Through the glass balcony door, Daotok observed Arthit pacing back and forth, his phone pressed to his ear. His face was etched with frustration, his movements sharp and restless. The tension in the air was palpable as he seemed to be arguing with the person on the other end of the line.
Daotok couldn't make out the words from where he stood, but it was clear from the way Arthit was running a hand through his hair and shaking his head that the conversation was far from pleasant. Daotok felt an urge to speak up, to ask when they would be going out to get something to eat, but he hesitated.
Arthit was obviously preoccupied, and Daotok knew better than to interrupt when he was in a mood like this.
He stood there silently, feeling like an intruder, but not quite ready to leave.
His stomach growled quietly, a reminder that the bread in the kitchen was long gone, and he hadn't eaten since breakfast. If he didn't eat soon, a stomachache would follow.
Finally, Daotok decided it was better to face the discomfort of opening the door than to keep lingering in silence. With a soft sigh, he stepped outside, making his way toward Arthit.
His presence caught Arthit's attention, and the conversation on the phone faltered as he snapped his head toward Daotok. His face twisted in irritation, but as their eyes met, that expression shifted to surprise.
"How long have you been standing there?" Arthit demanded, his voice laced with annoyance.
"Just now," Daotok answered, his tone light, hoping to defuse the tension.
"Just now? Were you eavesdropping on my call?" Arthit's eyes narrowed, a scowl forming.
"No, I just wanted to ask when we're going out for food," Daotok explained, keeping his voice steady despite the weight of the question hanging in the air.
Arthit shot him a glare, his brows furrowed, before he sighed and returned his attention to the phone in his hand.
"We'll talk later," he muttered, abruptly hanging up. He turned to face Daotok again, the irritation still clear in his eyes. "What did you hear?"
"Nothing," Daotok replied quickly, though he could feel the lie hanging in the air between them.
"Don't lie."
"I'm serious," Daotok insisted, trying to keep his voice even.
Arthit ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Ugh, damn it," he sighed, sounding more defeated than angry now. "What do you want?"
"Food," Daotok answered simply, his stomach growling in protest.
"Fine. Go wait downstairs," Arthit said, waving him off dismissively.
Daotok made his way to the sofa downstairs and sat down, waiting in silence. Ten minutes passed before Arthit finally came down, still clearly irritated.
They left the house in silence, the tension thick between them, and Daotok couldn't help but wonder if Arthit's mood had anything to do with the argument he'd overheard.
It seemed he was arguing with the person on the other end. Daotok thought it might be his girlfriend because he heard a name being called. If they were really fighting, he hoped it wouldn't make him overthink things too much.
The drive was quiet, with no music playing—just the oppressive silence of the car. Daotok tried not to feel too uncomfortable, though he couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.
They arrived at a restaurant, and Daotok followed Arthit inside. After they ordered, they sat at a table by the glass door. Daotok absently stared outside, the view helping to distract him from the lingering tension in the air.
But then he felt it—his senses prickled, the feeling of being watched. Looking up, he met Arthit's intense gaze.
"What?" Daotok asked, brow furrowing as he met the weight of Arthit's stare. He wasn't sure if Arthit was scrutinizing him or just annoyed.
"You." Arthit's voice was low, laced with a touch of frustration.
"What?"
"Why?"
"Why what?"
Arthit didn't answer, only sighed again, clearly annoyed. He turned away momentarily, but Daotok could still feel the heat of his gaze return, staring at him with a mix of curiosity and irritation.
Daotok sighed inwardly. What was going on with him? Whatever.
He pulled out his phone and plugged in his headphones, hoping to distract himself. As he watched a drum cover video, the food arrived. He took out his headphones, focusing on the meal in front of him.
His mind wandered, and that's when he remembered—it was Tuesday.
He ate the vegetables on his plate, leaving the meat untouched. It was a tradition he'd kept ever since his grandmother's surgery—a promise he made that if the surgery went well, he would eat vegetarian on Tuesdays in her honor. His grandmother had been born on a Tuesday, and it had become something of a ritual for him.
Arthit's voice broke the silence. "You're not eating the meat?"
Daotok shook his head. "No."
"Eat it. Make it worth the money I paid," Arthit said, the tone a mix of annoyance and indifference.
