Daotok sat in the fading light of the evening, the warm hues of the sunset reflecting off the reservoir's surface. The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and the distant chatter of students lounging nearby. Yet, despite the gentle hum of the world around him, all he could focus on was the firm hand clasping his own, fingers tracing over his palm in slow, deliberate movements.
"See? Maybe lots of people send you songs, but no one can match them like I can," Arthit said, his voice tinged with pride.
Daotok glanced at him, raising a brow. "You mean climbing mountains and crossing oceans?"
"Exactly." The confidence in his tone made Daotok's stomach twist in a way he wasn't entirely comfortable with. The soft brush of fingertips against his skin sent an unfamiliar shiver up his spine, and instinct took over—he tried to pull his hand back. But just like before, he was met with resistance. The grip on his hand remained steadfast, firm yet gentle, as if letting go had never been an option. "I can hear your heart beating like crazy."
Daotok hesitated. "Really?"
"So, is it?"
His fingers curled slightly in Arthit's grasp as he reluctantly admitted, "Yeah." There was no point in lying. Daotok never did, and with the way his pulse thrummed beneath his skin, he couldn't exactly deny the truth. A moment of silence stretched between them before Arthit suddenly sat up, eyes widening in surprise and something akin to triumph.
"Really?" he echoed, as if he hadn't quite expected the confession. Daotok turned his gaze away, unwilling to meet his stare. The dim light only sharpened the already striking features beside him, the way his sharp jawline contrasted with the softness in his expression. It was almost unfair how beautiful his eyes looked in the evening glow.
"Does this mean I'm getting closer?" Arthit asked, his voice filled with an eager warmth.
Daotok exhaled slowly, his thoughts tangled. "I don't know." And he truly didn't. His heart raced—was it because he was flustered, or simply unused to someone treating him this way? The answer remained elusive.
"Well, whatever." A chuckle rumbled in Arthit's chest. "It doesn't matter why your heart's racing. The fact is, I have an effect on it."
Before Daotok could react, he was being pulled up to his feet. They were still sharing one earbud each, the song looping for the second time. He barely had time to adjust before he realized his phone was in Arthit's hand, leaving him powerless to change the music. Without another word, he was guided forward, their steps falling into an easy rhythm. As they walked, heads turned.
It was inevitable—Arthit always attracted attention. Whether it was because of his striking looks or the way he carried himself, Daotok didn't know. But now, with their hands still intertwined, the weight of those lingering stares settled heavily on his shoulders. He considered pulling away, but his fingers remained where they were, caught in the warmth of Arthit's grip.
"Do your friends know?" came the casual question.
Daotok frowned slightly. "Know what?"
"That I like you." His chest tightened at the directness of the statement.
"Yeah."
"What did they say? Wait, who's on my team?"
"North."
"Of course. Who else? What about Hill and Fah's boyfriends?"
"Seems like they're not."
"Why not?"
"I don't know."
"Did they say anything?"
"They said if you mess up, they'll tell their partners."
Arthit let out a long, drawn-out sound. "Oh. You know, it's funny how perfectly everything lines up. Your friends are all friends with my friends' partners. It's such a coincidence. Or maybe... you're all up to something. I heard from North that you're like a fortune-teller or something?"
"I just read fortunes."
"I don't usually believe in that stuff, but if you can do it, I'm curious. Why don't you read mine?"
"No."
"Why not?"
"Too lazy."
"Alright, then maybe tonight."
Daotok remained silent, knowing full well that his words often failed to reach their intended target when it came to this particular person. His hand was finally released, but before he could find relief, an arm slid around his shoulders, tugging him closer. He stiffened slightly at the sudden shift, but Arthit seemed entirely at ease. Out of the corner of his eye, Daotok noticed a group of women hurriedly tucking away their phones, their flustered expressions making their actions painfully obvious.
"It's tough being famous," Arthit remarked, completely unfazed.
Daotok exhaled sharply. "Am I going to get ambushed?" The question was genuine. He'd heard enough stories from North to know that certain admirers weren't always rational.
"Ambushed? Like, beaten up?" Arthit tilted his head before shrugging. "Probably not. But if I ambush you for a kiss, who knows?"
Daotok shot him a flat look. "Just kidding."
A grin tugged at Arthit's lips. "Nothing like that will happen. Besides, you've got a brown belt in Taekwondo. What are you scared of?"
"Why should I have to risk getting hurt because of you?"
"There won't be any trouble, just some gossip here and there. But you don't care about what people think anyway, right?"
"Right."
"That's one of the things I like about you."
