Chapter 30: Something to Tell
North's mouth hung open in sheer disbelief. His usual smug expression was gone, replaced by genuine shock. He blinked, staring at Daotok as if trying to process what he'd just heard. "Wow. Damn it. Why didn't I record that?" North muttered, frantically reaching for his phone. "Say it again. I'm going to sell this to P'Thit."
Daotok scoffed, shaking his head. "No need."
"Come on, you can't just drop a line like that and leave it hanging! I wish he could've heard it himself. He nearly stripped just because you called him sweet. If he heard this, he'd probably show up with a wedding procession."
A small smile tugged at Daotok's lips, but he didn't take the bait. Instead, he exhaled softly, his gaze lowering. "I'll tell him myself... when the time is right."
The words felt heavier than he expected, but they were true. What he'd said earlier had come straight from the depths of his heart. Before meeting Arthit, life had been nothing but monotony. Indifference had ruled him for years, numbing his emotions until he'd almost forgotten what it felt like to care. But Arthit... Arthit had shattered that illusion, made him feel again. The way his heart pounded, the way his stomach twisted in knots—he hadn't felt this way in a long time. "Tell me what?"
Both Daotok and North turned sharply toward the door. There, standing in the doorway, was Arthit, dressed in a simple t-shirt with his white coat draped over his shoulders. His face was lined with exhaustion, the weight of a grueling day evident in the way his shoulders sagged slightly. Yet, even in his tired state, he still managed to look effortlessly commanding.
"Tell him now!" North hissed, nudging Daotok.
Arthit's sharp gaze flickered between them, suspicion laced in his tone. "Tell me what? What are you two talking about?"
North quickly vacated the chair beside Daotok, flopping onto the bed with an exaggerated sigh. Taking his place, Arthit sat down next to Daotok, close enough that their shoulders brushed. The contact sent a familiar warmth through Daotok's body, but he kept his expression neutral. "Not yet," Daotok said firmly. "When the time's right, I'll tell you."
Arthit held his gaze for a moment before nodding. He was too tired to press further. Instead, his eyes flickered to the blister pack of pills resting on the table, assessing if Daotok had taken them.
"I did," Daotok said before Arthit could ask.
"You didn't flush them down the toilet, right?"
Daotok rolled his eyes. "I wouldn't do that."
Arthit studied him for a second longer before nodding in approval. "Feeling better?"
"Yeah, as long as I don't move too much, it doesn't hurt anymore."
"Good." Arthit reached out and ruffled his hair lightly.
From the bed, North's eyes widened comically. He pursed his lips so tightly it looked painful, barely restraining himself from bursting out laughing. The sight was so ridiculous that even Arthit noticed. "What's with that ridiculous face?" Arthit asked flatly.
North sat up, gesturing dramatically. "Hey, I'm just being a respectful witness to your sweet moment. What's with this soft side of yours? I'm genuinely curious."
"You're an idiot." Arthit sighed, then pointed to the bag of snacks beside Daotok. "What's this?"
"Cursed snacks," Daotok replied nonchalantly. "North brought them."
"Cursed?" Arthit raised an eyebrow.
"His friend stole them from a kuman thong at home and stuffed them in his bag. North got scared of being haunted, so he gave them to me."
Arthit turned his unimpressed stare to North. "So you're making him get haunted instead?"
"Hey, listen to me! My friend said his kuman thong is super possessive about its snacks. I was scared, okay? But the ghostbuster over here isn't. Plus, the snacks are good. Fair trade."
"Fair trade?" Arthit repeated incredulously before abruptly ripping open a packet. He stood, strode over to North, and without warning, shoved the snack into his mouth.
"Mmph! You bastard! I can't—mmgh... ugh!" North gagged before finally swallowing. He shot them both an absolutely betrayed look. "I ate the cursed snack..."
"Serves you right, dumbass,"
Daotok said flatly. "Now the ghost will haunt you instead."
North groaned dramatically, flopping onto the bed in exaggerated despair. Arthit, meanwhile, was smirking in satisfaction. As the night continued, the three of them fell into easy conversation. North, ever the instigator, leaned back and smirked. "You two look good together. Why don't you just become a couple already?"
Arthit's smirk deepened. "See? Even your friend thinks so."
Daotok narrowed his eyes. "I thought you said you weren't in a rush?"
"I'm not. I'm happy just being with you like this," Arthit admitted, voice quieter now. He then turned to North. "Why are you still here, anyway?"