"Do you want it?" Daotok asked, glancing down at the pile of vegetables left on Arthit's plate.
"Meat for vegetables?" Arthit asked, his voice skeptical.
"I'm eating vegetarian today," Daotok explained.
"Today? Why today?" Arthit raised an eyebrow, clearly confused.
"I do it every Tuesday," Daotok explained, shrugging. "So, do you want to trade?"
"Yeah, sure." Arthit scooped some vegetables onto Daotok's plate and grabbed the meat from his. "Is this vegetable stuff really good?"
"Yes, It's good."
"I don't like it."
"You don't eat veggies?"
Arthit said, his tone light as he smirked.
"I can, but I'd rather not if I had a choice."
Arthit rolled his eyes. "This worked out, huh?"
"What?"
"You're officially my personal veggie eater from now on," Arthit said with a teasing grin.
Daotok stayed silent, choosing not to argue. Arthit's mood had shifted, and for a moment, it seemed like the tension from earlier had dissipated.
Still, Daotok couldn't help but wonder what was really going on in Arthit's head.
He finished his vegetables, the only thing he could stomach today, and glanced up. Once again, Arthit was staring at him, though this time, there was no anger or scrutiny in his gaze. Daotok frowned, unsure of what to make of it.
"Are you upset about something?" Daotok asked, his voice tentative.
Arthit let out a small laugh, though it wasn't particularly warm. "What a bold question."
"I'm just asking directly since you're staring," Daotok replied, raising an eyebrow.
"I'm just looking," Arthit said, nonchalantly. "You're sitting right across from me. What else am I supposed to look at?"
Daotok was silent, unsure of how to respond to that.
Arthit continued, "You're a good resting point for my eyes, I guess."
Daotok froze, unsure whether to laugh or be taken aback by the unexpected admission. But when he looked up, he saw the shock in Arthit's eyes, as though he couldn't believe he had just said that.
"What do you mean by that?" Daotok asked, his voice soft with curiosity.
Arthit didn't answer, instead frowning deeply and looking away, as if lost in his own thoughts. Daotok let the silence stretch between them for several minutes, unsure of how to break it.
"Honestly?" Arthit finally muttered, his voice heavy with frustration. "I don't know."
Daotok nodded, accepting that answer for now. If Arthit didn't understand what he meant, then it wasn't worth pressing further.
As the meal came to an end, Arthit called the waiter over to settle the bill, and they left the restaurant in silence.
The drive back was quiet, but this time, Daotok couldn't help but wonder what Arthit was really thinking.
☆☆☆☆☆
Arthit stood on the balcony, his cigarette the only source of light in the darkened night. Below, the steady beat of Daotok's drumming filled the silence of the practice room, a rhythm that somehow mirrored the chaos in his mind.
The earlier incident at the restaurant replayed in his thoughts over and over again, each time leaving him more frustrated.
Why had he said that? He didn't even fully understand it himself. "Pleasant to look at." Was that all it was? No, it was more than that.
But what did it really mean? The phrase felt like something pulled out of thin air, a wordless observation that he couldn't place.
It reminded him of gazing at something calming and beautiful, like the sea on a peaceful day— something naturally easy on the eyes. There was nothing jarring, nothing out of place. It felt serene, and that was exactly how Daotok made him feel, as if everything in the world had aligned in that one perfect moment.
The more he thought about it, the more he found himself staring at Daotok in the restaurant. It wasn't strange. Not at all. When something is pleasant to look at, you want to keep looking. He had done nothing wrong, right? And Daotok hadn't complained, at least not that he'd heard.
But it was confusing. Just an hour ago, Arthit had been arguing with Tonfah. Denying any feelings, insisting that he didn't like Daotok. No way.
Someone like him—a person as emotionally distant and unbothered as Arthit—liking someone like Daotok? Impossible. But Tonfah didn't push him on it.
His tone had been more resigned than anything, and he'd said they'd talk when they were back in Thailand. Arthit hated that they had to.
He hated how complicated everything was becoming. Love, emotions, relationships—none of it had ever been a part of his world.
It had always felt like a distant, uninteresting concept. It was something people searched for, something that bothered him because he never cared.
