Chapter Text
The first-year students could be heard laughing and socializing on the other side of the door as Arthit and the other hazers approached. Just two years ago, they’d been on the other side—naive and eager, wearing white button-downs and black ties and a name-tag strung around their necks. Arthit’s heart thumped wildly against his chest and was so loud he thought sure that his friends could hear it. His eyes shifted nervously back and forth and he went over the plan in his head again. He knew what to do and say. He had to. He was the head hazer.
Knot grabbed his shoulder and squeezed it lightly before taking his spot in line. Behind him, Bright and Tutah failed to stifle their laughter at a joke Arthit hadn’t heard, but it was time to go inside and he turned around, shooting his friends a look to quiet them. “Let’s go,” he said. And at his command, the hazing team pushed open the double doors and walked in. With each step, Arthit’s confidence grew. The hazers’ menacing presence quieted the first-years and by the time they reached the stage, the entire room was silent.
Arthit, with his hands behind his back, briefly looked out at the students sitting in front of him. He no longer felt nervous; on the contrary, he felt powerful and immediately embraced his role as head hazer, just as he had with the other hazers in private.
“Hello, first-year students,” he began, “My name is Arthit. I’m a third year and your senior in this Faculty of Engineering. My responsibility is to look after you for the entire year and make sure that you become disciplined and strictly abide by the rules. I expect to receive full cooperation from all of you.”
“I want to congratulate all of you for making it into Faculty of Engineering,” Knot said.
“However, I will not acknowledge you as my juniors in this faculty until you earn this.” Arthit pulled out a gear charm from his pocket and held it up for the first-years to see. “A gear consists of wheels working together systematically. If a wheel goes missing, a gear will not be able to work. That's why a gear represents the members of the Faculty of Engineering, it is our honor and our dignity, it doesn't just represent one particular person. And for all of you to earn this, you have to learn and go through the SOTUS system first.”
Prem spoke next: “Moreover, you must attend every initiation activity. Make sure that you won't be late. Most importantly, you must respect your seniors.”
“And lastly, you must strictly follow my rules and commands. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” the juniors said in unison.
“Now, do you want to get to know your seniors?” This time the first-year’s response was lackluster and Arthit, annoyed, repeated his question. This time, they responded louder, and he accepted it, continuing: “If that’s so, I’ll let you get to know us, your seniors, by collecting 1,000 signatures from us. I want you to collect all these signatures within one week.”
This time, the juniors did not respond well. Concerned whispers grew across the entire room.
“Is there a problem?” Arthit asked, pausing briefly. “Oh, right. I must have forgotten to teach you manners. If you want to say something, you have to stand up and say your name and student number.”
A hand shot up, followed by a young man standing to face them. His gaze, fixated on Arthit, was defiant and as he introduced himself, Arthit shifted on his feet and pressed his lips together in a thin line, annoyed that no sooner had he given his first order had a junior chosen to openly challenge him. What a pain in the ass.
“I think one week will not be enough to accomplish your task,” the junior, Kongpob, said. This was reasonable and likely true—one week was truly not enough time to do what they were asking, especially when the first-years would be struggling to adapt to their new environment and difficult classes—but they needed to meet their seniors, the people that had gone through all of it before and could help them if they needed it, and they needed to push to do it.
Whether they could accomplish their task or not, they should try to obey their senior’s command, not rise up and question him. “Why? Have you tried it yet?” He asked. “If you can’t even complete such a simple task, how will you accomplish anything?”
“Then give us a month.”
“I won’t grant it!”
“If it were you, would you be able to do it?”
The juniors began whispering to each other again, many with smiles, as if they believed that Kongpob had gotten the upper-hand in this argument. In their eyes, Arthit could see admiration growing for their audacious peer, but Kongpob himself didn’t seem to notice. Instead, his eyes, bright with deviance and temerity, were fixed solely on Arthit. He wanted an answer, Arthit could see that. Unfortunately for his junior, Arthit had no intention of giving him one.
“You don’t have the right to ask me,” Arthit said. “My order is final. Do you understand?”
No answer.
Arthit let out a huff, glancing upward in annoyance before settling back on the group of juniors. “I asked you, ‘Do you understand?’”
Enough of the juniors responded that Arthit knew their authority was mostly undamaged from the incident and that the activity would go on as planned, but he was keenly aware that Kongpob hadn’t said anything and that he was still standing and staring at him with barely contained frustration. Arthit held his gaze even as he started to turn away, purposely giving him a look that dared the young man to say more. He didn’t and Arthit turned away from him, following the other hazers out of the room.
Once they were far enough away, the line broke apart and Bright immediately burst out laughing, clapping Arthit over his shoulder. “We’ve got a feisty one, eh? What was his name again? Kongpob!” He winked, glancing back at Knot, whose brows were furrowed in concern. “What? You worried, Knot? You think that kid’s going to be trouble?”
“No,” he replied without hesitation, and yet Arthit couldn’t help but notice his eyes, filled with apprehension, were trained on him. “I’m not worried.”
“He’s going to be a pain in the ass,” Prem said.
