The full moon hung high in the ink-black sky, casting a silver glow over the dense forest canopy. Wind whispered through the trees, rustling the leaves and carrying with it the scent of damp earth and mossy bark. Predators stirred in the darkness, their presence an unspoken threat that seemed to close in from all sides.
Arthit's eyes snapped open. His back was pressed against the rough bark of a tree, the dying embers of their campfire still glowing faintly a few feet away. For a moment, he was disoriented, the dreamlike haze of sleep still clouding his mind—until he realized Daotok was no longer in his arms. His breath caught.
"Dao?" he called out, voice thick with panic.
Only silence answered him. The forest surrounded him like a living thing— looming, watching. He shot to his feet, heart pounding as he scanned the shadows. The wind blew harder, and with it came something far more chilling than the cold: a trail in the dirt. Long drag marks. Small footprints.
Too small to be anything but Daotok's. His chest tightened. Rage surged beneath his skin. Without a second thought, Arthit sprinted into the woods, following the trail. The wind clawed at his clothes as he pushed past thick undergrowth, ignoring the sting of branches slashing across his skin. His breathing grew heavy, his legs aching, but he didn't stop. He wouldn't stop.
Those bastards took him. When the trees finally gave way to a clearing, he came to a dead halt. Everything inside him turned to ice.
Blood.
It stained the grass, soaked the soil—thick and fresh, still glistening in the moonlight. The coppery scent was overwhelming. And in the center of it all lay Daotok. Motionless.
"No... Dao!" Arthit stumbled forward, dropping to his knees beside the fragile body. Blood was still flowing from the gaping wound across Daotok's neck, seeping into his pale skin, staining his clothes a violent crimson.
Arthit pressed his hands against the wound, desperate to stop the bleeding. But the blood wouldn't stop. It only poured faster. Daotok's chest didn't rise. His eyes didn't flutter open. He wasn't breathing.
"No. No no no no—Dao! Wake up! Please—" Arthit's voice broke. His hands shook as he pulled Daotok into his arms, clinging to the lifeless body like it might slip away if he let go.
The warmth was already fading. Arthit's heart shattered. A choked scream tore from his throat, raw and wild. The pain cracked through his entire body like lightning.
"AHHH—!"
"Arthit! Arthit!"
A voice pierced the chaos. His eyes flew open, breath ragged. The blood, the forest, the pain—it all vanished. He was no longer on the forest floor but in his bedroom, tangled in blankets soaked with sweat. His chest heaved, and his entire body trembled.
Beside him sat Daotok, alive, wide-eyed, and full of concern. "You're okay," Daotok said softly. "You're safe."
Arthit didn't hesitate. He threw his arms around Daotok, pulling him close and burying his face in the crook of Daotok's neck.
"It was awful," he whispered, voice still shaking. "We were in the forest...like hunters. We camped. You were in my arms. And then you were gone. Kidnapped. I chased after you, and when I found you... You were lying in a pool of blood. You weren't breathing. I thought I'd lost you."
Daotok gently returned the embrace, running a calming hand over Arthit's back. "Shhh... it was just a nightmare. I'm here."
"I know. But in the dream, I didn't know it wasn't real. It felt so real. I ran for so long... and now I'm exhausted. Damn goblins. Why would they even go after you?"
Daotok blinked, eyebrows raised. "Goblins?"
"Yeah. That's who took you. Goblins." Arthit pulled back just enough to meet Daotok's eyes. "Do goblins even kill people?"
"In most games, yeah. Goblins are usually violent," Daotok said, trying not to smile.
"Great," Arthit muttered. "Now they're in my dreams."
Daotok chuckled softly, brushing sweat-damp hair from Arthit's forehead.
"You're such a mess."
"I need a shower," Arthit said, finally untangling himself from the sheets.
"That dream drained the life out of me."
"I'll make breakfast," Daotok offered, slipping out of bed.
"It's morning already?"
"Eight A.M. I was going to sleep in, but someone started screaming bloody murder."
"Good thing we live in a penthouse," Arthit mumbled as he made his way to the bathroom.
After a much-needed shower, he joined Daotok in the kitchen. They ate quietly—Daotok working on his thesis after, tapping away at his laptop, and Arthit lounging on the couch, arms crossed, still fuming. The dream wouldn't let him go. The image of Daotok's lifeless body was etched into his mind, haunting and vivid.