"P'Johan isn't done yet. How's it going with P'Hill?"
"Better than it is with Joe."
The conversation veered off, jumping from teasing to future plans. The mention of traveling piqued Daotok's interest, but it was Arthit's casual admission that made him pause. "So, when you said you were starting to feel something for me," Arthit said, gaze steady, "was that true?"
Daotok hesitated for a split second before nodding. "Yeah."
"That makes me happy." A silence settled between them, comfortable yet charged with something unspoken. "Hey."
"Hmm?"
"You won't change, right?"
Arthit didn't hesitate. "Of course not. You don't have to fully trust me until you're ready. Just opening up a little is enough for me."
The weight in Daotok's chest lightened just a little.
"To be honest, I want to be your boyfriend so I can do more things with you." Daotok froze at the sudden confession.
Arthit laughed at his reaction, his deep voice sending an unfamiliar warmth coursing through Daotok's veins. "Shocked, huh? But I'm not lying. Wanting to be with someone you love isn't weird, right?"
"Mm..."
"Or do you not like that kind of thing?"
"No... it's not that."
"Good." Arthit leaned back with a satisfied smirk. "Because I just can't stop thinking about it. Especially with you."
Daotok groaned, rubbing his face. "Pervert."
Arthit only laughed. "Yeah, I admit it."
"Let's change the subject," he said, tilting his head.
Arthit raised a brow, as if amused by the sudden shift. "Alright, what do you want to talk about?"
Daotok gestured toward the empty space on the table. "Aren't you going to study? There's plenty of room here if you want to bring your books over."
Arthit let out an exasperated sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. "I've been on the ward all day. I'm exhausted. I'll study tomorrow... or some other day." His voice carried a hint of irritation, but there was also an underlying weariness in his tone. "Tomorrow's Saturday," Arthit added after a beat. He leaned back, stretching his long legs out beneath the table. "I'd take you out if your ankle weren't injured."
Daotok hummed in response, neither agreeing nor refusing the unspoken invitation.
"Next time," Arthit promised, glancing at him.
"When I have the time." Daotok studied him for a moment before asking, "Once you graduate, will you work as a doctor?"
"Absolutely not."
The immediate response caught Daotok off guard. He blinked. "Why not?"
Arthit exhaled sharply, leaning his elbow on the armrest. "I promised to become a doctor, and once I graduate, I will be one. But working as one?" He scoffed, shaking his head. "No way. I'd probably mess up and kill a patient."
Daotok frowned slightly but let him continue. "Even now, just stepping onto the ward takes all my patience. Sometimes the patients are so damn irritating I just want to yell, 'You asshole!'" Arthit threw his hands up in mock frustration before slumping back down. "But all I can do is smile and say, 'Yes, sir.'"
Daotok chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You've done well." Arthit's eyes flicked to him, skeptical. "I mean it," Daotok continued, his voice quieter this time. "Studying medicine isn't easy, and working as a doctor means carrying an enormous responsibility. I know it's not just about saving lives—it's about constantly holding back, enduring, and staying professional no matter what you're feeling." He paused, then added, "You're doing great."
Arthit stared at him, lips slightly parted, as if trying to gauge whether he was being teased or not. "You're making it sound like you're praising a dog," he finally muttered.
Daotok smirked. "Didn't you already admit you're like one?"
"Yeah, so why not pat me on the head too?"
Daotok raised a brow at the challenge but lifted his hand anyway, moving slowly. His fingers brushed through Arthit's dark hair as he gave him a gentle pat. "You've done really well today."
For a moment, Arthit didn't move. Then, his entire face softened, a slow, genuine smile spreading across his lips. "Thanks," he murmured, voice quieter than before. "That really makes me feel less tired." Daotok didn't say anything, but he could tell—just from the way Arthit leaned into the touch for half a second longer than necessary—that maybe, just maybe, his words meant more than either of them expected.
☆☆☆☆☆
Daotok slowly lowered his hand, turning his attention back to his computer screen. Arthit sat there quietly, observing his profile from the side. The sensation of that light pat lingered oddly, familiar yet strange. In his entire life, only his mother had ever been allowed to do something like that. Even Direk had never tried, and if he had, Arthit probably wouldn't have let him. Just imagining it gave him the chills. And yet, that warmth came flooding back. "Can I get another round?"
Daotok blinked, glancing at him in confusion. "Huh?"
