Call You Mine

Chapter Three

Arthit despised mornings in general, but he especially loathed early mornings, and this one was no different. Still, he had shit to do, and Arthit forced himself to stop pressing the snooze button on his phone and dragged himself out of bed, grumbling all the way to the shower. By the time Prem woke up and stumbled half-asleep into the bathroom, he was partially dressed and in the process of brushing his teeth.

"Did you have to schedule this at the crack of dawn?" Prem asked as he tugged off his shirt.

Arthit leaned over the sink and spit into it. "Hurry up," Arthit said, grabbing his things off the counter. "I don't want to be late."

"Then get out so I can shower."

Scoffing, Arthit slipped out of the bathroom and stuffed his dirty clothes in his bag. In front of the vanity mirror, he carefully wrapped his black tie into a Windsor knot and tucked his shirt into his slacks. He frowned at his image. "I look like a freshman," he muttered under his breath.

"That's because you are one," said Prem as he shuffled past him to the closet, his hair dripping wet. "But not for long. You'll be a third-year on paper, at least."

Arthit shrugged, not wanting to get his hopes up, and dabbed a liquid scent blocker on the inside of his wrists and on the base of his neck, where his major scent glands were located. He wrinkled his nose at the overwhelming, acidic smell, and then grimaced when his skin began to tingle and burn upon contact with the potent substance. He turned the tinted glass vial over in his hand.

The yellow label had a warning against excessive use and included a list of possible side effects that ranged from nasty rashes to vomiting and dizziness. Physical illness, they continued, might be a sign of toxicity and they suggested visiting a doctor if such symptoms occurred. Arthit scoffed and fought the urge to roll his eyes. They recommended no more than two applications per day at least four hours apart, but it wore off in three and the day was long. How did the manufacturers expect it to be useful?

Annoyed, Arthit tore off the label and crumpled it up in his fist before tossing it into the garbage. Then, he stuck the bottle in the front pocket of his backpack and turned to Prem. "You ready?"

The only response he received was an affirmative grunt as Prem grabbed his bag off the bed and motioned for him to follow him out the door. Since they both lacked the energy to keep a conversation going, Arthit and Prem didn't talk as they made their way through campus. Rather, a pleasant quiet settled between them that was only broken by the sound of Arthit yawning periodically.

However, that changed the second Arthit saw who was waiting for him outside Teacher Pak's office. Along with Knot, Tutah, and Bright stood two familiar and welcoming sights.

"P'Tum? P'Deer?" Arthit sped up, rushing over to his seniors, shocked. "What are you doing here?"

"Knot called us last night," said Deer.

Tum crossed his arms over his chest. "But you should've, Ai'Oon. After everything that happened, did you think we wouldn't come?"

"Also, a single text saying that the bond was broken and you were heading back to school wasn't enough," added another voice from behind him.

Arthit spun around. "P'Fon?"

She stood with one arm akimbo and a smile on her face. "You should've called and told us yourself."

"I agree," said Tum, grinning. "I thought I taught you better manners than that."

Shame brought color to Arthit's cheeks, and he lowered his eyes. After everything they'd done for him over the past two years—from helping him escape after the incident, to assisting his parents in securing safe houses to keep him away from Fuse throughout the duration of the lawsuit—he should have had the decency to call and update them about the situation personally. After all, they weren't obligated to help him to the extent that they had, and yet they never once wavered in offering their support and protection. All of them deserved better than a single text that was actually written by his mother, not him.