Arthit scoffed. “Whatever. Let’s get to class before we’re late.”
“Why the rush? We won’t get in trouble, will we? She knew we had to greet the juniors.”
“We don’t get to be late whenever we want just because we’re hazers, Bright.” Knot said.
“Shit,” Bright said, loudly. “Why not?”
Arthit shrugged Bright’s arm off his shoulder. As they walked to class, Knot came up beside him, matching his pace. He didn’t say anything, but his eyes flickered to Arthit every so often and he pursed his lips in a slight frown. Ahead of them, Bright and Tutah talked animatedly beside Prem, who listened with a slight smile at their conversation—all three unaware of the slight tension behind them.
“Just say whatever it is you want to say, Knot.”
“There’s nothing,” he replied.
And yet Arthit felt like there was something on his mind and he grew anxious. What was it? His steps slowed and his eyes shifted back and forth as he tried to figure out what it was. He had given all the instructions as they’d agreed. Nothing had gotten out of hand except—
“You don’t think I handled that junior well,” Arthit said. Even thinking of that junior made his blood boil and he had the urge to march back in there and order that frustrating kid to do a thousands squats for being a pain in the ass.
“I think he got to you.”
Arthit scoffed.
“I mean it. I could hear it in your voice.”
“Hear what?”
“That he unsettled you.”
Arthit scoffed again, this time louder. But it felt forced, sounded like it too, and he couldn’t help but think of the intensity of that junior’s gaze and the brazen confidence with which he carried himself—a confidence that Arthit lacked when he wasn’t playing the role of head hazer. That junior—Kongpob—would be, as Prem so eloquently put it, a pain in the ass.
“You handled him fine but…I know you and I just…How do I put this? He riled you up and I know how you can get.”
Arthit stopped at their classroom door and turned around. “What are you trying to say?” He asked, waspish.
“Don’t be petty. You’re a good person, Arthit, but you can be incredibly petty when someone pisses you off. I’m not saying go easy on him but don’t go overboard, that’s all.”
“You’ve got nothing to worry about. That jerk doesn’t bother me at all.”
Knot said nothing. He simply raised an eyebrow and shook his head as if he didn’t quite believe him, and then joined their friends in class. Arthit promptly pushed Kongpob out of his mind, focusing first on the lessons and then on being as intimidating as possible while they ate lunch. As the day wore on, it became surprisingly easy to play the role of the tough head hazer, almost as if it were second nature. He was both delighted and disappointed that none of the juniors dared approach him for his signature, but he enjoyed watching them attempt to get the other’s. They were all formidable, but Prem was perhaps the harshest when he gave two juniors the arduous task of a hundred push ups. Knot, on the other hand, simply refused to sign anyone’s book. After Prem and Knot, no one bothered to ask Bright or Tutah, though the latter signed the books of those that managed to complete Prem’s demands.
“Oi, Arthit. Stop sneering at every junior that passes by,” Bright said with a slight whine. “You’re scaring all the girls away.”
Arthit sat back and crossed his arms. “If they’re that cowardly then they don’t deserve our signatures anyway.”
“This is why you never manage to get a date—”
Before Bright had a chance to finish his sentence, one of their juniors, a girl, caught their attention. She dragged another one of their juniors behind her and immediately upon reaching their table, declared that her friend wanted to talk to Arthit and shoved her toward their table. Then, she thrust the notebook into the girl’s hand, ignored her hushed, panicked protest, and darted off, leaving the girl behind.
Some friend, Arthit thought. Sympathetic, Arthit decided against sneering menacingly and instead simply watched her, waiting for her to speak. She probably wanted his signature and secretly he couldn’t help but feel a spark of excitement that someone was finally brave enough to ask him—even if she had been forced by her “friend”.
“Uh, P’Arthit…I—”
“Name and student number.”
“Praepailin, 0744.”
“What do you want?”
“Well, I’d like you to sign this notebook for me.”
He glanced at Bright, who was staring at her with obvious interest, then back at her. “Wouldn’t that be too easy?” he asked. She was nervous but cute. Beautiful, even. She’d be the perfect candidate for the Freshy contest.
“What?”
“You have to do something for me first.”
“What is it?”
He had no idea. Arthit paused to think of what he could ask her to do. He glanced at his friends for ideas. Prem sat to his right, scowling as he usually did, and Bright was across the table, pretending to be bored. But Bright was never disinterested around pretty girls; in fact, if around one, he almost always sought their phone numbers and praise. Arthit suppressed a smile as he came up with an idea that would be adequately difficult for her and amusing for him. “Well,” he said, “you have to shout three times that you like me because I’m handsome.”
Beside him, Prem made an amused noise and Bright looked up, no longer feigning disinterest.
“What?”
“Do you want my signature?”
“Well? What are you waiting for?” Bright asked. When she looked around, he said, “Don’t be shy. It’s just people.”
After several moments of hesitation, she took a deep breath and said, at the lower end of a normal, inside voice, “P’Arthit, you’re handsome. I like—”
“I can’t hear you!” He yelled, interrupting her. She was braver than he gave her credit for, but she wasn’t loud enough.
