Kongpob heard him before he saw him.

Footsteps.
Not hurried.
Not hesitant.
Deliberate.

The door opened without a knock.

Of course.

Kongpob did not look up immediately.

He finished the line.
Aligned the parchment.
Set the quill down.
Only then—
“Yes.”

Arthit didn’t move further into the room.
Didn’t sit.
Didn’t soften.
“You like me.”

Silence.

Immediate.

Absolute.

Kongpob looked up.

Met his gaze.

Steady.

“That is an imprecise statement.”

Arthit let out a short, disbelieving breath.
“Of course it is.”
He stepped forward.
“Then make it precise.”

A pause.

Kongpob held his gaze.
This was—
incorrect.

“I have already provided sufficient—”

“No,” Arthit cut in. “You haven’t.”
Another step closer.
“You’ve done things. You’ve said things. But you’ve never actually said that.”

Silence.

Kongpob’s fingers tightened slightly against the edge of the desk.
“That is not required.”

Arthit laughed.

Not amused.

“It is,” he said. “For me, it is.”

A pause.

Kongpob considered that.

Rejected it.

“It does not alter the observable pattern.”

Arthit stared at him.

“…you’re unbelievable.”

“I’ve been told.”

“Yeah,” Arthit said, quieter now, “you keep proving it.”

He stepped closer.

Close enough now that distance—
was no longer a barrier.

“Why?” Arthit asked.

The question landed differently this time.

Not demand.

Not frustration.

Something else.

Kongpob did not respond.

Because the answer—

Because I—

Unacceptable.

“It is not relevant.”

Arthit’s expression changed.

Slightly.

“Not relevant,” he repeated.
A pause.
Then—
very quietly—
“Everything you’ve been doing—”
He gestured vaguely.
“All of it—”
Another pause.
“That’s not relevant?”

Silence.

Kongpob held his gaze.

Incorrect framing.

“It is consistent with observed—”

“Stop.”

The word cut through.
Sharp.
Final.

Arthit exhaled.
Ran a hand through his hair.
“No,” he said, shaking his head slightly. “No, I’m done with that.”
A step closer.
Now—
too close.
“You don’t get to hide behind that,” Arthit said.

“I am not hiding.”

“You are.”

“I am not.”
The denial came too fast.
Too sharp.

Arthit’s gaze sharpened.
“There,” he said. “That. That right there.”
Kongpob stilled.
“That’s the closest you get,” Arthit continued. “Every time. You almost say something, and then you—twist it into… whatever this is.”

Silence.
Kongpob did not move.
Because—
that was accurate.

“…you’ve got to be kidding me,” Arthit muttered under his breath.
He stepped back.
Distance.
Briefly restored.
“Do you even hear yourself?” Arthit asked.

“Yes.”

“Then how do you not—”
He stopped.
Exhaled sharply.
“Fine.”

The word was clipped.
Decisive.
“You want precision?” Arthit said.
“Then here—”
A beat.
“I like you.”

Silence.

Kongpob did not react.
Externally.
Internally—
system failure.

Arthit held his gaze.
Did not look away.
“There,” he said. “That’s what that sounds like.”

A pause.
“Your turn.”

Kongpob did not respond.
Because the statement—
did not fit.
Because the structure—
was insufficient.

Because—
“I do not—”

The words stopped.

Mid-formation.

Incorrect.

Kongpob exhaled slowly.

Adjusted.

“I have consistently prioritized your—”

“Stop.”
Arthit’s voice was quieter this time.
Not sharp.
Not angry.
Tired.
“Don’t do that.”

Silence.

Kongpob held his gaze.

Because—
he did not know—
what else to do.

Arthit watched him for a moment longer.

Something shifted.

Not anger.

Not frustration.

Understanding.

“…you really can’t say it,” Arthit said.
It wasn’t a question.

Kongpob said nothing.
Because—
he couldn’t.

Arthit let out a quiet breath.
“Of course,” he said softly.
A pause.
Then—
almost to himself—
“…you’d do it like this.”

He shook his head slightly.

Not in disbelief.

In acceptance.

Kongpob’s fingers tightened again against the desk.

This—
was not resolution.

This was—
worse.

Because now—
Arthit understood.
And still—

“You’re an idiot,” Arthit said.
The words were quiet.
Not cruel.
Accurate.

Kongpob inclined his head slightly.
“That is consistent.”

Arthit huffed a short breath.
Then turned.
Walked toward the door.
Stopped.
Just before reaching it.
“…I meant it,” he said without turning back.
A pause.
“I don’t say things I don’t mean.”
Then—
he left.

Silence settled.
Kongpob remained where he was.
Still.

The system had—
collapsed.

No correction.

No recalibration.

Because the required variable—
could not be implemented.

He exhaled slowly.

Then reached for the parchment in front of him.

Adjusted it.

Aligned it.

Perfect.

But the line—
was still wrong.

And this time—
he could not fix it.