’t people supposed to wear amulets? And the rings are… rented. Rental holy jewelry. The spiritual AirBnB of accessories.
Then Thup finds the old lovey-dovey photos of Singha and King. No spicy ones, which deeply disappointed my inner gremlin, but enough to make Thup sulky.
King, meanwhile, is giving “I want you back, but I refuse to say it like a normal person.” He keeps using work as an excuse to hover around Singha like a mosquito that pays taxes. And shouting things like “I’m not the same as before” while acting exactly the same. Sir, please.
Side couple time.
I need to know how these two even broke up. Did y’all have one last dramatic breakup hookup, decide your souls were done but your bodies weren’t, and end up in some backwards open-relationship situation?
Darin spends the whole episode jealous of Sey’s maybe-crush, while Sey is trying to move on even though his body is clearly like “but what if we just… didn’t?” Then Bas shows up, and Darin’s attitude basically goes, “Why didn’t you tell him I’m your ex who works with you?” Babe. That’s why he didn’t tell him.
If I were Sey, I’d be fed up too. Like “Sir, I am dating other people. Why are you in my business.” But then Darin gets hit by a car thanks to Slit-Mouth Ghost, so Sey is probably gonna sprint back into his arms out of guilt.
★ Crime line
Last week’s ghost-hunting influencers? Utterly useless. Their biggest contribution was yelling “I saw a ghost!” repeatedly. But their uniforms were cute, so they can stay. Victor’s character clearly knows something, but neither Singha nor King caught it during questioning. Pretty sure he’ll be back later.
This week’s clues: victims’ homes all have books from the same spiritual center, so Thup and Singha go check it out. They walk in and immediately ask about the Mae Sue legend like they’re here for a Yelp review. Based on the vibes and the preview, the cult leader is totally the mastermind. But with 13 episodes left, he’s not getting arrested anytime soon.
Thup also notices Slit-Mouth Ghost behaves differently from normal spirits. She has a clear target and seems to be warning them not to mess with the cursed dolls.
When they connect the seven victims to the seven guardian spirits for the seven days of the week? Chef’s kiss. Very Thai astrology, very “this tracks cosmically.”
So Singha decides to search the rest of the victims’ homes for more cursed dolls, and they interrogate the old suspect from Phang Nga. Turns out he was totally framed after accidentally witnessing a ritual. Man was just trying to fish and ended up emotionally destroyed.
Then we get the Darin chaos. He gets the cursed doll, Slit-Mouth Lady pops out like a horror movie notification, Darin panics, gets ghost-pranked, and boom, car crash.
Slit-Mouth Girl then hustles over to Singha’s place, where Thup is already spiraling over the old photos. Suddenly the shrine explodes like a supernatural grenade courtesy of the ghost king Thao Wessuwan.
Thup rushes to the station just in time to see Slit-Mouth Ghost yeet a whole scaffold at Singha. He jumps in to shield him, takes the hit, and honestly? That looked painful even through the screen.
Since she can’t go near Singha, she uses distance attacks. And after knocking over the scaffold she just perches on it watching like it’s a Netflix show starring herself. Adorable menace energy.
This episode was great. The hype is way louder than Pit Babe 2 ever got. Viewers really said “quality content only.”
I’m loving the detective arc. And if King takes his shirt off at any point, I absolutely will not complain.
Catch you next episode.
In Episode 8, we see Jan (the younger brother) give an amethyst necklace to Taila because he wants a real chance to get to know him without using his abilities. Like, he wants to build something genuine through actual conversation instead of just reading his mind.
Suriya’s given these necklaces to two guys: his ex Yi and his current boyfriend Apo (Phopthorn). And here’s the thing, when Yi tried to give his necklace back after they broke up, Suriya told him to keep it.
So that parking garage scene? Pretty huge. When Suriya catches Ashin (who’s Apo’s half-brother, btw) wearing an amethyst necklace, Ashin’s like “oh yeah, a friend gave it to me.” But the camera work is basically screaming that this “friend” is Yi.
This points to Yi being behind the hit-and-run on Apo.