He needed closure. Revenge. Something. If he couldn't fight goblins in real life, he'd do it in a game. Without wasting time, he called North.
"Hi," came the groggy voice on the other end.
"Know any good goblin-killing games?"
"Goblin-killing games? What the hell?" North sounded half-asleep. "Why?"
"Because they killed my boyfriend," Arthit said flatly.
There was a pause. "Say what?"
"In my dream. Dao died. Goblins killed him. I want revenge."
A beat of silence. Then laughter—loud, uncontrollable, like North was about to choke on air.
"You good now?" Arthit asked, clearly not amused.
"Phi, you've got issues ," North gasped between fits of laughter. "Who holds a grudge against goblins for killing their boyfriend in a dream ?"
"Imagine running through a forest, finding Dao in a pool of blood with his throat cut. Would you laugh then? He did nothing wrong."
"Alright, alright," North said, still chuckling. "There's this new RPG online. Amazing graphics, epic monster battles. Goblins included. Want the link?"
"Send it. I'm wiping out every goblin on that server."
"I'll join. Call it stress relief."
"What about your thesis?"
"Let's call this therapy."
Arthit downloaded the game, his fingers twitching with anticipation. The visuals were gorgeous—lush forests, dark caves, realistic combat. It was everything he wanted.
"What class are you picking?" he asked North.
"Archer. Gotta stay at range."
"I'm going rogue. Fast, deadly, and vengeful." Arthit grinned. "I'm coming
for them." Daotok walked past behind him, raising an eyebrow. "You look way too serious for a game."
"I am serious," Arthit muttered. "They killed you."
Daotok sighed, fond but exasperated. "You're unbelievable."
"Damn right," Arthit replied. "Now watch me avenge your death... digitally."
After skimming through the overwhelming list of class descriptions, Arthit finally settled on a dagger-wielding rogue. Agile, fast, and undeniably cool—what more could he ask for?
Not that I'd actually steal from anyone, he thought, a grin tugging at his lips. But it would've been fun if I could. The real challenge, however, wasn't choosing a class—it was the character customization. His screen exploded with sliders for everything from hair color to neck length.
"Geez, this is exhausting," Arthit muttered, eyes half-lidded as he dragged a finger across the screen. "There's a slider for nose angle, for god's sake."
"That's detailed design, P'Arthit. I'm done with mine and already in-game."
"Already? You're fast." His tired gaze suddenly lit up when he scrolled past a truly ridiculous hairstyle. "Oh my god, this mohawk actually sticks out through the helmet. That's so dumb—it's perfect."
"Damn it, I went with the pineapple cut."
Arthit cackled. "Alright, I'm ready. Wait—'Please name your character'? Ugh, I forgot about this part. What's yours?"
"Head Electrician."
"What?" he asked, blinking at the screen.
"I want to be a head electrician. Aim high, right?"
"Oh," Arthit said, realization dawning. "Engineering joke. Got it." He tapped thoughtfully on the keyboard. "What should I name mine? Suggestions?"
"If you're here to kill goblins, go with 'Goblin Slayer.'"
"Taken. Damn it."
"Heart Thief?"
"No."
"Romantic Rogue?"
"Still no."
"Dodges Boyfriend's Slaps?"
"Hah! I don't dodge."
"Clueless Cow?"
"I'm not playing a cleric. And who's the cow? You?"
"Husband Sent to Do Laundry?"
"I send my laundry out, thank you very much."
"Merchant Face."
"I'm not a vendor!"
"Thief-Only Items Accepted?"
"I am the thief!"
"Man, you're impossible. I've given you like, a hundred names. I've been running laps around the city while waiting for you."
"Look at the names you're giving me, genius," Arthit shot back, smirking.
"What's your usual go-to name? Just use that."
"Nah, that's boring."
Before Arthit could continue arguing, a soft voice broke into the chaos.
"Arthit, what are you doing?"
Arthit turned and found Daotok standing beside him, his gentle expression betraying curiosity.
"Playing a game with North," Arthit said. "I'm avenging the goblins that killed you in my dream last night. Want to join?"
Daotok shook his head, lips curling in a faint smile. "You two go ahead. Oh, and if you're free, could you grab some vegetables for me later?"