Daotok scoffed. "Is there anything you don't like?"
"Why? Planning to fix it?"
"Planning to do it more." The response made Arthit laugh, his amusement clear in the way his body shook slightly. The arm around Daotok's shoulders tightened briefly before loosening again, the warmth lingering.
"That's exactly why I like you," Arthit said once his laughter subsided. "You don't fake anything. You're blunt, indifferent at times, but it's all just... you."
Daotok hummed, neither agreeing nor denying the words. "Then will you start doing it more? You want me to stop liking you, right? Try talking more or acting differently."
"Can't do it." Arthit smirked.
"See? And I'm not even going to ask what you dislike about me."
"Why not?"
"Because you'd say 'everything.'" Daotok considered it for a moment before shaking his head. "Not true."
A spark of interest flickered in Arthit's eyes. "Really? Then is there anything you like?"
He hesitated before answering, "You're natural."
A pause. Then, a wide grin. "Copying my answer, huh?"
"No, I mean it," Daotok admitted, finally meeting his gaze.
"I can feel the sincerity." For once, Arthit seemed momentarily caught off guard. The silence that followed wasn't awkward—it was something else entirely. Something Daotok wasn't quite ready to name.
Even though Daotok didn't particularly enjoy being around him, there was something about his presence that felt... comfortable. It wasn't something he could explain easily, but it was there—a sense of ease that settled in despite the annoyance that often followed.
"Wait a second," Arthit interrupted, turning to him with an exaggerated look of shock. "I wasn't ready for that. Was that a confession?"
Daotok barely spared him a glance. "No," he replied flatly. "It's just lighthearted. Like when I'm with North. But more annoying... way more annoying."
A dramatic gasp. "Wow, harsh," Arthit said, clutching at his chest as if Daotok had physically struck him. "If it were anyone else, they'd probably cry hearing something like that. Good thing it's me—unshakable, immune to pain, the ultimate survivor. Even if you told me you hated me, I wouldn't feel a thing."
Daotok tilted his head slightly, considering. Then, without hesitation, he said, "I hate you."
The reaction was immediate. Arthit went still, his teasing expression flickering into something unreadable. It wasn't dramatic like before, wasn't exaggerated for effect—just a pause, a small shift in the way he looked at Daotok. "Really?" His voice was quieter now, almost cautious. Daotok exhaled through his nose, feeling the weight of the moment settle around them.
"No," he admitted. "Not really."
Arthit let out a breath, running a hand through his hair as he relaxed again. "Let's not use that word, okay?" His voice was lighter, but there was something underneath it, something that lingered. "It stings. I'll admit it. It's weird—I didn't think words could hit like that. But damn, that one does."
Daotok studied him, unimpressed. "Want me to try again?" he asked. "I hate you."
Arthit winced dramatically this time, shaking his head as if physically warding off the words. "Yeah, definitely hurts. Nope, that's off-limits from now on. If you say it again, I'll... hmm... I'll break your paintbrushes."
Daotok's expression darkened immediately. "That's awful."
"Exactly." Arthit grinned, as if pleased with himself. "It doesn't hurt me, but it'll definitely hurt you. So, it's settled—new rule for us: never say you hate me, even if you do. Just keep it to yourself and don't let it show, okay?"
Daotok let the silence stretch between them, debating whether he even wanted to acknowledge such a ridiculous rule. Finally, with a small sigh, he muttered, "Fine." Arthit beamed, looking far too satisfied for someone who had just admitted that a single word had gotten under his skin. Daotok glanced away, pretending he hadn't noticed.
✨✨✨
[TWO HOURS EARLIER]
The evening air was cool as Arthit stepped out of the hospital building, the lingering scent of antiseptic still clinging to his lab coat. Beside him, Johan walked at a leisurely pace, the two of them casually discussing the ward rounds they had just completed. Their conversation was interrupted by the sudden buzz of Arthit's phone. He fished it out of his pocket, his eyebrows raising slightly at the caller ID. Direk. Calling at this hour? That was unexpected.
"Hey," Arthit answered, keeping his tone neutral.
"Come to the house" Direk's voice came through, direct as always.
"Huh?"
"Come see me at the house."
"Why?"
"Just come. I've got a surprise."
Arthit smirked. "I think I've got a bigger surprise for you."
"Oh yeah? What is it?"
"I'll tell you when I'm there."
"Alright, hurry up." With that, the call ended.