“P’Arthit, you’re handsome. I like you! P’Arthit, you’re handsome. I like you! P’Arthit, you’re handsome. I like you!”
At this point, Tutah couldn’t help but start laughing and Bright joined in, shouting ecstatically.
Calmly, as if she had actually meant her confession, Arthit said, “Thank you for telling me you like me. Since you’re so cute,” he said as he got out his phone, “would it be okay to ask for your number and a photo?”
She nodded. Bright fake coughed and Arthit just smiled as he unlocked his phone and moved to hand it to the junior. Bright snatched the phone out of his hand and gingerly handed to her, then he tossed the notebook to Arthit in a petulant, sulky manner. Yes, this was incredibly fun. Arthit signed the book, then he handed it to Prem.
“I’ll take a photo for you,” he heard Bright say when she handed him back Arthit’s phone. “I’m a trained photographer. Smile. A bit more. There.”
With her notebook now signed, Arthit held it out and Bright snatched it, switching it out for Arthit’s phone. He shot Arthit an annoyed glance as he handed the notebook back to her. She thanked them then hurried off.
“Arthit,” Bright said once she was gone, “you’re so cunning. You even got her number.” He grabbed Arthit’s phone out of his hand, looking at it with longing. “Can I have it?”
Smirking, Arthit took his phone back. “I’m sorry.”
“What?”
“It’s not yours.”
“Oh, is that how it is now? Okay.”
Arthit couldn’t help but laugh a bit at his friend’s expense. “Well, actually, I can say that this is pretty normal for me.” It was a blatant lie and they all knew it, but that didn’t matter. Clearly, he could get a girl’s phone number if he wanted to.
“Okay,” Bright said, giving him a thumbs up. “Thumb’s up to you.”
Still smiling, Arthit made sure the phone number was saved, though he never planned to use it. “Good,” he said, thinking this was over. But he should’ve known that Bright wasn’t one to be passively messed with.
“Hey,” Bright said, gesturing to the right. “Why don’t you ask that freshman for his number too?”
Arthit, fully intending to play along, glanced in the direction Bright indicated. It was Kongpob. Four upperclassmen hovered around him—all women, all gleeful as he asked them for their signature with a charming smile.
“Man, I don’t think you’ll have a chance. He’s surrounded by those girls.”
Arthit pressed his lips together, frowning. The women were clearly captivated by him, and Kongpob was irritatingly at ease with their attention as if he were used to it. He probably was. Like Praepailin, he was incredibly attractive and if he participated in the Freshy contest, there was a good chance he’d win. Then he noticed a peculiarity about Kongpob’s interactions with his seniors. Why were they signing two notebooks? Arthit watched the entire exchange, growing increasingly annoyed that this junior had taken it upon himself to get someone else’s notebook signed.
“Kongpob, 0062.”
Kongpob stopped and respectfully approached them, though he seemed nervous as Arthit got up to meet him.
“Why do you have two notebooks?” Arthit asked.
“This one belongs to my friend.”
“Your friend? Why isn’t he doing it himself?”
“You told us to collect signatures, but you didn’t set rules on how to do it.”
Kongpob’s tone, though respectful, somehow still contained a willful, defiant edge to Arthit’s ears and he responded accordingly, ideas already forming in his mind. “And you, have you gotten my signature?” He asked.
“Not yet.”
“Give me your notebook.” He held out his hand and Kongpob handed it to him. Arthit sat down and flipped through it, looking at all the signatures Kongpob had collected. There were tons of them and several had jotted down their phone numbers too, which for some reason was infuriating and impressive at the same time. “It looks like you’ve got a lot already,” he said. He had an idea and he knew it was an asshole move, but he didn’t care. He wanted to emasculate him, to humiliate him, and undermine the allure of his handsome face and gallant personality. “Then, could you do something for me?”
“What is it?”
“Could you do it?” Arthit stared him down, waiting to see if he would back down.
“Sure.”
Arthit looked around until he saw an empty table in the back. “Do you see that table at the back?”
“Yes.”
“Could you stand on that table and shout three times…that you like men?”
Kongpob didn’t answer, but it was clear from his expression and the way he nearly rolled his eyes that Arthit’s request had frustrated and vexed him. He nodded, looking thoroughly unimpressed, and moved to leave when Arthit stopped him, telling him to wait. He couldn’t let his junior be disappointed.
“After that, get down and ask about…” He tapped his knee and leaned back to ask Bright for a number.
“Ten,” Bright suggested.
Arthit nodded, content with that number. “Ten. Ten guys. Ask them if they would be your boyfriend. Can you do it?” He paused, waiting for Kongpob to answer. When he didn’t do so right away, Arthit could help but taunt him. “What’s the matter? You can’t do it?”
Honestly, he didn’t know if he wanted Kongpob to actually do it or back down with his tail tucked between his legs. Either way, Arthit would be the winner. Kongpob glared at him with such venom that Arthit briefly wondered if the junior would try to fight him, but he simply grit his teeth and headed for the table. Bright and Prem both exclaimed loudly and Arthit leaned back, a smug smile tugging on either side of his lips.