"Another head pat. Can you do it again?"
Without hesitation, Daotok raised his hand and patted his head once more before pulling back. It really felt the same. Warm and comforting, just like when his mother used to wait for him to come home and pat his head. "You're too magical, you know?" Arthit murmured, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Were you my mom in a past life or something?"
Daotok frowned, caught off guard. "Huh?" "I don't know... It feels... similar. Weird."
"Oh, like when your mom used to pat your head?" Daotok guessed.
"Yeah. How do you know that?"
"Well... because it's love, isn't it?" Daotok's voice softened, his pale cheeks tinged pink, as if embarrassed by his own words.
Arthit smiled at that and, without thinking, reached out and pinched Daotok's cheek playfully. "Yeah, but it's a different kind of love. I definitely don't want you to be my mom."
"Alright."
Earlier, when he had asked Daotok to pat his head again, it had been half a joke, half sarcasm. He hadn't expected him to actually do it. If it had been anyone else, he might have punched them. Honestly, it felt strange at first— but not bad. Actually, it felt nice. That simple act, combined with Daotok's words, made all the exhaustion of the day melt away. It was almost unbelievable how much relief it brought him.
"What are you doing?" Arthit asked, shifting his gaze toward the screen.
"Browsing." Daotok was scrolling through a list of movies, seemingly lost in thought. "No work?"
"Taking a break. I also need paper and paints."
"Oh, for my mom's painting, right?"
"Yeah."
"Alright, wait here. Where are they?"
"In the desk drawer."
"Got it."
Arthit got up and headed to Daotok's room to grab the paper and paints. As he did, his eyes landed on the pale-yellow snake resting in its enclosure. What did Daotok name it again? Something ridiculous. He set the thought aside, grabbed the supplies, and returned to his room. After cleaning the snake's tank and changing its water bowl—a routine he never neglected—he found Daotok at the desk, mixing watercolor paints. Taking the chance to shower, he left for the bathroom. By the time he returned, Daotok had started painting.
"How's it going?" Arthit asked, towel-drying his damp hair.
"Take a look."
Arthit leaned over his shoulder, eyes scanning the developing artwork. "What's the painting?"
"A gondola."
"Let me see." He sat down, recognizing the sketch of a gondola in Venice that his mother had drawn. A wave of nostalgia hit him. "Ah, it makes me miss it. Do you want to go there?"
"Yeah."
"Let's go."
"When?"
"Right now. Let me book the tickets," he teased.
"That's not possible."
"Alright, another time. You've already promised to go with me."
"I did?" Daotok tilted his head slightly, puzzled.
"Yeah."
"Ah." He sighed, clearly resigned to the fact that no matter how much he protested, Arthit would find a way to drag him along anyway.
Arthit hadn't been to Italy in years. Normally, he preferred visiting new places rather than revisiting old destinations. But looking at his mother's drawing made him miss it, and for some reason, he wanted Daotok to see it with him. Since meeting him, everything about Arthit had gone a little haywire. "I love you," he said suddenly, without thinking about the atmosphere.
"Huh?" Daotok's reaction—a slight look of shock—was endearing. Arthit couldn't help but find it amusing.
"I love you, so I said it."
"Isn't it just 'like'?"
"No, I think it's love now."
"Ah, I see."
"Will it annoy you if I say it every half hour? Or whenever I feel it?"
"Is that a love confession or pain medication?" Daotok asked dryly.
"Pain meds aren't taken every half hour. So, will it annoy you?"
"What if I say yes?"
"It's up to you. You'll get used to hearing it," Arthit replied nonchalantly.
Daotok exhaled, shaking his head lightly. "Ah, I won't get tired of it."
"Good. And don't think I'm just saying it for no reason. When I say it, I mean it."
"I know."
Arthit narrowed his eyes. "Yeah, you seem to know everything. Are you reading my mind or what?"
"No," Daotok replied without even looking up, carefully dabbing paint onto a piece of paper, testing the colors repeatedly.
"Why not? If you read my mind, you'd know for sure."
Daotok finally turned to him, a soft smile playing at his lips. "Can't you just show me through your actions?"
"Sure." Arthit didn't hesitate. He didn't need to prove anything; his actions already spoke louder than words. Still, this guy was sharp, able to catch him off guard with ease. "Aren't you going to shower?"
"Let me finish this painting first."
"You'll be up until dawn at this rate."
"Yeah."
"Tell me more about your family?"
"I already told you."
