Extraordinary

Hangovers Are Best Cured With Eggs.

When Arthit starts waking up there’s the taste of death lingering in his tongue, and his head hurt. He shouldn’t have made Bright force him to drink all those tequila shots.

    He keeps his eyes closed; Arthit doesn’t really know where he is, and the last thing he remembered were Kongpob and his friends talking.

    Arthit can feel the sunlight on his eyelids, and his body feels heavy, so he takes a deep breath, snuggling closer to the warm body next to him.

    Wait –

    Now, he’s not proud of the sound that came out of his mouth provided that Arthit feels like he’s been hit by a truck, and how his mouth tastes awful. Arthit’s had plenty of sleepover with his friends to get used to a foot on his cheeks or the occasional misplaced hand on his belly, but seeing Kongpob beside him lying stiffly is a different thing.

    They’ve only shared room, not beds.

    “Good morning, P’Arthit,” Kongpob tilts his head and greets him like Arthit didn’t have his hand snaked around the alien a while ago.

    Arthit tries scooting away from Kongpob, but his head throbs making him wince.

    “What time is it?” he grunts.

    “9:10am,” replies Kongpob. “P’Knott went ahead first; said something about helping his mother.”

    “Did – did . . .” Arthit then starts gesturing his hands between him and Kongpob while the alien just looks confused.

    “If you’re wondering what happened last night, we carried you in P’Bright’s room when you fell asleep,” Kongpob says, providing the information he needs, but that’s not what Arthit wants to know.

    “Where’s Bright?” he distracts himself by looking at the room. It is indeed his friend’s room – having been here endless nights partying during his university days. 

    “The last time I saw him he was sleeping at the counter table hugging a picture of his grandmother.”

    “Oh,” Arthit chews his lips. His heart is pounding in his chest, and he doesn’t know what to do with his hands.

    They’re clothed – both of them, thank Buddha, but he doesn’t know how Kongpob ended up sleeping beside him.

    “How – where’d . . . how – how long were you awake?” he stutters.

    “I’ve been awake since 8,” says Kongpob, and Arthit raises his brows at him since the alien has been awake for an hour already. 

    “I like sleeping next to you,” Kongpob just shrugs like it’s supposed to calm the storm which is starting to brew inside Arthit.

    He clears his throat, scratching the back of his neck to keep himself preoccupied.

    Arthit can’t really look the guy in the eye; he’s too embarrassed. 

    Kongpob moves from where he’s lying and Arthit watches him. The alien then starts making up his side of the bed, so he has no choice but to force himself to get out of bed as well.

    It’s a Sunday, and although Arthit doesn’t really have a plan, he wants to go back to his own home in the comfort of his own bed preferably without Kongpob lying beside him – or not.

    “We have to get home, P’Arthit,” Kongpob says as he neatly folds the blanket. “I have to feed Mr. Giggles or else he’ll get cranky.”

    Right, their cat, Mr. Giggles, who starts giving side eyes whenever they’re late on feeding him.

    But Arthit’s mind is somewhere else; it’s how Kongpob referred to Arthit’s house as his ‘home.’