His friend’s excitement riled Arthit up too and he watched, eager and still not entirely convinced that Kongpob was going to do as he asked.
“I like men!” Kongpob shouted. Every student turned their attention to him as he repeated himself twice more. He got off the table and stood in front of a male student. His eyes flickered in the direction of their table briefly before he asked, “Would you be my boyfriend?”
Damn.
Once he was finished, Kongpob strode over to them and said, “It’s done.”
“I see.” Arthit stood. He slapped Kongpob and his friend’s notebooks against the palm of his hand. “Good job. You can have it back.”
Kongpob flipped through his notebook. “But you haven’t signed it yet.”
Arthit ignored Knot’s judgemental stare and sauntered back to face Kongpob. “When did I tell you that I’d sign it?” No answer. “When?” Still, no answer. Then Arthit became serious and put aside his pettiness to address the real issue. “And next time, don’t do this again. Give that back to your friend. Let him do it himself. Understand?”
Kongpob stared at him and said nothing, clearly not understanding the point Arthit was making. He would, eventually, but at that moment, Arthit wasn’t about to spell it out for him.
“Hey, but I can help you with one thing.” Arthit gestured for him to come closer and, in a moment of truly abhorrent spitefulness, he moved close to his junior and said, “I can find a skirt for you to wear.” He brushed off his junior’s shirt and ignored the death-glare that was being directed at him. This time, the intensity of Kongpob’s stare, the anger behind it, was incredibly satisfying, almost pleasurable. He sat down next to Prem and took out his phone and pretended to read a message, but he was acutely aware that Kongpob was still there, glaring at him until finally he stormed off. Internally, Arthit cackled. He won. Arthit - 1; Kongpob - 0.
Arthit, still relishing in what he considered a definite win over Kongpob, chuckled and put his phone down on the table briefly before picking it up again to send a message to Fang about nominating Kongpob and that other junior, Praepailin for the Star and Moon contest.
“Arthit. Hey, Arthit.” Bright leaned forward and waved his hand in front of Arthit’s phone to get his attention. “Now I know why P’Tum wanted you to be the head hazer. You’re cunning and brutal, which is funny considering you were meek as a mouse when we were first years, remember?”
Confused, Arthit put down his phone. “Meek? I was never meek.”
“Yes you were! Didn’t you wai to a tree for hours because P’Tum said to—”
“Hey!” Arthit kicked Bright’s shin under the table and hunched forward, glancing around cautiously for any juniors that might have overheard. “Are you trying to ruin my reputation on the first day? And that wasn’t being me being meek. That was me being smart and obeying my seniors.”
“Shit, Arthit!” Bright hissed in pain and rubbed where Arthit had kicked him. “Save all that energy for the juniors, damn. Being head hazer’s made you mean.”
Glare.
“Fine, fine,” Bright said, holding up his hands in defeat. “You’re right. Completely right. You weren’t meek at all, just quiet and calculative, apparently.”
“At least he wasn’t like Knot,” Prem said.
A wide grin spread across Tutah’s face and he nodded, laughing. “That’s true! Knot wasn’t so quiet back then, was he?”
“We were all different then,” Knot said. “That was two years ago.”
Arthit took a sip of his drink, thinking back when they were the wide-eyed first years trying to get through the SOTUS system. They weren’t all that different, though they had certainly changed, like all people do. He glanced at Knot. Although Knot had actively resisted the hazers, it was because he was fiercely protective of his friends and that hadn’t changed. He had simply matured and become deliberate in his actions, choosing to think before acting rather than be driven solely by emotion in the heat of the moment.
Bright and Tutah hadn’t changed much at all, other than growing older and slightly more mature (though in Bright’s case, Arthit wasn’t so sure he had become more mature at all). Out of all of them, Prem, who had started university shy and reserved, had changed the most. He was now confident and self-assured to the point of stubborn and his role as a hazer seemed to make his already ornery temper worse, which worried Arthit since Kongpob was unlikely to be the only junior that challenged them.
Regardless, he hoped that the first-years would eventually understand what they were trying to teach them through the SOTUS system and benefit from it as much as he had. He didn’t want them to hate him forever but for now, he’d play his role as best he could. That Kongpob, though…
Arthit released an annoyed puff of air and stood up, grabbing his bag. He didn’t want to think about that annoying freshman anymore. He had more important things to take care of.
“Where are you going?” Tutah asked.
“To the storage room. Looking at the juniors earlier…I don’t think they’ll have enough mediums if we don’t find that box of shirts that went missing.”
Prem raised an eyebrow at him, skeptical. “We searched that place like crazy. What? Do you think it’s going to magically show up now?”
“No, but it won’t hurt to look once more.”
Knot slung his bag over his shoulder. “I’ll go with you,” he said. And although Prem seemed irritated, he also began gathering up his things, as did Bright and Tutah, and together they went in search of the shirts. After all, the juniors were their responsibility and they all wanted to make sure they had a good experience. Even that rude junior Kongpob.