Arthit slipped the phone back into his pocket, already certain of what Direk's so-called surprise was. What Direk didn't know was that Arthit had his own bombshell to drop. It was about time he told him the truth—he was trying to court Daotok. He had avoided bringing it up before, mostly because he wasn't sure if Direk, being older, could handle the shock without dropping dead from disbelief.
But tonight felt like the right time. As they reached the parking area, Johan and Arthit exchanged quick goodbyes before parting ways. Arthit mounted his motorcycle, revved the engine, and took off towards Direk's house. The ride was smooth, thanks to the unusually light traffic, and in no time, he was pulling into the familiar driveway of Direk's expansive property. Before he had even finished parking, Direk emerged from the house, dressed casually in a button-down and slacks, exuding the effortless confidence he always carried.
"Why are you off work so early?" Arthit asked, removing his helmet.
"Taking a rest today." Direk's eyes flickered over him before a smirk tugged at his lips.
"By the way, a lab coat on a big bike? That's kind of a weird combo."
Arthit snorted. "Yeah, well, it's uncomfortable."
"Maybe you're gaining weight."
"What?" Arthit's expression immediately darkened in mock horror. Gaining weight was unacceptable. Absolutely unacceptable. Direk chuckled at his reaction, shaking his head.
"Relax, I'm just messing with you. Come on, I have something to show you." Rolling his eyes, Arthit followed him inside, slipping off his shoes before walking through the lush garden towards the garage.
The estate had an excessive number of parking spaces, which made sense given the number of vehicles it housed. Arthit had at least five or six cars here, and that wasn't even counting the new ones Direk kept adding to the collection. But the sight waiting for him in the garage made him stop in his tracks. A sleek, jet-black sports car sat in the dim lighting, its polished exterior gleaming under the overhead lights. Even without stepping closer, he could tell—it was a beast.
"Wow..." The word left his lips in an awed whisper. Direk crossed his arms, looking far too pleased with himself.
"I figured you'd be stunned." He patted the car's hood. "Knew I had to get you a new one, but I wanted to see your reaction."
"How much?" Arthit asked, stepping forward to inspect it. "Over a hundred."
Arthit whistled low. "And it's for me?"
Direk's smirk widened. "Not for casual driving. It's for next month's race." He leaned against a nearby chair, watching for Arthit's reaction. "Your old car is fine, but I wanted to make sure you'd win. Consider this an early prize."
Arthit ran his fingers over the smooth surface of the car, his mind already envisioning the speed, the control, the adrenaline. "This thing is insane. It's ridiculously fast. If the driver's no good, there's no surviving it." He smirked, finally meeting Direk's gaze. "But with me behind the wheel? Victory is guaranteed."
"Make sure you practice," Direk reminded. "The race is serious this time."
Arthit nodded, already knowing what that meant. "Who's the opponent?"
"The son of the other company. The race will be on their track, so you should check it out beforehand." Arthit absorbed the information. He was familiar with how these races worked—corporate heads placing high-stakes bets on racers and cars like it was just another business venture. Direk rarely let him participate, too protective for his own good, but if he was giving him the green light now, this was more than just a casual race. The prize must be massive. "You sure about this?" Direk asked, his protective side flaring up despite everything.
"I'm starting to have second thoughts." Arthit grinned. "It's just a race, Direk. Not life or death."
Direk scoffed but didn't argue. "The car's been checked thoroughly. I'll have it inspected regularly until race day. In the meantime, make sure you train."
"Not sure I'll have time."
"You're free in the evenings after rounds."
"You think I don't need to study?"
"Just quit already. You're a headache."
Arthit laughed. "Didn't you say you wanted my degree to frame and hang on your wall?"
"That was just talk. Still, you chose this path, so your mom must be proud."
"'Proud of you, Dylan, flunking again, huh?'" Arthit mimicked his mother's sarcastic tone, making Direk laugh. But the moment of amusement was fleeting—Arthit still had his own surprise to drop. He took a deep breath. "Anyway, my surprise is bigger than yours. Trust me."
Direk's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What, you got someone pregnant?"
"What?! No!"
"Then what?"
Arthit exhaled sharply. "I have someone I like. I'm trying to court him."
Silence
Direk blinked, his face frozen in sheer disbelief. "I'd be less shocked if you told me you killed someone," he finally said.
Arthit burst out laughing. "Right? But this is bad enough."
"Are you serious?" "Yeah."
"You? Arthit? Dylan? No way." Direk dragged his hands down his face. "You're my rotten, rebellious, no-good kid."
"Uh-huh."