"More details this time. Got any pictures? You've already seen pictures of me from my mom's sketches."
Daotok sighed but relented. "I'm busy."
"Then give me your phone."
"Fine."
"Wow, you're letting me see your phone? That's serious trust," Arthit teased, though he wasn't sure why. Without waiting, he grabbed Daotok's phone from the table. Since he had secretly scanned his fingerprint into it before, unlocking it was easy. He opened the photo album and scrolled until he found one labeled 'Family.' "Is this your dad and his boyfriend?"
"Yeah."
"Sweet," Arthit teased again, glancing at a couple photo of Daotok's dad and his dad's partner. His father looked like a well-mannered man, and his dad's partner was just as he remembered. "What does your dad do?"
"He's a business legal consultant."
"And his boyfriend?"
"Owns a software systems company."
"Your family's pretty well-off. But you said you had money problems when Kram stole your money. How does that add up?"
"That was back when we were still getting back on our feet," Daotok explained.
"I see. Anyone else in your family?"
"My grandma," he said simply.
Arthit tilted his head. "What does she do?"
"Look after her cats."
A soft chuckle. "Ah, I feel like a journalist interviewing you for a feature. Aren't you going to ask me anything?"
Daotok shrugged. "Tell me whatever you want me to know." The response came without hesitation.
"I want you to know everything about me."
Daotok raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Then tell me."
A thoughtful pause followed before he replied, "I don't even know where to start. You probably already know most of it anyway. You know what my dad does, right?"
"He owns a company."
"Did I tell you that?"
"Not sure. I guessed."
"Well, you're right. That's why Direk is loaded."
"Is he as rich as North's boyfriend?"
"Direk is probably on par with Joe. But Joe's got his dad and grandpa backing him up, while I've only got Direk. Oh, and my grandpa too. But me? Nah, I'm not rich."
"Where's your grandpa?"
"Switzerland. Retired, living with my grandma. He doesn't work anymore; he's just leaving behind an inheritance for me, his only grandchild. I'm just waiting for it," Arthit joked, a teasing glint in his eyes. If Grandpa heard him, he'd probably whack him with his cane. Despite his age, the old man was still remarkably strong.
"Alright, tell me about your high school life."
"Middle school in San Francisco was normal. I was a bit of a brat back then, and, well, I didn't really improve much. But high school in Thailand? That was wild. I got into fights all the time. I don't even know if it's because Thai schools are rough or if I was just asking for trouble."
"Probably the latter."
Arthit laughed. "Yeah, it was fun though. I picked up Thai quickly in my first few years. Back in high school, they called me Five-Horse Thit. I can show you if you can't imagine it."
Daotok gave him a blank stare, unimpressed. "What about you in high school?"
"Pretty normal." "Oh, there's also the matter with Kram," Arthit added, watching for a reaction.
"Yeah."
"Can I ask about it?"
"You mean Kram?"
"Yeah. Have you moved on? You should by now. If not, I might just ride my bike to the hospital and stomp on him right now."
"I have."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"So, you're ready to be mine now, huh?" Silence. Daotok focused intently on his painting, ignoring the question entirely. Arthit grinned but didn't push further. "Do people flirt with you a lot?" he asked instead.
"No."
"No way. North said his friends are crazy about you," Arthit said, thinking how those pests should stop flirting with his future boyfriend. If they didn't, he'd deal with them one by one. "If I don't allow it, then they're not really flirting with me. So, no."
"Well, I am flirting with you."
"Can't stop you, can I?"
Arthit smirked. "If I wasn't as shameless as I am, I wouldn't have gotten this far. Alright, I won't ask about Kram."
"Why not?"
"Do I have to ask? I don't really care."
"Usually, people would be curious about an ex."
"I'm not. Even if I'm nosy about other people's business, I don't care about your past relationships. Whatever you've been through, it doesn't matter to me."
"Really?"
"Yeah. What matters is whether you can accept me."
"Why wouldn't I?"
"Well, I used to be a sugar baby."
Daotok stilled, the brush hovering just above the canvas.
"I had to sell my dignity to survive when Direk cut me off."
"Ah... that's okay. But... if you're ever struggling that much, you can talk to me," Daotok said in his usual calm tone, though his worried expression made Arthit laugh out loud.
"I'm kidding, you idiot. I never did that."
"Oh, I see."
"Why the worried face?"
"It's... sad, isn't it?" he said, frowning.