Knot had been right. Kongpob unsettled him. He’d gotten under Arthit’s skin and now everything about him was vexing, even his face. It wasn’t fair and it was irrational, but every time Arthit saw Kongpob, he felt provoked and on edge, as if he were expecting Kongpob to jump up and challenge him at any moment. He couldn’t help but notice him when he walked into the next freshmen gathering, nor could he stop himself from seeking him out as he asked them questions about their class and admonish them when they couldn’t answer. He noticed the girl next to Kongpob start crying and his frown deepened when Kongpob handed her a handkerchief like a goddamn hero.
Arthit sauntered over to them, his hands behind his back, and without looking at them, called Kongpob’s name and number and ordered him to stand. Once he has, Arthit said, “I asked how many students are in your class.”
Without even trying to hide his annoyance, Kongpob said, “I don’t know.”
“Why don’t you know?”
“I never counted us.”
“It doesn’t matter. You must have an answer for every question that I ask. Understand?”
Kongpob rolled his eyes and agreed without arguing, but somehow that irritated Arthit even more. What made this kid so confident? Why did he have to be defiant even when his words were amicable? Why did he not understand that Arthit was his senior and he needed to respect him? Did he not want to be their junior? Arthit took out the gear and held it up for all the juniors to see. “Do you see this gear?”
“Yes.”
Addressing all the first years, Arthit continued, “This gear is the gear of your class. It represents the pride of the Faculty of Engineering, and not just any individual. If you can’t prove to me that you are ready to earn it, then leave this place. And I’ll no longer consider you my junior.” He paused, looking around before coming back to Kongpob. “Now, Mr. Kongpob, if I don’t give you this gear, what will you do?” At this point, Arthit paused again, his eyes like fire as he watched Kongpob’s reaction, the way his entire face tensed as he grit his teeth, glaring at him like he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure if he should. Kongpob remained silent long enough for Arthit to assume victory. He sneered, feeling a bit disappointed, and let his arm drop. He put the gear back in his pocket and turned his back on Kongpob, but before he’d taken more than a couple small steps, Kongpob spoke up.
“I’ll just take it from you,” he said.
Arthit tensed and immediately turned around, his eyes narrow. “What did you say?” He asked, approaching Kongpob.
“If you don’t give it to us, we’ll just take it from you.”
Behind them, Tutah and Bright glanced nervously at each other, whispering, but Arthit’s attention was entirely on Kongpob. Nostrils flaring, Arthit inched closer to Kongpob, almost invading his personal space. “And how do you plan to do that?” He asked, loudly.
“I just have to make you my wife.” Kongpob’s eyes flickered over him briefly. “They say…what belongs to your lover is also yours.”
Closing his eyes briefly, Arthit breathed in deeply, trying to reign in his anger. His heart hammered rapidly against his chest and he felt like fire flowed through his veins instead of blood. Adrenaline pulsed through him. How dare he say such things? How dare he show such disrespect to his seniors? To what the gear represented and how much it meant to them?
“If I make you my wife,” Kongpob continued, “your gear will be mine as well.”
Arthit seized Kongpob by his collar and pulled him forward roughly. Someone grabbed his arm and stopped him from doing anything else, but he couldn’t take his eyes off Kongpob. There was a challenge in Kongpob’s eyes, a rebelliousness in his expression, and Arthit wanted to rise to it. The grip on his arm tightened. Arthit glanced back and saw it was Knot, who shook his head, telling him not to take this any further. He complied. Arthit released Kongpob, whose gaze never wavered, and jabbed a finger in the younger man’s face. “You’re really brave, Mr. Kongpob,” he said. “Good. I’ll wait and see if you can live up to your words.” He turned around, walking with Knot back to to front while he talked to all the freshmen. “But right now,” he said, his voice raised, “the gear is still with me. So I have the right to tell you to do anything I like. Kongpob, 0062, give me 200 squats. Go!”
Kongpob put his hands behind his head and started. One of the hazers started to count but Arthit was shaken by the incident and it irritated him to see the other juniors watching him, so he harshly ordered them not to look. He was pissed. Make him his wife? Of all the outrageous things to say…
And why was he the wife in this scenario? Arthit released an outraged puff of air and glanced at Kongpob, who, as he was rising from a squat, met his gaze with unabashed disdain. Kongpob had won that round. Let’s see if he could manage it again.
Several freshmen gatherings later, Arthit had gone from being annoyed at the sight of Kongpob’s face to feeling a sort of begrudging admiration for his tenacity. That being said, Arthit didn’t know what to make of him. At first, he was sure that Kongpob despised him and that his snappy comments about making him his wife or having given his heart to him were just ways to get under his skin. However, something had changed without him noticing it.
“P’Arthit…I think when you put on your serious face, you look kind of cute.”
Arthit scoffed, rolling over to the other side of the bed, and pointedly ignored the way his cheeks burned when he remembered Kongpob’s words. It hadn’t seemed to come from a place of hatred. On the contrary, Kongpob’s eyes had sparkled with playfulness and Arthit swore the younger man was affectionately teasing him. But that didn’t make sense based on the way Kongpob glared at him during the gatherings.