"Sure. What do you need?"
"I'll text you the list."
"When do you need it by?"
"This evening."
"Got it."
"There you go. Name yourself 'Husband Sent to Buy Veggies.'"
"No way." Arthit grinned, eyes glinting mischievously. "How about 'Dao's Husband'? Can I use that?" He turned to Daotok teasingly.
Daotok rolled his eyes and smacked him lightly on the shoulder. "Don't you dare."
"Help me pick a name then. North's suggestions are awful."
Daotok glanced at Arthit's screen and narrowed his eyes. "Why'd you pick that hairstyle? Your helmet looks like it's been stabbed."
"That's it!" Arthit clapped his hands. "My name will be Pierces Through Helmets! Cool, right?"
"Honestly, it's not any better than mine."
"This name represents me." He typed it in with finality—and miraculously, no one had taken it yet. He was finally in.
Daotok returned to his work while Arthit's eyes scanned the screen, searching. "Where are you, North?"
"By the fountain, near the woman in the orange dress."
"Everything's orange!"
"Light orange. Long dress."
"There are a hundred NPCs in orange dresses."
"NPCs don't move, Phi."
"Then say 'I'm next to a stationary NPC in orange' instead. Better yet, just add me."
"Fine, fine."
"So where are the goblins?"
"Grab a quest first. Level up to ten before heading into the forest. The goblins are all level ten or higher. If you go now, you'll die instantly."
Arthit barely listened. "Hey! How did you level up so fast, you jerk?"
"I was grinding monsters while waiting for you. Let's grab some quests."
"No. I'm going straight for the goblins."
"You're insane. You're level one. What're you going to do—tickle them with that fruit knife?"
"I've got a shiny dagger! Look!" Arthit made his rogue twirl the weapon dramatically.
"Starter dagger. It can barely cut through butter. And you're broke."
"I'll buy a new one!"
"With what money?"
"I want revenge!"
With no regard for North's warnings, Arthit sprinted toward the northern forest. "Come on, North!"
"For crying out loud..."
They teleported toward the forest, ignoring level one mobs along the way. But the moment they hit level five territory, the monsters swarmed him.
"North! Why are these things attacking me?"
"Those are aggressive mobs! Spiders! If they see you, they attack first. Hang in there—I'm shooting!"
"Why can't I hurt them?"
"Because. You're. Level. One."
North's arrows saved him—barely. Another spider crept closer.
"My dagger sucks, North! It's a toothpick!"
"Let's move on, before we both die."
"No. Goblins. Now."
Despite North's protests, Arthit dragged him into the Goblin Den. Inside, a lone goblin stood guard.
"There you are!" Arthit roared. "You killed my boyfriend last night, didn't you? Take this! And that!"
"You're dealing one damage per hit. It's sad."
"North! They're ganging up on me! Do something!"
Seconds later, his character collapsed. Arthit sighed as the game teleported him back to town.
"They killed me. Again."
"Told you to level first."
"Fine."
After a reluctant grind session with North, they finally hit a decent level.
With righteous fury, Arthit charged back into the Goblin Den.
"I'll destroy them all!"
"We've been here half an hour. I can hear goblin screams in my nightmares. Can we please move on?"
"Just one more. That one with the sword. That's the one that killed Dao in my dream."
"How would you even know?"
"It's got a sword! My boyfriend was slashed across the neck!"
"Did you see it happen?"
"No, but I found him already dead."
"So how do you know?"
"My hunter instincts! I was a hunter in the dream."
"Of course you were."
Eventually, North gave in. After a final goblin massacre, Arthit logged out and stretched, satisfied.
"Thanks for your help. I've got veggie duty now."
"So I kill goblins for you and then you ditch me?"
"Exactly."
"Let me know next time."
"Will do."
After hanging up, Arthit quietly glanced over at Daotok, who remained focused on his work. He checked the text, gathered the vegetable list, and headed out.
The weather was pleasant—not too hot, with a breeze that whispered of early evening. Arthit opted for a rental bike from the condo. It was pink. And had a woven basket. Yes, a pink lady's bike. Because obviously, it was the best option for grocery runs.
"This is... cheerful," he muttered, climbing aboard. He gave the tiny bell a ring for good measure as he passed his sleek black motorbike. "Not your turn today, buddy. Grocery duty calls."
