Distant Signals: The Definition of Us

Chapter Three

Arthit stopped dead in his tracks when he saw the large, blue sign hanging above the entryway. "Kongpob," he said, purposely channelling his head hazer persona. "Why have you brought me here?"

"What do you mean?" asked Kongpob. "You agreed to let me take you on a date."

"This is an ice skating rink."

Confusion wrinkled the space between Kongpob's brow. "And?"

"No way." Arthit looked up at the gargantuan sign looming over him, then at his boyfriend in horror. "Absolutely not, Kongpob!"

"Why? Don't you think it'll be fun?"

"That's not—" It wasn't a matter of whether or not it's be fun. Arthit pressed his lips in a thin line and shot the entryway another apprehensive glance. "Why do you want to go ice skating, of all things? I've never..."

"Really? That's great! I haven't either, P'."

"Then why did you bring me here? Let's do something else." Arthit snapped his fingers. "Like go to the cinema. Last time, you knew all about that movie we watched. Isn't there another you want to see? This time you can tell me all about it instead of Prae. Doesn't that sound great?"

Shaking his head, Kongpob laughed and briefly ran his fingertips along Arthit's forearm. "This sounds much better than a movie, P'. It'll be a new experience for both of us, and it'll be something we've only done with each other."

A faint blush brought heat to Arthit's cheeks. What did that matter? It reminded him of that time Kongpob randomly asked him if anyone else besides his friends knew about his addiction to pink milk. Weirdly enough, he'd also asked who else knew that Arthit had cried behind the grandstand, and that his nickname was Ai'Oon.

Looking back, Kongpob's smile had grown wider and wider with each dismissive confirmation that no one else besides Kongpob and his friends knew about any of it. Why, exactly, had that made him so happy?

"Because I don't want anyone to get closer to you than me," Kongpob had said, all those weeks ago, when Arthit had asked why he hadn't told anyone else that they lived across from each other.

Perhaps this was an extension of that—a faint possessive streak in Kongpob that both unsettled and thrilled him. So long as it didn't get out of hand, he didn't mind if Kongpob was slightly possessive. Slightly, being the key word. He didn't want to be with someone who used love as an excuse to be controlling and overbearing.

Sometimes, when he watched Puen and Sarah, Arthit thought he saw that in their relationship. How many times had Sarah scolded Puen for being too nice and leading other women on? And, more than once, he'd heard her accuse him of having a wandering eye despite knowing that he was hopelessly in love with her—to the point, in Arthit's opinion, of being willfully ignorant of her flaws. Arthit didn't want a relationship like that. He wanted someone who trusted him.

Someone like Kongpob.

"If you're scared of falling, P'Arthit, you don't have to worry," said Kongpob, stepping forward and leaning close so he could whisper in Arthit's ear. "I'll be sure to catch you."

Cheeks burning, Arthit jerked back and hissed, "Kongpob!"

"Yes?"

"You've gone skating before, haven't you? This is a trick. You just want to—" he stopped short, not willing to say that he thought Kongpob just wanted an excuse to put his hands all over him in public.

"I just want to what?"

"Kongpob. Stop playing innocent."

"I'm not, P'," he said, his eyes glimmering with mischief. "I've really never gone skating before."