But then, there was also that other incident.
During one of the gatherings, Arthit had enough of Kongpob’s heroics and kicked him out, which prompted the entire freshman class to stand up for him—an act that genuinely impressed Arthit. So when he saw Kongpob sitting dejectedly on the steps, he’d decided to stop being obtuse and just explain his reason for kicking him out explicitly. Of course, he conveniently left out the fact that pettiness may have influenced him to push Kongpob as far as he had, but what his junior didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.
But then, just as he was about to leave, Kongpob had stopped him. “Wait, P’Arthit. When I asked for your signature, I wasn’t acting like a hero. Why did you punish me?”
“Why do you think I did that?”
“I think…you have a crush on me.”
“Huh?” Wide eyed, Arthit had struggled to respond. “What did you just say?”
“They say when you like someone, you will likely pull a prank on that person to attract their attention. And you seem to enjoy punishing me. Does it mean you have a crush on me?”
Arthit’s still couldn’t believe Kongpob had said such a thing and had worn such an impish expression while doing so. But worse than the mischievous glint in Kongpob’s eyes was the way it left his speechless and dazed and still thinking about the absurdity of it when he should have been sleeping.
His phone buzzed, reminding Arthit that Kongpob’s silliness wasn’t the only reason he was awake. Things had gotten complicated when that girl started hyperventilating on the field. Why had she pushed herself when he’d specifically said they could step out if they needed to?
Arthit groaned and covered his face with his hands, forcing himself out of bed. He felt groggy and desperately wanted to banish any thought of Kongpob or the teacher’s ire and spend the day dreaming. The phone vibrated again and he picked it up without looking at the screen, and snapped, “What?”
“It’s me,” Knot said on the other end. “I’m just calling to make sure you woke up.”
“I know.” He whined and stumbled out onto the balcony. “Can I not go?” He asked, turning briefly while scratching his ass. He didn’t want to meet with the faculty about the incident on the field. Most likely, it’d end with him being kicked off the team.
“They specifically said we all had to be there.”
“I know.”
“Be on time.”
Arthit made a noise of agreement then hung up the phone and fell against the wall, taking a deep breath. His phone vibrated again, but this time it was a message from his uncle.
Puen: You free this afternoon? Around 4?
Arthit went back inside. There was a freshmen gathering in the afternoon, but if the meeting with the teachers ended the way he thought it would…His throat tightened as he typed his response.
Arthit: There’s a gathering at 4 but that’s okay. I can be late.
Puen: Okay. Same place?
Arthit: Sure.
By the time it was afternoon, Arthit had long since met with the teachers and received the punishment he knew was coming: dismissal from the hazing team. Bright and Tutah laughed it off and assured him that they would all talk to the teachers again, but Arthit wasn’t confident that it would do any good. Still, he didn’t tell his friends that. He pretended like he was okay, like he didn’t care about being kicked off the team, and went to classes with his head held high as if nothing was wrong.
But before he went to meet his uncle, Arthit stopped by his dorm to be alone for a few minutes. He needed a moment to breath. He was so tired.
The moment the door closed behind him, tears blurred his vision and his chest felt unbearably tight. He leaned against the door and slid down to the floor, bringing his knees up to his chest.
Once he managed to stop, He spent fifteen minutes holding a cool towel to his eyes in hopes of getting rid of the evidence before he meet Puen. It made him late, but he didn’t want anyone to know he’d been crying.
Just before four, Arthit hurried into the food court near his dorm and found his uncle sitting at a table near the back playing a game on his phone. Arthit’s stomach flipped. He couldn’t tell Puen that he’d been kicked off the hazing team. He couldn’t. Arthit took a deep breath and forced himself to smile like he meant it.
“When did you get back?” Arthit asked, sliding into the seat across from his uncle.
“Last night. Here, I ordered this for you.” Puen gestured to the pink milk sitting on the table. “Oh, and Sarah was exhausted so she didn’t come but she sends her love.”
“Was her family still awful?”
Puen groaned and leaned back in his seat dramatically.
“That bad?”
“Yes. I don’t understand why they think I don’t speak English well. As if being quiet means I don’t understand them even though we’ve had many, many conversations in English over the past seven years and I’m damn close to being as good as a native. You know, I worked hard to make sure I’d be able to communicate with them and all they do is insult me to my face thinking I don’t understand. I’m never visiting them in Texas ever again. Let them come here.”
“You say that every time you come back.”
“I mean it this time.”
Arthit sighed. He wished that Puen would actually mean it, but he knew he’d cave the moment Sarah said she missed her family and asked him to go visit them with her. She knew how her family treated Puen, how they looked down on him because he lacked a college education and held a janitorial job at the airport, and how they made it clear that they thought she could’ve done better. Although he loathed her family, Arthit didn’t hate Sarah. She was a sweet woman, but at times she could be incredibly insensitive and self-centered. On top of that, she came from a religious family who’d insisted that Puen convert before they married, which had never sat well with him. But Puen loved her and if he was willing to endure her awful family and religious ideology, Arthit would support his decision.