But now, here he was, facing something he didn't know how to handle. He didn't understand these feelings. All he knew was that they would bring chaos into his life, and he wasn't sure if he was ready for it.
The thought of losing Daotok was terrifying. The idea of losing something so precious after finally allowing himself to get close to it—it was too much. What if I lost him? What if I lose it all? Arthit shuddered at the thought. He'd rather not cross that line at all.
Tonfah's voice echoed in his head, reminding him: "If you let this one go, you won't find anyone like him again."
It was true. Someone like Daotok was rare. But Arthit wasn't sure it mattered. What would it be like to have him and then lose him? Maybe it would be better to never have him at all.
Damn it. Arthit hated himself for thinking that way. A voice behind him broke through his spiraling thoughts.
"Hey."
He turned to see Daotok, his presence almost like a shadow in the doorway.
"What?" he asked, barely looking at him.
"I wanted to ask you something about the drums. Could you help me out?"
Arthit took another drag from his cigarette, his gaze never leaving the night sky. "Not now," he said flatly, not willing to engage.
"Okay," Daotok said, his tone neutral, before the door clicked softly as he left.
Arthit let out a deep sigh, the weight of everything crashing down on him.
Maybe if he distanced himself from Daotok, he could stop these feelings from taking over. No more confusion, no more overthinking, no risk of getting hurt. But part of him already knew that wasn't the solution.
He couldn't push Daotok away, no matter how hard he tried.
The next morning, things felt awkward, as they usually did. The two barely spoke unless Arthit initiated the conversation. They grabbed a quick meal at the airport before heading back to Thailand, the silence between them stretching uncomfortably.
As Arthit scrolled through his music playlist, he remembered Daotok had sent him his own playlist not long ago. He decided to listen to one of the songs, and to his surprise, he found himself enjoying it just as much as before.
The plane ride felt long, the hum of the engines nothing compared to the thoughts that kept circling in Arthit's mind. Beside him, Daotok was deeply engrossed in a horror novel he had just bought.
The sight of him reading was oddly captivating, and for the first time, Arthit found himself curious about novels.
"Hey," he called out after a while, a slight hesitation in his voice. "Take the book."
Daotok raised an eyebrow in mild confusion but took the book, placing it on his lap. Arthit glanced at him, but the thought of reading himself seemed unappealing. Instead, he returned to his playlist, his mind drifting.
As time passed, Arthit noticed that Daotok had dozed off, still clutching the book in his hands. A strange feeling of tenderness washed over him as he watched him. Was the book so captivating that it had lulled him to sleep?
For a moment, Arthit considered taking the book from Daotok, but decided against it. The softness of the moment, the quiet hum of the plane, lulled him into sleep as well.
When he woke up, he was startled to find Daotok leaning against him, his warmth radiating against Arthit's side. It felt...different, having him so close. The scent of him lingered in the air, faint but undeniably present—he smelled nice. Not cologne, but something natural. His shampoo, maybe.
Arthit stiffened, a strange unease settling in his chest. He pushed Daotok away gently, standing up to head to the bathroom to wash his face, trying to shake off the unexpected warmth of the moment.
The faint scent of him still lingered, and Arthit found himself cursing under his breath. What was happening to him? Why was he thinking this way?
When he returned, Daotok was awake again, back to reading the same book. Arthit settled into his seat, the silence now feeling heavier. After a while, Daotok tapped him on the arm.
"What?" Arthit asked, trying to keep his tone neutral.
"This book is pretty good," Daotok said, almost casually.
Arthit didn't look up from his phone. "Not interested."
It was strange, how indifferent he was acting. He'd gone out of his way to get the book for Daotok, and yet now he didn't care to engage. But why should he care? He wasn't interested in the book anymore.
He let the silence stretch between them, his thoughts turning inward once more.
Back in Thailand, Arthit led Daotok to the car. He could see that Daotok was tired, but he didn't say anything. They drove in silence, and once they arrived at their respective rooms, Arthit shut the door behind him and sighed.
It didn't matter that Daotok's room was next to his. It didn't change anything. They were just neighbors, that's all.
But a knock at the door broke that sense of calm. When Arthit opened it, he found Min standing there, looking tired.
"Thit, what's wrong with you?" Min asked, her voice tinged with concern.