Though Bangkok's roads weren't the safest for cyclists, the short trip to the supermarket was uneventful. Shade from passing clouds cooled his ride, and for a moment, it felt peaceful. That is... until it rained. Out of nowhere. Without warning.
Arthit stared up at the sky as fat droplets splashed against his face.
"Damn it," he cursed under his breath. "Not again."
The worst part? There hadn't been a single hint of rain earlier.
Now here Arthit stood, in front of the supermarket with a plastic bag full of fresh vegetables hanging from one hand, his clothes already clinging to his skin. The sky had opened up out of nowhere, and he was completely and utterly defeated.
He glanced at his modest pink lady's bike parked nearby, the handlebars now slick with rain. If he biked back now, he'd be drenched to the bone. So this was why he'd suddenly felt like biking today? Just so the universe could get a laugh out of watching him suffer in a surprise downpour?
"Damn you, rain..." he muttered under his breath.
After waiting under the awning for a while, it became clear that the rain had no intention of stopping. With a long, resigned sigh, Arthit made up his mind.
"It's just vegetables. They're going to get washed anyway," he reasoned aloud, more to convince himself than anything else.
He climbed onto his bike and pushed off into the storm. The rain immediately picked up, turning from a steady drizzle to an aggressive downpour. Arthit cursed under his breath, probably for the tenth time already, as his soaked sneakers pedaled through the flooded street. People stared at him like he was insane, biking through the rainstorm like a drenched cartoon character on a pastel-colored bike.
He skidded to a stop at a red light, squinting through the water pouring down his face. As he wiped his eyes, a deep engine hum caught his attention. A sleek red motorbike pulled up beside him, splashing slightly as it parked. Even with the helmet on, Arthit recognized the rider instantly.
"Johan!" he called out, reaching over to tap the rider's arm.
The towering motorbike next to his petite pink bicycle made the whole scene feel absurd. Johan, built like a tank and seated like a king on his roaring ride, turned his head slightly but didn't respond.
"Don't act like you don't know me!" Arthit pouted.
"Don't talk to me," Johan replied flatly, still facing forward.
"Where are you headed?"
"I said, don't talk to me."
"Why didn't you take your car in this weather?"
"How was I supposed to know it'd rain?" Johan snapped, finally looking at him. "The weather app said it'd be cloudy, not a bloody monsoon. And what about you? Who bikes in this weather?"
"I just went grocery shopping for my boyfriend," Arthit replied matter-of factly. "Didn't feel like waiting it out."
"Why a pink bike though? You think you're that cute?"
"Am I not?" Arthit teased with a cheeky grin. Johan rolled his eyes and turned away, but Arthit caught the faintest twitch of his lips.
"I figured a pink bike was perfect for groceries. Road bikes and mountain bikes aren't exactly designed for a vegetable run."
"Fair enough," Johan admitted.
"Where're you headed again?"
"Office."
"Soaked like a wet puppy?"
"I've got a spare outfit at work."
"Always prepared, huh?"
"Yeah. Light's green. Be careful."
"You too."
With that, Johan's bike roared back to life, kicking up a small spray as it sped off. Arthit watched him disappear down the street, then resumed pedaling, a little smirk lingering on his face. Because really—who looked cooler right now? Johan on his flashy red bike, or him, battling the elements on a pink bicycle like a warrior?
Exactly. It was clearly him. By the time Arthit reached the condo, he was thoroughly soaked. The hallway floor was slick from other wet residents returning home. He knocked on the door, and it opened almost instantly. Daotok blinked at him in surprise before disappearing and returning with a towel.
"Why are you this wet? Didn't you take the car?" Daotok asked, draping the towel over Arthit's shoulders.
"I biked."
Daotok stared at him. "What?"
"The condo rents out bikes. I figured it'd be the perfect way to get groceries."
"You could've called. I would've picked you up."
"Why? I can manage on my own."
Daotok frowned. "And what if you catch a cold?"
"I won't," Arthit said smugly, lifting an eyebrow. "People say crazy ones don't catch colds."
"Exactly my point," Daotok muttered with a sigh. "Take your clothes off,"
Daotok said, already turning toward the bathroom to get more towels.
Arthit's eyes lit up. "Are we...?"