“But enough about that. Here.” Puen took an envelope out of his jacket pocket and put it on the table in front of Arthit. “I know your scholarship covers most everything but here’s some extra spending money. Take your friends out for a drink and have some fun. I know you’re busy with your studies and hazing but make sure you relax too, okay?”
“You don’t need to give me anything.” Arthit didn’t touch the envelope. Between his uncle and his wife, she was the one that made the most money and she wasn’t the generous sort. On more than one occasion, she’d made it clear that she thought Arthit should put himself through college without their help. After all, she’d pointed out, Puen had done more than enough by taking him in at all. He shouldn’t have to support him as an adult too. Because of her snide, off-hand remarks, Arthit had studied like crazy in order to get a scholarship and his hard work had paid off. He pushed the envelope to Puen’s side of the table. “I have enough to get by,” he said, truthfully. If he wanted a comic or another robot, he could easily save up for it by skipping lunch.
“Don’t skip meals just because you want another robot,” Puen said, as if he’d read Arthit’s mind. “I don’t know why you like those things so much. They’re so expensive. Do you still have that guitar I bought you or did you sell it off to buy more robots?” Arthit feigned outrage and his uncle burst out laughing. “I’m kidding, kidding. I know you wouldn’t get rid of that. Just take the money, Arthit. I want you to have it.”
Arthit nodded and slowly reached out to take the envelope. “You won’t get in trouble with Sarah?”
“No? Why would I?”
He shook his head, opting not to say anything more about it. “Never mind.” He glanced at the clock. “I’m going to need to leave soon. There’s a gathering for the first years at four.”
“Ah, right. How’s that going, Head Hazer?”
He tensed. What should he say? He pursed his lips and tried to think of another topic to talk about, any topic, but the only thing that came to mind was Kongpob and his infuriating smiles and clear, steady voice telling him he’d make him his wife. Arthit’s heart beat faster. He didn’t want to tell Puen about that either.
But then an odd, teasing look overcame his uncle’s face and Arthit frowned. “What?” He asked.
“Your ears are turning red.”
Arthit’s hands slapped onto his ears, covering the traitorous appendages, but it didn’t do any good because his entire face turned pink.
“Someone must’ve got you good.” Puen laughed. “Was it one of the first years?”
“One of them is a bit annoying.” Arthit admitted, quietly.
“Uh huh. Don’t be too petty, okay?”
“Why does everyone keep saying that to me?”
“Probably because you can be really petty, just like your mom.”
Arthit looked away, grumbling under his breath.
“I never went through the SOTUS system,” Puen continued, “but seniors are supposed to teach their juniors and be there for them, right? Don’t lash out at them just because you find them annoying.”
“I haven’t.” He thought of the moment he grabbed Kongpob’s collar and grit his teeth. “It’s not my fault if he doesn’t listen.”
“Of course not.” A pause. “Don’t you need to go? I don’t want you to be late.”
“Shit.” Arthit jumped up and started to leave, only to stop and turn around. “I’ll see you soon?” Only after Puen nodded did Arthit say his goodbyes and head back to campus for the next freshmen activity.
By the time he got there, it was almost over but Arthit lingered by the door to watch for a few minutes before leaving to wait for his friends outside at one of the tables.
“Arthit!” Bright yelled, waving at him in an exaggerated fashion. He bound up to him, slid onto the bench next to him, and put an arm around Arthit’s shoulder, shooting him a coy look. “I saw you spying on us.”
“Tch. You guys went too easy on them,” Arthit said.
Prem scowled. “I know but we had to. After you left, the teachers were on our ass about being nicer.”
“It’s fine,” Knot said. “We asked for another meeting in the morning. Once they calm down they’ll let you come back.”
Arthit smiled and shrugged. “Whatever. Do you guys want to drink with me tonight? I could use one and I have some money.”
“We have that meeting with the teachers tomorrow. I don’t think it’ll look good if we’re all hungover. Plus all of us have classes.” Knot adjusted his backpack, frowning. “Why don’t we go over the weekend instead?”
Arthit scowled, shifting his attention to his right. “Bright?” He asked, hopeful. But even he shook his head and repeated Knot’s suggestion of going over the weekend.
“Fine,” Arthit snapped. He shrugged Bright’s arm off his shoulder and stood up. “Let’s go get food. I’m starving.”
But his friends didn’t move. All of them, even Tutah, stared at him with critical eyes, as if they didn’t quite believe he’d let the matter go.
“Don’t go on your own,” said Knot.
“I won’t. But even if I did, I’d be fine.”
Prem scoffed, a smile tugging at his lips. “Not if you drink any hard liquor. You’re too much of a lightweight. Wait till we can go with you if you want to overdo it.”
“And by then we’ll know whether there’s any reason for you to want to drink anyway.” Tutah grinned. “Then we can go out in celebration instead.”
“Okay, okay. I won’t drink tonight.”
