We're gonna be royals

Thirty

Two dull weeks later, Gun had spent working on his proposal for his final year project. His professor had taken a liking to his project’s topic and wished him to explore further about Western influence on Thai fashion culture, saying that maybe he could focus on the specific timeframe and use his findings for his final year project.

In a flash, September passed like this.

With the final paper and semester nearly ending soon, Gun could only spare a short meet up with his friends during lunch. It was strictly for thirty-minutes because the pitying looks and sympathy was getting too much when he was munching on his food, and honestly, it was getting hard to pretend that everything’s fine. He also rarely bumped into Off nowadays. Everytime he asked for Off, the guys either mentioned that Off was busy with his class or caught up with a study group. Although, Gun had suspected the other was avoiding him rather than being kept up because he was busy.

Gun also prefers not to sleep these days. Not that he hasn’t been getting any sleep either. But when he does though, hurt and guilt swirling in him, stuck like a plague. Never fades. And Off’s face was stuck behind his eyelids every time he closed his eyes.

Maybe that’s the reason he can’t think straight these days. Maybe that’s the reason he was stuck in the middle of the road. Gun blinked when a loud honk pulled him from the trance. He stared at his side, noticing a guy was yelling on top of his lungs while waving him a finger. He doesn’t understand. Pairs of eyes around him also didn’t stop giving him a disgusting glare, mumbling and whispering. Blaming him. It made him sick to the guts and suffocated all at once.

Suddenly, there’s a hand latched on his arm, dragging him forward.

“What do you think you’re doing standing in the middle of the road, Gun? Do you want to die that bad?” the stern voice was radiating with anger. Gun stole a glance at the figure and an invisible lump stuck on his throat.

Off Jumpol has finally made his appearance. In flesh. Before his own eyes.

Gun almost teared up upon seeing him.. Off looked amazing as ever in his Armani suit. He looked slightly haggard but the confident streak across his features was still apparent, looking suave in his buttoned up shirt as he mumbled some words Gun didn't understand. For a moment, Gun stared in disbelief. Off waved his hand in front of his face, trying to get his attention.

It is not a dream. It is real.

Gun didn’t think twice before slipping his arms around the taller guy, enveloping Off in a hug. Off turned rigid at this. There’s a surprise gasp heard as Gun pressed his face into Off’s chest. His heart was thumping rapidly. Hesitantly, a hand hovered over Gun’s head before it was settled on top of it. Gun held in his breath when the familiar hand ran through his locks. He found his lips quivering at the fleeting touches. A surge of relief filled him as soon as Gun felt warmth enveloped him. The amount of emotions is too much. 

I miss yo —

“Off” A sweet voice called out from the distance.

It made both of them turn.

A girl came out from Off’s car, wearing a slim champagne dress. It’s only because Gun got sharp eyes that he realized they’re wearing clothes for dinner and like a train wreck, reality hits him hard, tumbling over his surge of emotions. They’re probably on a date. Gun has heard about it. Rumors have been going around that Off Jumpol was back to being himself, dating every other rich girl in the city.