Daotok smacked his chest lightly. "You're soaked. Change first. Shower."
"Alright, alright," Arthit grinned. He placed the vegetables on the kitchen counter and stripped out of his wet clothes. "So you're saying not now, but maybe later?"
"Shower," Daotok said firmly, shaking his head.
The rain continued through the afternoon. Arthit spent the rest of the day curled up near Daotok while he worked, listening to the soft taps of keyboard keys and feeling content. Evening settled in quietly. Daotok cooked dinner using the vegetables Arthit had battled the storm to fetch. As they ate, Arthit's phone buzzed.
"Hey, Thit! Wanna grab drinks tonight?" came the voice of a friend from another faculty.
"Tonight? What time?"
"About 9. You in?"
"Who's going?" Arthit asked, already scanning his memory. His friend listed off names—some old buddies, a few soccer mates. Familiar faces.
"Alright," Arthit said, glancing at Daotok. "Let me check with my boyfriend first."
The line fell silent, then laughter. "Wow, man. Back in the day, you didn't ask anyone. Now you need permission? You scared of your boyfriend?"
"It's called respect , not fear," Arthit replied. He turned to Daotok, who looked up in confusion, then nodded when Arthit gestured. He ruffled Daotok's hair fondly. "I'll let you know after I talk to him."
Daotok took it in stride. "Where, what time, and who's going?"
"Midway. At 9. Same people as usual."
Daotok nodded again. "Okay. I'll drop you off. That way, if you're drunk later, you won't have to bother anyone."
"You're really letting me go?" Arthit asked, surprised.
Daotok shrugged. "Yeah."
"Why?"
"Don't you want to go?"
"Well, yeah. Haven't seen them in a while. But you're sure you're okay with it?"
Daotok looked genuinely puzzled. "I trust you."
"Want to come with me?"
"I've got work."
"Just for a little while?" Arthit offered. "I can use you as my excuse to leave early."
"No need," Daotok replied, clearing his plate. "Would you rather I be jealous like other people's partners?"
"Yes!" Arthit huffed, pouting dramatically. "I'm asking to go to a bar, and you didn't even blink. Don't you know how ridiculously attractive I am?"
Daotok walked back to him, gently turned his chair around, and without a word, climbed into his lap.
Arthit blinked but instinctively rested his hands on Daotok's waist. Daotok leaned in and kissed him softly. Arthit deepened it, their breaths mingling. Then Daotok bit him on the neck.
"Consider that a mark of ownership," he whispered.
Arthit grinned, already tugging him closer, kissing him again—deeper, hungrier. It could have gone further, but he stopped himself. Not now. Not yet. As they pulled apart, Daotok pressed one last kiss to his lips.
"Be back before midnight. Don't drink too much. Don't let anyone get too close. I worry about you."
Arthit nodded. "Got it."
Daotok dropped him off at the bar. The familiar music, the buzz of laughter, the clink of glasses—it all hit Arthit like nostalgia. His friends welcomed him with cheers.
"Didn't your boyfriend forbid you from coming out?" one of them joked.
"He let me, but I've got a curfew. Midnight."
The drinking began. Stories were shared, laughter rang out, and yet—Arthit's mind kept drifting back to Daotok. That kiss. That bite. That warmth. Eventually, he slipped out to the balcony for a smoke. He didn't smoke often, but after a few drinks, the urge returned. Daotok didn't mind the occasional cigarette.
He leaned against the railing, enjoying the cool air. Maybe he deserved "Husband of the Year" for how whipped he was. A guy approached and stopped beside him.
"Hey. Standing alone?"
Arthit gave a short nod. "Yeah."
"Mind if I borrow a cigarette?"
"They're not mine. Borrowed from a friend," he replied, not unkindly—but firmly.
"Ah, gotcha. I'm Dada," he said, flashing a grin. "What's your name?"
"Thit."
"How old are you?"
"Twenty-three."
Dada's eyes widened slightly, then sparkled. "Oh! So I should call you P' Thit , huh?"
Arthit gave a lazy shrug. "Sure."
"Do you have a partner?"
"Yeah," he answered, without hesitation.
The shift in Dada's expression was immediate—surprised, then disappointed. Arthit dragged another breath from his cigarette, hoping silence might make the guy take the hint and walk away.
