#again technically a flight doodle but it sounded worse

[hotfuss]

airport doodles pt 2

[unpopular-bishop]

If it’s me and if it’s you

It’s hard when Arthit is upset.

By no stretch of the word is Kongpob’s boyfriend laid-back, but Arthit - when not filling a specific role - is lowkey and willing to follow the path of least resistance. He goes along with suggestions surprisingly easy (provided that they aren’t suggested by Kong), and he’s often willing to make himself uncomfortable to keep the peace (provided that it’s not peace with Kong he’s keeping).

All of this is to say that when Arthit reaches the point that he’s actively making it known that he’s upset, it’s usually too late to do anything to fix the problem, which always throws Kong’s initial instinct right out the window. Worse, though, is when Kong is the problem. When he’s kept something to himself for too long, always looking for a perfect moment that never comes in time to avoid the blowout, or he’s pushed for too much too fast. When it’s something he can’t just fix.

So it’s hard. He doesn’t like when Arthit is upset, and he doesn’t like feeling like he can’t help.

Kong doesn’t like it at all when Arthit cries.

-

He and Arthit have never “broken up.” They’d had arguments, disagreements, Kongpob is (mostly) comfortable saying that they’ve even taken a break once. But they’ve never broken up. Kong worries a little more each month that that will change. That what Arthit was so scared of that night before his flight might come to pass.

The screen is blurry, but Kong is sure that’s because his eyes are so tired. He’s been writing and rewriting the same paper for three straight days and has probably slept a total of five hours since he started. He’s still, technically, supposed to be writing.

Instead, he’s thinking about exactly how long it would take him to pack a bag, jump on a plane, and taxi to Arthit’s apartment while he watches Arthit’s shoulders shaking through a Zoom call with a bad connection. They’ve not been able to really talk in nearly two weeks and now he’s had Arthit to himself for five minutes and he’s already messed everything up.

He can hear the quiet sounds of full-body weeping interspersed with the robotic static of a mic, and his own throat is closing up, his own eyes are getting hot just listening.

“Hey, hey,” He tries to cajole, blinking hard a few times, “I’m right here. Please don’t -”

He sees Arthit shake his head, and it hurts. It hurts, and he’s angry about it. Angry that he isn’t there, that he hasn’t been there for over a year now. That he chose to leave in the first place.

He wants to try to speak again, but he doesn’t know what to say.

“P’Arthit,” he rubs one eye, the burning almost overwhelming. The backs of his fingers feel wet when he pulls them away. His voice shakes. “Please.”

Arthit goes still and then Kong watches him take a deep, fortifying breath. His shoulders go up and roll back as he sits up, dashing a heavy hand across his eyes and rubbing fiercely.

“Sorry,” Arthit says through the speaker. His voice wavers, but the connection strips whatever nuance might have given some of his thoughts away to Kongpob.

“Don’t apologize.” Kong rubs his face again, feeling hot and itchy. “I should be apologizing. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Phi. I’m -” he starts to say the worst, and then worries he’s going to twist this into being about him instead of being about Arthit and cuts himself off. He wishes he could see more clearly, but Arthit is just a familiar set of lines and colors to him right now. What pixels have left behind for Kongpob to admire has also been washed away by his own body’s weakness.

He’s so tired.

“Don’t apologize, either.” Arthit interrupts, and then clears his throat. “It’s okay, Kong. It’s just...it’s hard.”

“I know.” Kong leans his face into one hand, digging his thumb and the knuckle of his index finger into his eyes to rub. They still haven’t dried out and he hopes that the camera doesn’t pick up on it. “I know.” He knows he shouldn’t say the words again right after Arthit’s regained his composure, but he can’t help it. “I just miss everything so much. I miss you. I want to go home.”

“I miss you,” Arthit says quietly. “And...and home will be here when you’re ready to come back.”

“Will you be?” Kong can’t help but ask, misery spilling into every word. He’s tried so hard to be the strong one, the sure one, through all of this. “Phi, I know things are awful, but I swear it won’t be forever. I’m going to make this worth it, I just -”

It should be humiliating, the catch in his voice, the way he has to breathe in sharply without being able to stop. But it’s Arthit, and Kongpob has done a lot of humiliating things to get and keep the attention of Arthit. He’d do a lot more than cry on camera, and happily. At this point, he wouldn’t be able to stop even if he wasn’t willing. He’s lost the battle and there’s wetness running down his cheeks, past the final barrier he’d been attempting to keep strong with his fingers.

“Kongpob, look at me,” Arthit demands in that listen to me right the hell now voice, and Kong has to take a second to gather himself before he listens, but he does because it’s instinct. He still can’t see the screen clearly - now there are tears in the way on top of not being able to focus his vision - but he knows Arthit is looking at him.