"Good Lord. Emma! Come see your son! This can't be real!" Direk practically shouted. "And you're courting him? Who is he? Whose kid is he? Where is he from? Is he studying or working? And, wait—he's okay with you? Really? How are you planning to live with him? Won't his parents be furious? What if he sues us? When? How did I not know this?"
Arthit laughed harder. He had known Direk would react like this. "Calm down before you give yourself a stroke."
Direk groaned. "I can't handle this today."
"Well, too bad, because we're talking about it today." Arthit smirked. "Remember the one with blue hair I brought over before?"
Direk squinted. "Him?! Are you kidding me? Thit, do you seriously think he'd want you?" Arthit placed a hand on his chest, feigning offense. "And what's wrong with me?"
"What's right with you is the better question," Direk muttered, rubbing his temples. "So... you fell for him when you went to San Francisco, huh?"
"Exactly. It's natural, not forced," Arthit replied without hesitation, his confidence unwavering. "Uh-huh."
Direk peeked up at him through his fingers, looking like he could faint any second. "So you're just courting him for now? What did he say?"
"He rejected me." Arthit shrugged. "But I don't care."
"Figures."
"So I made him agree to stay with me."
"Poor him," Direk muttered, shaking his head. "Out of all the good people in the world, why did this poor soul have to meet you?"
"Exactly," Arthit said, completely missing the sarcasm. "I was thinking of taking him to make merit."
Direk's head snapped up. "See? This is exactly what I'm talking about. Who takes someone to make merit to escape their own bad karma?"
"Karma can't do anything to me anyway."
Direk groaned, massaging his temples. "Are you serious about him? I mean, really serious?"
"Absolutely. This is the most serious I've ever been. You know I've never felt this way before, Direk."
"I get it. Thit, you've grown up. But this kind of growth makes me extremely anxious."
Direk exhaled heavily, giving Arthit a pointed look. "You're not going to do anything to make his parents cry and come after me, are you?"
"Right now, it's probably you who'll have to beg them to let me court their kid."
"Why?"
"Because you'll need to cry and plead with them to accept me."
Direk sat up straight, eyes narrowing. "Thit, please consider my reputation. I'm the CEO of the largest auto parts company in the country, with international acclaim. Major car brands partner with us. And you want me to grovel before his parents?"
"Exactly."
"Arthit. Dylan. I can't. You're too much."
"Looks like you didn't make enough merit yourself, Direk."
"What now?"
"You ended up with me as your son."
"...Fair point." They both laughed, but then something clicked in Arthit's mind. His laughter died down, and his eyes widened. "Hey, Direk. Earlier, you mentioned their parents, right?"
"Yeah, why?"
"There's a 'Daddy' that doesn't mean 'dad.' Holy crap, I just remembered!" Arthit sat forward suddenly, gripping the edge of the table. Direk squinted at him. "What's this 'Daddy' that doesn't mean 'dad'? Are you insane? A daddy is a dad! How did you even grow up in San Francisco?"
"No, it's like... a new term. Normal dads are called 'Dad.' 'Daddy' has a godfather vibe."
"A sugar daddy?" Direk arched a skeptical eyebrow. "I don't know how to explain it. It's like an older man. You call them 'Daddy.'"
Arthit gestured vaguely, struggling to articulate his point. "Anyway, he might already have a boyfriend. An Englishman. And he's as handsome as me."
"So what?"
"What do you mean?"
"Even if you have to be the other man, you fight for it!"
Arthit blinked. "What kind of father encourages this?"
"The kind that agrees with you. Fight until you're the main husband. Then send that Englishman back to the UK."
"And how sure are you that he's actually the boyfriend?"
"I heard him call him 'Daddy.'"
"It could still mean dad, you idiot." "Really?"
"Yes. How do I have a son this dumb? Is he mixed, though? He doesn't really look like it."
"No, he's fully Thai, according to North."
"Then maybe it's a stepdad."
"Oh... That makes sense. Direk, you're so smart."
"Yeah, and I'm surprised how dumb my son is."
Arthit scoffed. "What's wrong with being dumb? At least I'm not evil."
"But you're both dumb and evil, you idiot."
"Well, it's inherited. Must've gotten it from you. It's like insulting myself."
Direk sighed, then relented. "Alright, so you're still courting him. Fine. I don't know if I should root for you, but as your father, I guess I have to. If you need anything, let me know. Like someone to help kidnap them."
"See? That's how I know where I got it from," Arthit said, smirking. "So, Direk, how did you woo Emma? Got any tips to pass down?"
"I just did the usual. Bought stuff, spoiled her a bit."
"Do I have to spoil him?"
