The 7 times Arthit attempted to confess his love to Kongpob but failed. Based loosely on the 7 deadly sins but it's actually just Arthit being cute and squishable. Will he be able to get his feelings across to the most oblivious guy in the world?
Wa...
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Arthit fidgets with the pen in his hand as he waits for Kongpob to finish calculating the equation on his paper, trying not to stare at the mess of jet black hair opposite him that he's itching to run his hand through to feel how soft they are.
Kongpob, who's not aware of the pair of eyes on him, has his head low, focused intently at the figures that are currently giving him a massive headache.
Arthit finds himself reaching out, fingers lingering above the junior's head and he debates internally if he's even allowed to touch those silky-looking fine strands when Kongpob suddenly tilts his head up, piercing eyes staring into the senior's shocked ones.
"Is there something on my hair?" asks Kongpob with a slight frown. Arthit snaps his mouth shut, retracts his hand and shakes his head. "You sure, P'Arthit?"
"Just a small leaf," he says a while later after a million excuses have filtered through his mind in three seconds. "It's gone now."
"Okay, thanks." Kongpob nods with a charming smile that almost melts Arthit into a puddle of goo before going back to his assignment. The senior looks back down at his own lonely book which is spread in front of him, mocking him with all the neon green highlights and swallows down his nervousness.
Crap, that's close.
Trying to build up his courage, Arthit takes a sip of the pink milk to calm down his jumpy nerves. He's decided that he's going to confess to Kongpob during a serious ten-minute monologue with himself this morning, after flipping his lucky coin and got heads up. The sun is bright and the clouds look like floating cotton candies that are silently encouraging him outside — it's going to be a perfect day to tell Kongpob how he feels.
Yes, it is.
"Kongpob—" squeaks Arthit, playing with a corner of his notebook, folding and unfolding a triangle-shaped crease on it. He swallows again when Kongpob hums in response, giving him an absent reply. The senior wipes his clammy hands against the sides of his dark jeans, eyes downcast, hesitant to look up.
Just do it, his mind screams.
"I-I—" he stutters, licking his too dry lips and his throat suddenly decides to transform into a desert. He glances up from his book and noticed there aren't any students nearby their table. It's a perfect opportunity to not make a fool of himself in front of others if things happen to go wrong.