"Nothing," he snapped, trying to avoid the questions.
Min raised an eyebrow. "You look super annoyed. Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," he muttered, closing the door behind him, only to have Min block it with her arm.
"Come on, drink with me," she pleaded, clearly wanting to talk but too exhausted to express it. "I've been overthinking everything for days, and I need you to listen."
Arthit sighed, defeated. "Fine. Let me shower first. What time?"
"Whenever you're ready. I'll invite Dao too," Min added, reaching for the door to the unit next door.
"No need," Arthit said sharply, slapping her hand away. "Don't invite him."
Min raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"
"Just don't," Arthit repeated, his frustration bubbling up again.
Min sighed and left, but not without giving him one last look.
After a quick shower, Arthit got a call from North. Of course. Another interruption.
"Hey," he answered, annoyed.
North's voice came through the phone, casual as always. "You're back from San Francisco, right?"
"Yeah," Arthit replied, already not in the mood.
"Wanna play a game?"
"I'm about to go drink," Arthit grumbled.
North didn't seem to care. "With who?"
"Min."
"Oh, can I join?" North asked excitedly.
Arthit paused, then relented. "Fine, but get Joe to agree first."
When North returned confirming that Johan was in, Arthit sighed and confirmed the location. He couldn't shake the tension from his shoulders.
But then North added, "Let's invite Daotok too. He's right next door."
Arthit froze. "No. Don't."
"Why not?"
"I said no," Arthit snapped, his patience running thin.
"Did you two fight?" North pressed.
"No," Arthit lied, though the truth was far more complicated.
"Why can't he come? He won't be a burden to you. If he gets drunk, I can carry him back myself," North's voice echoed in his ear, persistent and relentless.
Arthit's hand tightened around the phone, a sharp sigh escaping his lips.
"Ugh, I said no, North! Why is that so hard to understand?"
North didn't back down. "You must hate my friend or something. What did he ever do to you?"
It was that relentless tone that made Arthit bite his lip in frustration, annoyed by the way North was playing the emotional card. "Daotok's quiet and nice. He even helped you at the cemetery. Do you really hate my friend?"
Arthit felt a stab of irritation at the mention of Daotok, or "Shorty" as he'd come to call him in his mind. He wasn't sure why, but the sight of that boy...
so oddly out of place in his world, with his calm demeanor and disarming kindness, had been nagging at him.
"Man, you're so ungrateful. You're not as nice as you think you are," North continued, unfazed.
"Why am I the one getting scolded now?" Arthit muttered aloud, feeling a growing annoyance that only made him more irritable.
"Just don't mess with my friend, alright?"
"Seriously, what's your problem? I'm not messing with anyone!" Arthit snapped back, his patience thin.
"Then why can't he come?" North pressed again, oblivious to how much his words were grating on Arthit.
"He's jet-lagged," Arthit muttered, the lie coming out smoothly even though a part of him knew he was being less than honest. He had no real reason to keep Daotok away other than the fact that the guy made him feel...
something. Something unspoken, something confusing. But he couldn't put that into words, not to North.
"Oh, that's all? Alright then. See you at the restaurant. Just send P'Joe the location on Line."
"Yeah, fine." Arthit ended the call with a huff, staring at the phone in his hand for a moment before tossing it onto the couch. He tried to shake off the feeling that was creeping into his chest.
Lying about Daotok being jet-lagged felt like the easiest way out, but deep down, he couldn't shake the feeling that maybe there was more to it.
Daotok had seemed tired at the airport, sure, but there was something about his eyes —something too fragile, too lost—that made Arthit wonder if the guy was really okay.
But that was none of his business. His life was already messy enough. Time to go drink and try to forget.
When Johan finally arrived, Arthit didn't even look up at first, his focus broken only when Johan plopped down beside him on the couch.
"What's wrong with you?" Johan's voice pulled him back to the present, his eyes scanning Arthit's irritated expression.
"Nothing," Arthit muttered, but the tension in his shoulders gave him away.
Johan raised an eyebrow, leaning back. "You look pissed as hell."
Arthit rolled his eyes. It wasn't like Johan didn't know how to push his buttons. Still, Johan's presence was oddly comforting in this disorienting moment.
