Selcouth Wakings | brightwin |

N: 15

A couple of years ago maybe even months from the current year, he would've of said yes. Maybe not even a yes but a cowardly nod with his head bent down, in all ways refusing to meet the same eyes he inherited them from.

Not now though.

"Mr. Chivaree, your appointme—"

"Did I stutter?" Bright cuts the man off before he could bring back the hurl of unpleasantness if he finishes. The man in this black suit knew Bright even when he wasn't like this; he knew him on his bicycle days and knee bruises from falling down while learning it.

"Your father said you're not answering your calls. He's—" The man stops by the word, gently closing the opened car door that was meant for Bright.

"He's not worried, give it up." Bright sighed before airing out his final excuses to get his father's men off his back. "I'll settle things with him myself so tell him to stop bothering me by coming here or sending someone over."

"Bright,"

He refuses to look at the knowing tone the same man has used on him while growing up. It was funny somehow, that his father's driver was more of a father than his own ever became. It was funny—the saddest kind.

"I'm doing good, better even. Better than half my life combined." Bright replies as he peeks over to where his old and new friends are; conversing by the sidewalk while their only troubles involve the pending group project they are yet to finish.

"I know that. I can see it."

"So relay that to him, will you?" The thought of his father casually visiting him personally made his insides bleed in troubled happiness. The bigger part of him was enraged that the old man probably just needed something for him to drive all the way here ; while the smaller, softer part he wishes to bury away was high up in the clouds probably already bursting his pride that his dad was there to see him.

"Maybe you should tell him that yourself, Bright."

The longer they all sat there, the louder Gun's voice started to shatter their ears.

"Then what are you going to do? Dictate the words to me while I type them?" Gun drills Off's arm with each syllable once they all discovered that Off wasn't able to start anything yet.

"I mean yeah? I can do that, what about it? You think it's that easy, huh? Let me remind you this is almost a mini thesis we're doing—"

"Exactly! We need more content for it. What's not clicking then Jumpol? Maybe tell us you're willing to gather more information or even related literatures for better references or maybe—"

"Fine! I'll take the solution part. Leave the last part to me." Off finally fires back, cheeks reddening out of annoyance.

Bright stops typing his part on their paper once he hears his friend's sudden outburst. It was now hours after all their classes were done for the day; hours after his father's driver cornered him the moment he stepped out of their university gates; and years ago when he was able to hear Off react in that manner.

"Hey," Bright nudges his friend whose eyebrows creased deeply in mental pain. He frees his other hand to soothe a pat against the older before nudging Win who looked just as troubled to approach the same frowning Gun.

"Just leave five to three pages for the last part. I'll be on it." They hear Off murmur while his hands finally ran their own lapses on his laptop.

Gun remains huffing quietly, remaining prideful too coax Off as he actually feels the first strip of guilt strike him when Off's typing was the only sound filling the tensed silence. Bright wanted to get up to give them time to sort their workload with each other but familiar hands always tied him down; to which he was now learning how touch deprived he is.

"Stay," Win mouths at him while his hands anchored his own wrists under the study table. Bright frowns in unsaid suggestions he'd rather say until Gun's voice lifted everyone's head; both in relief and looking at Off's trembling mouth, maybe subtle excitement too.

"I'll help Off with the solution part while you two complete the review from our drafts."

No one said anything for quite some time. Just feeling their own little responsibilities, plotting how they could bridge it over with the little time they had but over all that; they silently thought of the extra time they would need to spend with each other.

To Off who snidely peeks at Gun from time to time while he starts to clear his history searches if ever Gun looks at it.

To Gun whose eyes never stopped twitching after saying what he just did. Not because he hated the plan he had already reinforced but because it was with Off who was the first person to ever get him so worked up over the most ridiculous things. Off, who ruined his days and completes them all at the same time.

"I'll send you a link tonight, you might want to see this." Gun stills when he fails to realize that he was staring at the culprit of his dilemma all this time. Head bent to accommodate the height difference, Off tries to seal his little smirk at the realization.

Gun rolls his eyes; the action crinkling his at the corner. "Why don't you send it now? I'm sleeping early tonight."

He watches Off slide a look over to the other two who both sat inside their bubble of hushed spills of phrases they can't make out of and their overly secretive skinship that Gun tries not too read in too much.

"Then sleep a little later." Off was quick to say even when the said link was already bookmarked on his laptop. This was starting to be the best part of his days. The rest he never knew he needed and all quite, he didn't expect for it to be in a form of someone so loud, obnoxious and small.

"Jumpol, don't start shit you can't endure."

"We're working together Atthaphan. I've got a lot to endure."