"They here with you tonight?"
He shook his head.
"Why not? You're good-looking. Bet half the bar's been staring at you. Aren't they worried?"
He bit his tongue to keep from rolling his eyes. "He's working," he replied, voice flat but honest.
"Oh," Dada said, undeterred. "Are you going anywhere after this? I came with friends, but they're off doing their own thing now. It kind of sucks."
"Why not go with them?"
"They joined other groups."
"Then tag along," Arthit said, more to shut him up than to be polite. "The more, the merrier."
Dada pouted slightly, ignoring the dismissal. "I'd just be a third wheel. Anyway, are you still in school?"
That was it. The questioning, the energy, the persistence—too much. Arthit sighed, flicked his half-smoked cigarette to the ground, and stepped on it.
"I'm heading off," he muttered.
But before he could turn away, Dada reached out and caught the hem of his shirt. Arthit looked down at the slender fingers, then up at the guy's pleading eyes.
"Wait—are you not into guys?" Dada asked quietly.
Arthit gave a slow shake of his head. "Like I said. I already have a partner."
"I don't mind."
Arthit blinked.
"That's not the point," he said, his brows furrowing. "I mind."
Dada stepped closer. "They're not even here to see."
Arthit frowned, suddenly aware of how warm his cheeks felt—not from the booze, but from annoyance. Or something else. "Listen," he said, slurring just a bit. "I'm switching to first person for a sec, okay? Easier for me." Dada gave him a weird look but nodded.
"I love my boyfriend," Arthit said. "Dao. He's kind of... cold sometimes.
Quiet. Not the jealous type, even though I sort of want him to be. I mean, look at me."
He gestured to himself, lips quirking into a crooked smirk.
"People were staring at me all night, Mama."
"It's Dada."
"Whatever," Arthit continued, not missing a beat. "When my friends dragged me out, I secretly hoped Dao would say, 'Don't go. Stay home. I'm jealous.' But no. Just told me to take care of myself. Can you believe that?"
Dada blinked. "Uh... sure?"
"I mean, he did say, 'Don't let anyone get too close.' That's jealousy, right? Subtle jealousy. Look—" He tilted his head and pointed to a faint red mark on his neck. "He left that earlier. Proof. Dao gets jealous in his own way. Who wouldn't? I'm hot."
Dada opened his mouth, then closed it again.
"You're awfully quiet for someone who was interviewing me like a detective five minutes ago," Arthit said.
"You're talking to yourself now."
"No, I'm talking to Mama."
"Still Dada."
Arthit grinned, unbothered. "Dao's the cutest, most confusing man alive. I'd buy the moon just to gift it to him. Even though he's kind of robotic sometimes."
"...Robotic?"
"Yeah. He's definitely an alien. You didn't know?"
"Uh... no?"
"That's why his cooking sucked at first. Alien taste buds. But he's improving! Anyone who says Dao can't cook is getting slapped by me."
"You really are drunk, huh?"
"Drunk on love," Arthit sighed dramatically, eyes dreamy. "I miss him already. What if he sneaks off to his home planet while I'm gone? Maybe his parents here are just his human foster parents."
Dada stared. "What... are you even saying?"
"I should install cameras. Just in case. Can't let my alien escape."
A voice called from inside the bar. "Dada! How did it go with that guy?"
Dada turned around, looking dazed. "His name's Arthit. He's a senior. Yeah, he's hot but... I think he's a little unhinged. We should probably stay away."
☆☆☆☆☆
Daotok received the call from Arthit at exactly 10:32 P.M. He hadn't expected to hear from him so soon—Arthit had told him earlier he'd be out late with friends. But the moment his name lit up on the screen, Daotok grabbed his keys and headed out without hesitation.
When he arrived at the small bar tucked on a busy corner street, the place was still buzzing with life. Laughter, loud music, the clink of glasses. But amidst the crowd, Arthit stood out immediately. Or rather, slumped. Daotok spotted him half-collapsed on one of the worn leather sofas near the back, his usually sharp eyes now glazed over and drooping. One of Arthit's friends greeted Daotok with a sheepish smile.
"He drank like a man on a mission," the friend said. "Downed everything too fast, like he wanted to get drunk and leave early. No one really messed with him, except maybe when he stepped outside for a smoke—but even then, he came back quickly. Pretty sure he chased them off."