Min had already been here, downing drink after drink. Something was off with her, but she refused to talk about it, which was fine—Arthit didn't need to be involved in anyone else's drama. He had enough of his own.
But as he nursed his drink, his mind kept wandering back to Daotok. That damn kid— so out of place, so different from the rest of them. The more he thought about it, the more it bothered him.
He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. The alcohol wasn't helping.
In fact, it was only making everything more complicated. As the night wore on, he found himself standing up, heading to the smoking area. He needed a break, some space to breathe.
Johan followed shortly after, taking a place beside him, leaning against the railing, a cigarette dangling from his fingers.
Arthit didn't say a word as he handed Johan his lighter, both of them enveloped in the silence of the night.
The city lights sparkled below, but it felt hollow.
"I heard you were drinking in San Francisco too," Johan commented after a while, his voice low, eyes focused on the skyline.
"I've had enough, but I can keep going," Arthit replied, trying to keep the edge from his tone, but it didn't work. The words sounded hollow even to him.
Johan chuckled softly. "You're going to drink yourself to death."
"I know. I'm a doctor. I plan to stop after tonight." Arthit let out a bitter laugh.
"Why do I get the feeling tonight won't be enough for you?" Johan prodded, his gaze unwavering as he exhaled a cloud of smoke.
Arthit paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. "What do you mean?"
"You don't look okay," Johan said simply, his voice surprisingly gentle.
"I was fine before we came back." Arthit turned his gaze to the ground, avoiding Johan's penetrating stare.
"What do you mean?" Johan pressed.
"Nothing," Arthit muttered, feeling himself backpedaling. The alcohol was making his thoughts slip, making him open up more than he should.
He'd been fine before returning from the trip, sure. But now, everything felt wrong. Daotok's face lingered in his mind, his quiet demeanor, his soft presence. Arthit couldn't stop thinking about him, and it was driving him crazy.
"Joe." His voice was tight now.
"Yeah?"
"Have you ever felt this way?" Arthit asked, the question hanging in the air between them.
"What way?" Johan's eyebrow arched in curiosity.
"Trying to get something out of your head, but you just can't."
Johan gave him a knowing look, a slight smirk forming on his lips. "Yeah, I've felt that."
"When?"
"When I tried to move on from North." Johan's voice softened slightly.
Arthit felt a pang of recognition, but he wasn't sure he wanted to hear the rest. "So, what did you do?"
"There wasn't much I could do. I couldn't move on," Johan replied quietly, his eyes distant.
Arthit swallowed, trying to digest the weight of Johan's words. "How long did it take?"
"Three years," Johan muttered, the words heavy in the air.
"Three years," Arthit repeated, a low sigh escaping his lips as he tried to wrap his mind around it. "You didn't confess because he already had a girlfriend, right?"
"Right." Johan flicked his cigarette away, the ember glowing briefly before it died out in the dark.
Arthit's head throbbed as he sat on the edge of the curb, cigarette dangling from his fingers, his thoughts a tangled mess. The night air was thick with the smell of smoke and his rising frustration. Johan was beside him, exhaling a cloud of smoke, his eyes scanning the streets like he had nowhere else to be.
"Someday, you'll lose him," Arthit said, the words heavy with unspoken meaning. "Can you handle that when it happens?"
Johan stared at the glowing end of his cigarette. "No. I won't be able to handle it," he answered, voice low, raw. "But if I didn't have North, I'd probably be in worse shape. Hurt even more."
"Why?" Arthit's voice broke the silence, the tone of his words laden with curiosity. "Wouldn't it be better to never had him in the first place?"
Johan's eyes narrowed slightly, his fingers clenching around the cigarette.
He flicked it away, the ember disappearing into the darkness. "Is that what you think?" he asked, his voice low, tinged with frustration. He exhaled slowly, his gaze unfocused. "Ask yourself that question honestly."
Arthit raised an eyebrow, the faintest smile curling at his lips. "Why should I?"
A brief silence passed before Johan chuckled, a sound filled with amusement. "Damn," he murmured, his eyes flicking over to Arthit with an almost knowing look. "It finally happened to you, huh?"
Arthit's expression twisted into something darker, frustration and something else—something he wasn't ready to face—clouding his mind. "Yeah. It did. And it's so messed up."