“Remember that interview we did?” Arthit says firmly. “With the Phi from campus?”

Confused, Kongpob nods. It’s been well over a year since that interview. He remembers that it had been fun. He’d been floating off the cute things his boyfriend had (willingly!) said (on camera!) about him, about them, for days after. Arthit had kissed his cheek in public. Held his hand, even.

“What would you do if I disappeared?”

Kong doesn’t have to think about it. His answer is the same now as it was then - he means it even more now, even.

“I’d look for you.”

“No matter how far I go, you’d look for me, right?”

Arthit is in his bed - their bed. Kong recognizes the sheets, remembers how much he liked how they felt on his skin. How nice they looked against Arthit’s. The feeling of homesickness is almost overwhelming him. He nods anyway, rubbing a palm against one eye. It does nothing to stymie the tears.

“And do you remember what I'd do?”

Kong sobs. He doesn’t mean to, but his heart aches. He wants to hold Arthit’s hand. He wants to feel his skin and his breath and their sheets and the warmth of his own sun. He wants the familiar street food and the campus grounds and his friends. He wants Arthit.

“Kongpob, answer me.” Arthit pulls out that voice again, “Do you remember what I'd do?”

He can’t speak, so he just nods. It’s his turn to feel his shoulders shake as he cries.

“I’ll stay still. I know that you’ll come back to me sooner or later. I’m still waiting for you. I’m staying right here until you find me again.”

Kongpob laughs wetly, sniffling. He feels like an idiot. In the end, he turned it into being about himself after all.

“I promised I’d hold you when you were sad, too. I’m sorry I can’t right now.” What he’d give to be able to touch Arthit again, even for only a moment.

“I said I’d stay by your side.” Arthit shoots back. “Stop arguing with me. This is your dream, Kong. I know it’s hard right now. You’ll get through it, and...and I’ll be here every time you need me. You get that?”

Kongpob nods. The crying is finally abating, and he scrubs at his eyes hard in an attempt to end it faster. When he blinks, the world is even more blurry than before. He’s still so tired. He only has two more days to finish this paper. He wants to stay up and talk to Arthit, hear about his, or talk about their friends or even just. Sit quietly with him.

“Stop looking so sad, you’re giving me heartburn.” Arthit wipes his face and it makes a small, weak smile slide to Kong’s lips.

“Sorry, Phi.”

“Stop apologizing.”

“Okay, Phi.”

“Kongpob!”

He laughs. His heart feels lighter, and it’s a little easier to slowly let his shoulders relax than it was only an hour ago. He still yearns, but it’s not washing over him, drowning him, as much.

“Thank you, P’i’Aoon.”

He doesn’t need to see well to know that Arthit’s cheeks flush, he can hear it in the way he clears his throat obnoxiously.

“Well. That’s what I’m supposed to do. I’m your boyfriend, aren’t I?”

Kong’s smile grows. “Sorry, I didn’t catch that. Say it again?”

“No.”

“Please, Phi? The connection’s bad, I couldn’t hear you.”

“Too bad.”

“P’Arthit...”

“I said it’s late there, go to bed!”

“We’re only an hour apart!”

“Stop arguing with me! I’m telling you to go to bed, you look like you’re about to fall over.”

“I want to talk to you.”

“We can talk more tomorrow.”

“I want to talk to you now.” Kong presses, coaxing. It’s sort of cheating, but he knows that Arthit is weak to it.

Arthit is quiet for long enough that Kong starts to think the chat has frozen and is ready to throw out some curses he’s not one to usually throw out, before breaking the quiet with a soft, fond, “You’re so annoying, Kongpob.”

“Just for you?” Kong offers and is gratified to hear a familiar, pleased laugh. His boyfriend is just so weird, so contradictory. Angry and stern one minute, soft and shy the next; a total nerd in the privacy of their space but a badass to anyone who doesn’t know him. Kong adores him.

“Go lay down. Take the laptop with you. I’ll talk until you fall asleep. Deal?”

“Talk even after I fall asleep,” Kong says, already putting his things away. He saves his drafts, makes a note about where he left off on the paper (and a doodle of Arthit’s name with a heart). He should shower, but he’ll do it in the morning. He’s too exhausted. He just wants to listen to Arthit and close his eyes and pretend he’s home.

“Don’t push your luck,” Arthit grumbles back, but Kong knows he’s won.

He ends up in bed, the blanket pulled up to his nose, just gazing as best he can at the screen where Arthit is doing much the same. The light hurts his eyes, but he can’t help but hold off on blinking just to keep that face within view.

“Let me tell you about this new employee.” Arthit starts, and Kong is asleep before he finishes the sentence.