But here’s where it gets interesting. Ashin’s role could go either way:
He might be actively working with Yi, like fully in on the plan to hurt Apo.
OR he could just be getting played by Yi, set up to look like the bad guy while Yi’s actually pulling all the strings.
Either way, that amethyst necklace is the smoking gun. Yi still has his original one from Suriya, so if he gave one to Ashin, there’s definitely something deeper going on between them beyond just being casual friends.
Okay so I’ve been OBSESSED with Interminable after watching the first three episodes and I need to talk about how this show is building its supernatural world because there’s an actual system here. Like this isn’t just random ghost stuff for drama, once you start seeing the patterns everything clicks.
The rules (as far as I can tell)
So the basic setup is that souls reincarnate, right? But if you die with really intense unresolved emotions, you can get stuck. The show literally says Khun Yai’s “unfulfilled love and tragic death hindered his soul from being reborn” which is just… wow okay we’re going there.
And it’s not just about individual karma. People who have powerful connections (love, jealousy, whatever) keep getting pulled back together in future lives. Kaewta is reincarnated and “accidentally inherited” the house where Yai’s been waiting. Sophie’s clearly tangled up in this too, probably Saen and his son.
Ghosts are tied to specific places. Yai literally cannot leave the White House. It’s his territory but also his prison which is such a painful dynamic when you think about it.
Here’s where it gets interesting though. Not everyone can see ghosts, and even people who can see them don’t see them all equally. Kaewta can detect Nanny Yam (the household ghost) way before he can properly see Yai. The real turning point is after he does this merit-making ceremony at the house and suddenly he can see Yai clearly AND touch him. So like, merit-making actually does something in this universe, it’s not just symbolic.
Also past life memories don’t just download into your brain. Instead you get dreams, déjà vu, random emotional reactions that feel way too intense for the situation. You’re basically living with feelings you don’t have context for yet.
The characters (buckle up)
Yai is the classic tragic ghost. Died in love, that love never resolved, now he’s chained to the house and can’t move on. Even Kaewta has to go through this whole progression before he can fully see him. The merit-making is what finally bridges the gap between them.
Kaewta is Yai’s past-life lover reincarnated. After he moves into the White House he becomes spirit-sensitive. His connection to Yai comes through as dreams and this pull he can’t explain and when he dances there’s like… echoes of something older. He’s genuinely confused about what’s happening to him which makes it feel real.
Sophie doesn’t seem to have conscious memory of the past but wow does she have FEELINGS. Intense irrational reactions especially around Yai and Kaewta. She’s clearly carrying jealousy from a past life and objects like this hairpin trigger things in her even when she doesn’t get actual memories back. She’s just out here living her karma without understanding why she feels this way.
Saen okay THIS is where my brain breaks a little. He’s connected to the past, he moves freely (not place-bound like Yai), everyone can see him. So is he a ghost? Is he reincarnated with his memories intact? No one’s quite sure. What’s clear is he understands way more about what’s happening than Kaewta does.
Sin is Saen’s son and wait here’s the wild part. Saen looks visibly younger than Sin. Let that sink in. Sin has to be careful about calling him “dad” in front of people because yeah, your supposed father looking younger than you is going to raise questions. Characters like Kaewta and Sin’s mom could understandably be weirded out by the whole situation. Sin talks to Nanny Yam about past lives so he’s clearly karmically connected to all this. The whole father-son thing is definitely not a normal present-life relationship, there’s past-life stuff tangled up in there that the show hasn’t fully explained yet.
Nanny Yam is the gentle household ghost. She’s way easier for Kaewta to perceive than Yai is, she’s not consumed by rage or unresolved passion. She’s just kind of… there, peacefully. Which is a nice contrast to Yai’s situation honestly.
Why I’m losing my mind over this
The White House is basically where all these karmic threads converge. Yai trapped there, Kaewta being pulled back, Sophie showing up with her unexplained obsessions, Saen and Sin with their weird age-reversed complicated dynamic.