Johan took another drag from his cigarette, his face unreadable as he blew out the smoke. "Maybe it's not as messed up as you think."
Arthit scoffed, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. "It is. It feels that way now."
Johan's eyes sharpened, his voice quieter. "Why?"
Arthit swallowed, looking away. "Because I don't want to cross that line."
Johan stared at him, his expression unreadable. "You already have, Thit."
Arthit flinched at the use of his nickname, his chest tightening with a mixture of emotions he couldn't quite place. "What do you mean?"
"If you hadn't crossed it, you wouldn't be overthinking like this," Johan said with the calm confidence of someone who knew exactly what Arthit was feeling.
Arthit glanced at Johan, watching him as he stood casually, unaffected by the tension hanging in the air between them. "When you first liked North, did you feel this messed up?" he asked, trying to shift the focus.
Johan's lips twisted into a half-smile, and he shook his head. "No," he replied, "I only felt that way when I found out he had a girlfriend. It got worse when I realized there was nothing I could do."
"Really?" Arthit's voice was softer now, a hint of curiosity bleeding through the frustration.
"I never thought I'd hear you talk about love," Johan teased with a smirk, but there was a glimmer of something else in his eyes.
"Fah said the same thing," Arthit muttered, his face flushing slightly.
"Hill would probably be too stunned to speak. I can already imagine him saying, 'What's up with you guys and my boyfriend's friends?'"
"Don't worry. I'm not doing anything," Arthit reassured, his voice low, amused. "Don't tell Hill."
"Yeah, he'd probably stress out if he knew it was you," Johan grumbled, recalling the chaotic fallout when he had confessed to liking North. It was a disaster. "Maybe he'd help you instead."
"Help me sleep soundly, you mean?" Arthit said with a chuckle, but there was an edge of something more beneath his words. "Forget it. This is so complicated. You know? I can't handle these feelings."
Johan's face softened, his tone sincere now. "What kind of feelings?"
Arthit paused, unsure how to put the whirlwind in his chest into words. "I don't know. I've never felt this way about anyone before."
Johan watched him, his expression shifting into something more understanding. "It's throwing you off, huh?"
"Yeah," Arthit admitted, his voice quieter.
"I get why you're scared," Johan said, his voice unexpectedly gentle. "At first, I thought moving on would make everything easier too. When I decided to try, I was in the same spot as you are now."
"Same as me?" Arthit asked, his brow furrowing.
"Drunk and rambling." Johan shrugged, a small smirk tugging at his lips.
"Damn... I don't want to end up like you," Arthit muttered, his lips curling in frustration.
"You might not," Johan replied casually, taking another drag from his cigarette. "If you can move on, that is."
"I probably can," Arthit said, though the words felt hollow. Even now, as he tried to convince himself, his mind wouldn't let go of the thought of him— the "shorty" that had somehow found a place in his mind. "I have to. It's just him, right? How hard can it be?"
Johan smirked. "Right. But if there comes a day when you realize you can't back off, make your move before it's too late."
Arthit's gaze hardened, and he scowled.
"Because if someone like you could fall for him, others definitely could too."
"No way. That shorty doesn't have anything special," Arthit shot back quickly, his voice defensive, as if trying to convince himself more than Johan.
"You sound like you don't want anyone else to notice him," Johan teased, raising an eyebrow.
"Because no one has yet," Arthit muttered, his jaw tightening. "I'll back off before he finds someone. If that happens, I probably won't even have the right to look at him anymore."
Johan's eyes glinted with curiosity.
"He's my place to rest my eyes." Arthit froze. His heart stuttered in his chest, and his lips parted. He hadn't meant to say that.
"Yours?" Johan prodded.
"Yeah. Just mine," Arthit muttered, voice low, almost embarrassed. "He's just... easy to look at, okay? No one else would feel the same way."
"Are you sure about that?" Johan's voice was laced with amusement.
"What's the point of him being easy on your eyes when someone else has the exclusive right to look at him?"
Arthit's stomach churned. The thought of someone else being close to him, touching him, was unbearable. "Geez, Joe, thanks for the inspirational speech," he snapped, feeling the heat of frustration creep up his neck.