"I was joking! What would a sugar daddy even want from me? Mow their lawn? But if it's Johan, I might be interested, he's got the wallet for it," Arthit teased. "But seriously, I'm not as rich as those guys. My dad's rich, but I'm only as wealthy as he allows me to be."
"That's fine."
Arthit leaned closer. "Would you take care of me? I'm tired of working."
"Are you flirting with me just so I'll take care of you?"
"Yeah."
"Get lost."
"Hey, don't just kick me out! You just patted my head! I'm willing to give it all up, just take care of me. Seriously, aren't owners supposed to take care of their dogs?"
"Can you eat kibble?"
"Sure, just a bag of Pedigree a week will do."
"Then maybe I could manage."
Arthit grinned. "Excellent. So, is that a yes?"
"Are you insane? I was joking."
"Yeah, I know. I was joking too. But if you're serious about taking care of me, I wouldn't mind."
"You're such a pain," Daotok said, laughing. Arthit watched him paint for a while before murmuring,
"I'm sleepy."
"Then sleep."
"No, I want to watch you paint."
"Why?"
"In case you mess up. I'll warn you," Arthit said, just as something suddenly jumped onto his lap. "Oh, Mr. Jeon."
The cat purred, curling up comfortably. Daotok immediately set his brush down, reaching out, but Mr. Jeon had already settled in.
Arthit smirked. "See? I can be a dog or a cat. Mr. Jeon may not care about you, but I do."
Daotok hummed in response, turning back to his painting.
Arthit sighed, his eyelids growing heavier. "I want to stay here with you," he mumbled sleepily.
A soft reply came moments later. "It'd be nice to hear that again."
"I want to stay with you. I want to hold your hand, but your hands are busy. So frustrating."
Daotok remained silent, his brush gliding effortlessly over the canvas, lost in the rhythm of each careful stroke. He didn't look up, didn't acknowledge Arthit's words, but the atmosphere between them felt warmer—charged with something unspoken. Arthit sighed and let his exhaustion win. His head slowly dipped onto the table beside Daotok, his cheek pressing against the cool surface. His eyelids grew heavy, the sound of bristles scratching against the canvas lulling him into sleep.
A shrill, unfamiliar ringtone startled him awake. Arthit groggily lifted his head, disoriented for a moment. The chair beside him was empty. The steady sound of running water came from the bathroom—Daotok must be showering. He stretched his stiff limbs and blinked at the room. The painting Daotok had been working on was about halfway done, its details coming to life under the soft glow of the overhead lamp.
A glance at the clock told him it was already past 9 P.M. The phone continued ringing insistently. Arthit turned toward the source of the noise and spotted Daotok's phone vibrating against the table. His curiosity piqued, he leaned forward and picked it up. The caller ID read "Dad."
Arthit hesitated. His father? Or maybe his stepfather? His fingers hovered over the screen, but then a smirk tugged at his lips. Well, I've already picked it up. Might as well go all the way. He swiped to answer.
"Michael, what are you doing now?" A deep voice spoke in fluent English.
Arthit frowned. Michael? Who the hell is Michael?
"Who is Michael?" he asked bluntly, switching to English with ease. There was a pause before the voice on the other end stiffened.
"Who are you?"
"Arthit," he answered smoothly, leaning back in his chair.
"How do you have this phone?"
"Ah..." Arthit tilted his head, deliberately avoiding the question. "Let me ask again. Who is Michael?"
"My son. Did he drop the phone?"
Arthit stilled. Michael? His eyes flickered toward the bathroom door, where the faint sound of water still echoed. Michael was Daotok? A slow smirk stretched across his face. "No," he said. "Are you Gavin? I'm in the room next to your son's."
"I met you once, right?"
"Yep," Arthit confirmed.
"Then why do you have my son's phone?"
Arthit tapped his fingers against the table, feigning nonchalance. "He's in my room, taking a bath right now. Gavin, I have something to tell you."
"What?"
A beat of silence. Then, Arthit grinned. "I love your son."
On the other end, Gavin choked. "What?! Wait, wait—you love my son?"
"Yep, that's right."
"Okay... And why are you telling me this?"
Arthit's smirk widened as he leaned forward, voice filled with mischief. "Because I want something."
"What?"
"I want your son to be my boyfriend."
The line went dead silent. Then, Gavin spluttered. "What—?!"
Arthit chuckled to himself, completely satisfied.
[END OF BOOK 1]