"Of course. That's how he'll know you can take care of him."
"Oh, I don't have money. Can I borrow some?"
"Are you serious? You want money from me to spoil him? Might as well ask him to be my partner instead."
"Wow, Direk, planning to raise a young one, are we?" Arthit teased. "I ran out of savings, okay? I'm still bumming meals off Joe these days."
"Sell your snake or one of your cars, then."
"No way."
"Sigh, fine. If you win the race, I'll give you ten percent."
"How much is that?"
"Close to a hundred million."
"Damn, Direk. You're betting that much? What happens if you lose? You're down a billion?"
"Yeah, but if we win, it's the same amount. Don't feel pressured, though. Losing that money won't hurt me much."
"But what'll hurt is your pride."
"Exactly. Thanks."
"So you're basically saying, 'No pressure, but if you lose, we lose a billion,' huh?"
"Exactly." Direk patted his shoulder. "Money's one thing, but it's also about reputation."
"You're so annoyingly rich. I'm tired of it."
"You like showing off to me too."
"Fair point."
"Keep working hard, Thit. Once you graduate, life will be smooth sailing."
"You don't plan on working at all, huh? How will you support your future partner?"
"With your money, obviously."
"Ugh. Where's your drum set?" Direk asked suddenly, voice laced with mock disappointment. "Thought you were serious about that."
Arthit snorted, shaking his head. "Do you think I even have time for that anymore?"
Direk exhaled through his nose, resting his elbows on the armrests. "Look, whatever you want to do, I'll always back you up. Just do your thing."
For a moment, Arthit's usually sharp eyes softened. He didn't say it outright, but he appreciated it. That was just how Direk was—gruff, practical, but always there when it counted. "Wow, thanks," he muttered before smirking. "I'll finish med school for Mom first. Then I can finally get back to drumming."
"I'll be waiting for your new songs."
"Old songs, more like."
Direk huffed a laugh. "Yeah? I deleted all the old files. Got bored."
Arthit sat up abruptly. "Hey!"
"Kidding," Direk drawled, lips twitching. "I still listen sometimes. Makes me proud, you know. Even though it was just a high school band messing around, you were pretty popular in San Francisco for a while."
A wave of nostalgia washed over Arthit at the mention of his past. It felt like a lifetime ago—those late nights in the garage, the adrenaline rush of performing on stage, the camaraderie with his bandmates. "Thinking about the past makes me nostalgic," he admitted. "When I go back, I'll catch up with the gang."
"Good idea." Direk stretched before glancing at his watch. "Now, are you staying for dinner? The housekeeper already made something."
Arthit shook his head. "I'd love to, but I should head back to my future boyfriend. He's staying at my place now."
Direk blinked before a slow grin spread across his face. "Staying with you? Wow, that's a big step. Must mean he's opening up to you."
"Yeah, that's what I think too," Arthit said, unable to hide the smug satisfaction in his tone.
Direk whistled, leaning back with an exaggerated sigh. "Damn, there's hope! Should I start preparing a wedding procession? Dowry's ready!"
Arthit barked out a laugh. "Why not?" Then his eyes flickered to the gleaming car in the driveway. "Oh, and can I take the new car out? Need to test drive it."
"To pick him up?"
"Yeah, and also to grab his cat from Fah's place. Bikes aren't really convenient for that."
Direk rolled his eyes but tossed him the keys. "Fine, just drive carefully."
"You don't need to tell me twice." Grinning, Arthit caught the keys and strolled outside. The sleek, newly acquired car practically gleamed under the fading sunlight. He slid into the driver's seat, hands gripping the wheel as he took a moment to admire the interior.
A perfect fit. The moment he started the engine, it purred like a dream. Pulling out of the driveway, he made a quick stop at Tonfah's to pick up Mr. Jeon, the cat in question. He had a feeling Daotok would appreciate the surprise. The little feline was curled up in its carrier, wide eyes blinking up at him with distrust. As he got back into the car, his phone buzzed with a text from Daotok.
[DAOTOK]: Heading back from class now. Walking.
Arthit's brow furrowed. Walking? Why the hell was he walking? He could've taken one of the damn cars. Most people would be thrilled to have their pick from his collection, yet Daotok, stubborn as always, chose to trudge back on foot. Sighing, he called immediately. The line rang once before Daotok picked up.
"Why are you walking?" Arthit demanded, irritation creeping into his voice.
There was a brief silence before Daotok sighed. "Because I felt like it?"
Arthit exhaled sharply, shaking his head. Typical. A low-battery robot through and through.