"Why's it such a big deal? I find looking at him comforting. Why does some other jerk have to come along and take that away from me? I saw him first."
Johan's eyes were sharp now. "Getting possessive?"
Arthit froze again, his breath catching. "Possessive about what?" he muttered, trying to downplay it, but Johan wasn't letting him off the hook that easily.
"So, if it's about him, you're not possessive? Are you planning to share him with others?"
"Why would anyone even want to look at him? There's nothing special about him," Arthit replied, his voice sounding too defensive, even to his own ears.
Johan sighed, exasperated. "You'd better stop looking before he belongs to someone else. Don't start arguing with me about him being your 'resting point' or whatever. I'm telling you, you won't have the right anymore."
Arthit's heart lurched, and he could feel his control slipping. "Fine, fine. By then, I probably won't even want to look at him anymore," he muttered, trying to brush it off.
Johan didn't reply immediately, but his next words cut through the air.
"Good. Hurry up and decide. Because I heard from North that he gave that guy's Line ID to a bunch of his engineering friends."
Arthit's heart skipped a beat. "What?" His voice was tight. "North's engineering friends? What the hell is your boyfriend doing?"
"He's just introducing friends," Johan said with a shrug. "What's the problem?"
"No problem at all," Arthit said, but his mind was spinning. The thought of anyone else getting close to him, especially those engineering guys, made his blood run cold.
"Are North's friends even good enough?" he muttered, more to himself than to Johan.
"They're better than you, literally everyone in the world is," Johan retorted, a smirk playing on his lips.
"Bastard," Arthit growled.
Johan turned to walk back inside. "I'm heading back."
Arthit stayed behind for a moment, finishing his cigarette, his mind a whirlwind of confusion, jealousy, and self-doubt.
What the hell was going on? Why did this matter so much? But even as he tried to rationalize it, one thought kept coming back to him: he couldn't let anyone else have him. Not now, not ever.
☆☆☆☆☆
Arthit sat heavily, his mind buzzing with alcohol and confusion, the night slipping out of his control.
He tried to focus on the conversation unfolding around him, but it felt like his thoughts were slipping away, tangled in the fog of drunkenness.
"North," he slurred, his tone sharp despite the haze. "Did you give 'Alien's Line ID to your friends'?"
"Alien?" North sounded genuinely confused.
"Shorty," Arthit growled, his patience thinning. "The guy next door to me."
North paused. "Oh, him? Yeah, I gave his Line ID to some of my friends. Why?"
Arthit's grip tightened around his glass, his fingers unsteady. "Why'd you do that? Your friends aren't that great."
"What? What's wrong with my friends?" North laughed. "And since when do you care?"
"They're engineers," Arthit shot back, the words coming out too fast.
"And?" North quirked an eyebrow, looking genuinely puzzled.
"They've got nothing to offer except their stupid gear," Arthit snapped, his voice rising slightly with the frustration he barely understood himself.
North stared at him, incredulous. "I'm an engineer, too, you know." He crossed his arms, his annoyance evident. "What's your problem? Are you his guardian or something?"
"I'm just looking out for him," Arthit said through gritted teeth. "Your friends aren't right for him."
"Excuse me?" North's voice rose, turning defensive. "And why is that your business? Do you like him or something?"
Arthit froze. The question hung in the air, his heart pounding unexpectedly.
He wanted to deny it, to brush it off, but the words got stuck in his throat.
"Hell no!" he snapped finally, his voice sharp, the lie coming too easily.
"Who would like him?"
North's expression shifted from confusion to a mischievous smirk. Johan, standing off to the side, had been quiet until now, but even he couldn't resist the opportunity to tease.
"Wait... is this for real?" North asked, eyes wide with disbelief.
"No, it's not!" Arthit practically shouted, the frustration bubbling over. He didn't even realize how loud he had gotten until Johan let out a low chuckle beside him.
Damn alcohol, he thought bitterly. Always slipping past his defenses.
North, ever the oblivious one, was still catching up. "Why him? Why does it have to be my friend?" he asked, voice tinged with genuine curiosity.
Arthit sighed heavily, the weight of his emotions sinking in. "I don't know. Damn it." He cursed softly, realizing how much his words were betraying him.
