The Head Hazer's Ex (Completed)

The Head Hazer's Ex

"Don't tell me," Arthit growls as Tootah cowers before him, "You've invited him?"

"I always invite him, it's not like he's ever shown up before," Tootah moans as he slinks away from Arthit's direct line of sight and flops onto his chair, the one he keeps by the window to stare out at the world.

"Well, he'd better not this time either, or I'm leaving. You know how I feel."

"Arthit!" Knott says sharply from his perch by the bed, "I wish you'd hear yourself for once, he's not the enemy, you loved him once.."

"Still do," Bright calls out merrily from across the room where he is raiding Arthit's fridge, unworried by the dark glower being sent his way by the former head hazer.

"I don't!" Arthit growls and makes to move towards him, but Prem grabs him by the collar and he's suddenly stationary as his fiercest friend locks eyes on him, eyebrow raised as he looks from Arthit to the drawer beside his bed, the one that no-one is ever allowed to look inside.

"It's not like that, Prem." Arthit says softly, but his friend just frowns and then takes a step away and joins Tootah by the window, "It's not!" Arthit protests again, but around the room there are various humming noises that mean his closest friends in the world still don't believe him.

"He walked away." Arthit says sadly as he turns away from them all to face his wardrobe, opening the door and reaching in for his favourite hoodie, the one that he always wears when he needs to feel comforted.

"Maybe.." Knott replies, "But who pushed him?"

X

They don't see each other for a few days, Arthit stubbornly staying at home, working online and ordering in, imposing his own form of punishment on his closest friends... and himself.

He feels bruised by their words, their casual reminders of his failed relationship and how invested he might still feel about it. Even as he wears the hoodie he loves the most, the one that he left behind when he walked away for the last time.

He drags the sleeves down over his hands as he pulls back from his laptop, shutting off the screen to end his working day.

"Idiots," he mutters as he moves across his room to the small kitchenette and starts to prepare a cup of his favourite tea, the one that calms him down and lets him sleep without the torturous dreams chasing him.

Beside the sink is an unopened bottle of sala syrup, the rich pink colour haunting him as he glances away from it, "Not today, Arthit! Not today, come on, keep it together."

Every time he locks eyes on the bottle, he wants to throw it away, drain it down his sink and vanquish it from his life.

But he can't let it go. Not now. Not ever. It would be the end of everything if he did.

A sign that he's over it all.. and he's honestly not.

He goes back to his seat in the window, steam from his tea curling into the air, the scent soothing his mind as he takes small sips, one by one.

"You don't need him." He whispers to himself, "He doesn't need you. You only hurt him. You only hurt him, stay away, Arthit."

It's an uneasy sleep that he falls into, though his dreams don't haunt him like they sometimes do.

There's a mix of twisted bodies turning to him, faces sad, expressions disappointed as he walks amongst them, stretching his legs, running when he can. And then there's Kongpob, waiting at the end with a hopeful expression, one hand stretched out for him, fingers curled as he whispers, "Arthit? Arthit? Arthit, where are you?"