The core tragedy is that Yai’s been waiting all this time. Trapped by love that was so strong it wouldn’t let him move on even in death. And now his lover is RIGHT THERE, reincarnated, standing in front of him. But actually being together across the barrier between life and death? That’s the whole challenge.
I’m three episodes in and completely hooked, this show is doing something really interesting with its mythology and I can’t wait to see where it goes.
Just watched the first episode and I’m genuinely hooked. The setup is really well done - you immediately feel Kanō’s isolation and exhaustion in the sales department, and the complicated feelings he has toward Ōkami (admiration mixed with resentment from whatever happened between them in the past). Daigo Kotarō plays that quiet loneliness really well.
The contrast when he enters the “ideal world” hits hard. Suddenly colleagues are warm, and Ōkami is looking at him with this heated, almost lover-like intimacy. It’s such an effective way to show us what Kanō’s been denying himself.
I love that the mirror’s inscription promises he’ll “one day truly reach that form” - it suggests this isn’t just escapism but actual growth. The question is whether the fantasy will help him or trap him.
The emotional stakes are clear: Kanō needs to learn his own worth and decide between comfortable fantasy and the messier work of building something real. Really solid start, I’m invested.
But the more I’ve sat with it, the more I don’t think the show is trying to humiliate Ice or paint survivors as naïve or self-destructive. The intention feels different. Deeper, maybe.
What we’re seeing is a kid who has been failed at every single turn. Ice did everything survivors are supposed to do. He reported it. He tried to distance himself. He tried to rebuild. And the system still crushed him. The school protected Mint. Adults defended Mint. Mint’s reputation became this impenetrable shield. Ice was literally punished for his own assault.
When you’ve been backed into a corner like that — isolated, unheard, blamed — the choices you make aren’t always rational. They come from fear, shame, exhaustion. From the lonely desperation of fighting a battle nobody is willing to help you fight.
So the scene isn’t saying “victims make bad decisions.” It’s saying victims should never be forced to confront their abuser alone in the first place.
And that’s what the moment exposes. Mint sees through the setup instantly, twists it, uses new threats to tighten his control. It’s not Ice being foolish — it’s Mint being exactly what he is: a practiced, protected predator who knows how to warp every angle. The power imbalance is supposed to feel sickening. If your stomach dropped watching it, the scene did its job.
Narratively, this becomes Ice’s breaking point. When he collapses into Saint’s arms in that hotel lobby, it isn’t melodrama — it’s the first time he stops pretending he can survive this alone. That moment only lands because we’ve watched him carry everything in silence for so long. It’s messy and painful and very human. It’s the beginning of him letting someone else help hold the weight.
Look, I get why some viewers felt the scene went too far. You can be upset about the execution and still see what the writers were going for. I do think both things can be true at once.
For me, though, the scene isn’t about blaming Ice. It’s about exposing the systems that abandoned him. The truth that no survivor should ever be left to face a predator alone.
I really hope the story gives Ice more agency moving forward. More choice. More moments where he actually wins. He deserves that. So do the viewers who saw their own scars in his.
Minato is out here playing emotional chess when the situation barely requires checkers. He is so terrified of getting hurt that he makes this bet to seduce Shizuma instead of just… talking to him. Sir. My guy. This is not the life hack you think it is. And honestly, who among us hasn’t built a fortress, labeled it “healthy boundaries,” then wondered why we are alone and spiraling on a Tuesday night.
Naturally the whole thing falls apart because when you choose mind games over honesty, everyone loses. It is giving situationship energy. It is giving modern dating app delusion. It is giving two people strategizing their way into heartbreak instead of just communicating like adults. Meanwhile you are still up at 2 AM wondering how you got here.
What I appreciate is that the episode refuses to let Minato wiggle out of this one. He breaks his own heart with these choices and has to sit in the consequences. The pain ends up doing the teaching. Very “feel it to heal it” energy, which we all hate but unfortunately remains correct.
The real question the episode asks is the one everyone avoids: how long are you going to keep playing defense before you realize the bigger risk is never letting anyone in at all.
Honestly, Episode 4 put the “therapy” in the title. Do the inner work. Retire the bets. Use your words. Radical, I know.