That was a lie. There was a bar relatively near his dorm frequented by students studying social sciences and he was confident that he wouldn’t run into any engineering students there. And although he appreciated his friend’s concern, he wasn’t a weak person who needed protecting. He could take care of himself and besides, it wasn’t like he planned to get completely wasted anyway.
The next morning, Arthit woke up with a blinding headache that sent him scrambling out of bed and dashing to the toilet. He fell to his knees in front of it, grabbed the rim, and dry heaved into the basin. There was nothing in his stomach except bile, which burned his throat and nose as he hurled. Once he was sure he wouldn’t throw up again, Arthit flushed the toilet and slowly rose onto shaky legs.
He wiped his nose and mouth with the back of his hand, then moved to the sink to clean up and rinse his mouth out. He stared at himself in the mirror. He looked as bad as he felt and suddenly he wished he’d listened to his friends and stayed home last night. There was no way he was going to be able to concentrate in class with his head throbbing to the point of nausea.
Arthit left the bathroom. He rubbed his head, wincing at the bright sunlight coming into his room. What time was it anyway? He looked at the clock.
“Shit,” he said, softly and without emotion. He was going to be late if he didn’t hurry.
As he showered, he pondered over what had happened last night and found that there were significant gaps in his memory. Since his phone and wallet weren’t missing and he had woken up safe in his dorm, the fact that he could barely remember anything was a minor annoyance, one that bothered him just enough to keep him thinking about it as he made his way to campus.
His last clear memory was of drinking alone at the bar and getting a message from Prem, who’d wanted to know if he could stop by his dorm. Arthit checked his phone to see if he’d answered. He hadn’t.
What had happened after that? The only clue was a second message received about twenty minutes after Prem’s. It was from Namtan. She wanted to know if he wanted to meet up next week, but he hadn’t answered that one either. He sort of remembered reading it, and he thought he remembered someone sitting next to him at that time, but he wasn’t sure.
What he did remember was talking to that person. He ordered a few jello shots, or maybe it was the other person who’d ordered them? Either way, Arthit was sure he consumed several. Then he’d seen a couple kissing in the back and he’d gotten annoyed at them. Why? Did he know them? He was sure he didn’t. Or maybe he did?
At some point, Arthit knew he’d stumbled out of the bar alone. How did he get back to his room? He was lucky he hadn’t caused a disturbance and ended up in jail.
From there, his next memory was being in his room, talking about how he hadn’t replaced the bulbs in the overhead light because he was lazy. Who was he talking to? There was another gap in his memory, then—
“Why is it so easy for those people? I’m handsome. I’d probably be pretty damn good at kissing so why can’t I kiss someone?”
Arthit grimaced, remembering those words coming out of his mouth. It made him want to vomit again. Seriously, who had helped him back to his dorm? Whoever it was, he hoped they weren’t students of industrial engineering. He’d never live it down.
He opened the door to the engineering building just as one of the freshmen was walking out. They nearly ran right into each other but managed to avoid each other. Arthit scowled at the kid. “Watch where you’re going.”
“Sorry!”
He glowered at the freshmen, who jumped out of his way, and briskly walked past him into the building. He glanced at his phone as he rounded the corner. Good. He’d made good time and definitely wouldn’t be late—
Arthit stopped mid-step when he saw Ple and Kongpob sitting together at a table. She handed him books and he thanked her.
“I want to kiss someone,” his own voice, pitiful, and desperate.
And then another. Clear, steady and familiar. “You can kiss me, P’Arthit.”
Arthit stood, rooted in that spot, staring at Kongpob. It was his voice, Arthit was sure of it, and yet, he didn’t want to believe it. Arthit’s heart pounded and his face, neck, and ears turned bright red and burned like they were on fire.
“No way,” he said, shaking his head in sheer disbelief. His mouth felt dry and he swallowed thickly. “There’s no way.”
Arthit reached out and tentatively touched Kongpob’s cheek. His heart raced and he could barely breathe. Even in the low light, his junior’s fervent desire was visible, making him nervous and excited. He felt tense and self-conscious, but he wanted so badly to do this that it didn’t matter.
“Can I?” He asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Yes, P’. If you want to.”
Grabbing his neck, Arthit gently pulled him forward. His eyes closed and their lips met, soft and warm and intoxicating, and they slowly deepened the kiss until Kongpob pulled away.
With a trembling hand, Arthit touched his lips. After Ple left, Kongpob stood up and began gathering his things, and it was then that Arthit realized that he would see him if he didn’t move. Arthit panicked and bolted, rushing back outside and around the building.
He didn’t know what to do. Had he actually kissed Kongpob? Why had he even been with him? He shook his head. It had to be a dream. But then, if it was, why was he dreaming about kissing that troublesome junior?
Arthit’s phone vibrated. A message from Knot asking where he was. He was late, but it didn’t matter. The person who had helped him back to his dorm was Kongpob. The same Kongpob who had challenged him at every opportunity and had brazenly said that he would make him his wife.
And Arthit, the head hazer, his senior, had kissed him.