Johan stepped in, his tone more grounded than either of them. "He's trying to move on," he explained, giving North a sidelong glance.
"Why?" North asked, still not understanding the depth of the situation. "I mean... I guess moving on is the right choice, but the chances of success are pretty slim."
"Is it really that bad?" Arthit asked, genuinely seeking an answer, though he wasn't sure he wanted to hear it.
"Yeah," North confirmed. "All my friends who tried texting him got blocked."
Arthit let out a soft, disbelieving laugh. "Seriously?"
"You seem a little happy about that," North said, his tone suspicious.
"I'm not," Arthit muttered, but the words didn't convince anyone.
"So, are you really going to move on?" North's voice was quieter now, a trace of concern seeping through his usual bravado.
"Yeah," Arthit said, though there was doubt in his voice.
"Is he your first love or something?" North asked, the question almost too blunt.
"Yeah," Arthit replied again, a weight settling in his chest. North's pout deepened in sympathy.
"It's a shame," North mused, "If it were anyone else, I'd help you all the way. But I want my friend to meet someone good too."
"Damn you," Arthit muttered under his breath, but there was no heat behind the words. North always had a way of pulling the truth out of him.
"Just kidding." North grinned. "But since you're planning to move on, I'll root for you."
"Sure, thanks," Arthit muttered, lifting his glass in a half-hearted toast.
"Let's toast!" North raised his glass, full of forced cheer. "To forgetting 'Daotok!'"
Arthit clinked his glass with North's and drank the bitter liquid. One drink became many, and soon, his vision blurred, his legs unsteady.
It wasn't long before Min had already been ushered away by a friend, leaving Arthit to stumble through the rest of the night with Johan's help.
"Why the hell would you drive here if you're going to get drunk like a dog?" Johan's voice was sharp, though it was hard for Arthit to focus on the words.
He didn't even remember how he'd gotten here, but it didn't matter now.
"I didn't think I'd drink this much..." Arthit muttered, his words slurring.
"Leave the car at the restaurant for now," Johan said with a sigh.
"Thanks a lot, Johan..." Arthit mumbled, the night spinning around him as Johan helped him into the car.
The next thing Arthit knew, he was being shaken awake, the world around him spinning in disorienting circles. His vision blurred, he tried to sit up but found it too difficult to balance.
A figure was there, steadying him. It was Johan, guiding him toward his room, with North leading the way ahead of them.
"This one, I think," North's voice drifted back to him, as he stopped outside a door. "Damn, just passing by 'Daotok's room gives me goosebumps."
Arthit couldn't even respond, his head too fogged to care about North's words. North knocked, and the door opened to reveal the last person Arthit wanted to see.
"What's going on this late?" Daotok asked, his gaze lingering on Arthit for a moment before he seemed to recognize the situation.
"Can we bother you for a bit? Thit lost his keycard again," North explained, sounding exasperated.
Daotok hesitated, but after a moment, he sighed. "Alright, fine." Arthit couldn't help but feel a slight rush of relief, though it was clouded by the lingering unease he couldn't shake.
Johan dragged him inside, his movements blunt and unfeeling. "Where should I put him?" he asked.
Arthit groaned, too disoriented to answer right away. "Uh... if possible... on the floor, please," he muttered, trying to hold on to a sliver of pride.
"Can't we just use the bed?" Johan grumbled, but after a moment, he shrugged and tossed Arthit onto the floor with little care.
The sound of the door closing behind them echoed in the room as Johan and North disappeared, leaving Arthit in the uncomfortable silence.
His head pounded, and thirst gnawed at him.
"You," he croaked.
"What?" Daotok asked, his voice cold but steady.
"Water," Arthit whispered. After a moment, Daotok brought him a glass and set it down, watching silently as Arthit struggled to sit up. He took a sip, the cool water helping slightly, but his eyes were still unfocused.
"You," Arthit said again, the words slipping out before he could stop them.
"What?" Daotok repeated, though his patience was wearing thin.
"Engineering guys... all they've got going for them is their stupid gear badges. Remember that. If you are going to choose someone, pick a doctor. Trust me."
The room fell into an awkward silence, the only sound Arthit's shallow breaths, as his mind drifted further away into the haze of alcohol and exhaustion.