Distant Signals: The Definition of Us

Chapter Six

Exhausted, Kongpob dropped his backpack off on the vanity and languidly made his way over to the bed. As expected, Oak and M had played video games all week instead of studying or doing their homework and, as a result, Kongpob was forced to spend the entire afternoon reteaching them the material and helping them catch up. They didn't even get to the group project, which had been the entire point of going to the library, and Kongpob had a sneaking suspicion that neither one of them had even started their part. Luckily, they still had Saturday and Sunday to work on it.

Kongpob sighed heavily and laid down, mulling over whether he wanted to say fuck it and do the entire project himself. The professor had explicitly warned them that the project required a great deal of independent research, and that it'd be easy for him to spot which students squandered their time. In other words, he expected a thorough and well-done final product—not a last-minute, hastily put together presentation.

In his pocket, Kongpob's phone vibrated against his thigh. Who was calling him so late? He dug it out and answered without looking at the caller ID, lazily slapping it against his face. "Hello?" he grumbled. Too often, M or Oak called him late at night to ask if he wanted to join their online games. That wouldn't normally bother him too much, but after the day he'd had helping them at the library...

"Why do you sound like you're ready to murder someone?"

Surprised, Kongpob shot up in bed and, although he could recognize that voice anywhere, quickly confirmed the name on his phone screen. "P'Arthit," he said, unable to contain his smile. Arthit rarely called him first, and it made him stupidly excited whenever it happened.

"Did you just get home? Why so late?"

"It's only..." Kongpob glanced at the clock. "Eight-thirty. But yes, I did. Just a few minutes ago, actually."

"Oh, really?"

Kongpob laughed and laid back down, rolling over on his side. "Your timing is impeccable. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were waiting by the window for my light to turn on."

Silence.

"Wait, were you?"

"No! Of course not! I'm not a stalker, Kongpob. I just happened to look outside and saw that your lights were finally on."

Kongpob hummed in mock agreement. Finally, huh?

"I'm serious. I wasn't spying."

Maybe not, thought Kongpob, grinning, but you were definitely waiting for me to get home.

"...Anyway, I should probably go—"

"Wait, P'Arthit. Did you eat already?"

"No...Why?"

"Are you hungry? I was going to skip dinner, but now I think I might go get an omelet."

"You could just make that at home."

"I can't," said Kongpob. He got out of bed and wandered over to the window. "I told you, didn't I? Whenever I try to make it at home, I burn it."

Arthit scoffed. "Such a prince. Your mother always cooks for you, doesn't she? She spoils you too much."

"Maybe," Kongpob said, pushing the drapes out of the way. Normally, Arthit kept the curtains closed at night, but this time they were pulled aside, allowing him to clearly see into the brightly lit space. Arthit was sitting at his desk, tiling his chair on its back legs by pressing his feet against the wall under his desk. Kongpob grinned mischievously. He lowered his voice and added, "But I'd rather be spoiled by you, P'Arthit. You wouldn't even need to make me dinner—just be my dessert."