"I see," Daotok replied coolly, scanning Arthit's disheveled figure.
Then, from the couch: "Thit! Your boyfriend's here to pick you up!"
"My boyfriend?" Arthit slurred, lifting his head in confusion.
"Yeah, the one you wouldn't shut up about. He's here."
"Boyfriend!" Arthit suddenly howled like a lovesick puppy, launching himself from the couch in a wobbly lurch and wrapping his arms tightly around Daotok's waist. His face pressed into the hem of Daotok's shirt, rubbing like a cat seeking warmth. "Boyfriend, I missed you so much!"
"He's so whipped," someone murmured behind them.
"Have you ever seen Arthit like this?"
"Never. Not the Arthit I know. That guy was a menace. This? This is... cuddly."
Daotok sighed and gently pried the clinging limbs away. "Alright, let's get you up."
With the help of his friends, Arthit was hauled to his feet. He stumbled but leaned all his weight into Daotok like a drunk koala. The walk to the car was slow and painful, especially since Daotok had to park a few blocks away—every close space had been taken. Arthit, of course, used that to his advantage, draping himself dramatically over Daotok's back the entire way.
"You can walk just fine," Daotok grumbled. "Stop hanging on me like I'm your damn crutch."
Eventually, he managed to stuff Arthit into the passenger seat and get behind the wheel. But before he drove off, he made a quick detour to a nearby convenience store.
"I'm grabbing something for your hangover. Stay in the car," he ordered.
Arthit gave a small nod. "Okay..."
But when Daotok came back just five minutes later, Arthit wasn't in the car. Instead, he was sitting cross-legged on the pavement next to it, hugging a stray brown dog to his chest like it was an old friend.
Daotok stopped in his tracks. "What now?"
He cautiously approached, overhearing the tail end of Arthit's tipsy monologue.
"Don't you feel lonely, lying here all by yourself?" Arthit whispered to the dog, stroking its head. "Where's your pack? Packs are better, you know. They help you find food and stuff."
The dog stared at him, blinking slowly.
"Don't worry about being a boy. I mean, look at your eggs—oh wait, you're a guy. Cool. Anyway, you gotta think about your future, man. Can't stay a stray forever. You'll find the right dog. Just chill outside 7-Eleven like I did, and boom! Soulmate."
Daotok blinked. Was this really happening?
"I can see it in your eyes, buddy. You're lonely. But your day will come."
Before Daotok could intervene, another figure appeared beside him.
"Excuse me," a middle-aged man said politely. "That's my dog."
The brown dog immediately perked up and trotted over to its owner. Arthit stared after it, looking vaguely betrayed.
"Sorry," Daotok said quickly, bowing his head. "He's drunk. He didn't mean any harm."
The man chuckled. "No worries. He's been talking to the dog for a while. Thanks for keeping him company."
"No problem," Arthit chimed in cheerfully, clearly proud of his act of kindness.
Daotok sighed and helped him to his feet. "Let's get back in the car before you start giving life advice to pigeons."
"But it looked lonely," Arthit insisted as he settled back into the passenger seat.
"You're the one who can't be left alone," Daotok muttered. "You're a total mess when you're drunk."
"I was being nice..."
"Sure. Let's just get home."
A few moments into the quiet ride, Arthit shifted and looked at Daotok.
"Hey."
Daotok kept his eyes on the road. "Hmm?"
"Which planet are you from?"
"What?"
"I just wanna know who sent you to Earth to make me fall in love with you like this."
"No one sent me," Daotok replied with a soft chuckle. "I came on my own."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
"Because I knew you'd be waiting for me."
There was a moment of silence before Arthit lit up, face glowing like a child given candy. "You're the smartest! The best!"
"Thanks. Now stop shouting and take a nap."
"Fine, fine," Arthit mumbled, finally calming down. He leaned his head against the window, eyelids fluttering shut. A few quiet beats passed.
"Dao," he murmured.
"Hm?"
"Tomorrow, I want shrimp porridge. Hot and fresh."
"I'll make it," Daotok said without hesitation.
Arthit grinned sleepily, eyes still closed. "Dao... you're the cutest boyfriend ever."
Daotok smiled faintly. No more words were needed. The only sound left was the hum of the car as it carried them home.