One night, they were sneaking back into the dorms. The corridor was dark, damp, and creepy. The shadows seemed to stretch wickedly and lean toward them, heavy with an oppressive silence that made every step sound like a bang.
From within the gloom, someone suddenly and deliberately shoved Mali. She lost her balance, her small hands grasping at the air. As she tumbled, the only thing she saw was a fleeting, predatory glint of glasses. She bumped into a nearby counter, and a ceramic bowl slid off the edge.
Crash!
In the noiseless building, the shattering sound was regrettably loud.
A laugh skittered down the hall, fading away.
"Who did that?" a voice snapped. A harsh light flicked on, glaring in their eyes.
Ms. Nicha's voice cut through the dark like a whip. She appeared in the doorway, her eyes sweeping over the shards before landing on Mali's startled face.
Mali's lower lip wobbled. She was going to cry, the sound already catching in her throat.
"I did," Art said, stepping forward and looking straight at Ms. Nicha.
Ms. Nicha gave him a long, aggravated look. "Of course you did. You think being quiet means you don't need to pay attention? You think you can get away with breaking things?"
Thanom, who had knelt to help Mali, started to stand up. Art shook his head once—an imperceptible warning. Don't.
"You broke your bowl. No food for you tomorrow," Ms. Nicha snapped. "Maybe that will teach you not to be a nuisance. Clean this up before you go to sleep."
She turned, switching the light back off as she left.
Darkness rushed back in.
"She shouldn't talk to you like that," Thanom hissed.
"She talks like that to everyone," Art drawled, picking up the shards.
Thanom's fists tightened. He wanted to burn something. The heat in his gut was furiously pushing for a way out. He stepped toward Art. His hand rose halfway, then stopped. He looked caught between pulling Art into an embrace and shaking him for being so recklessly selfless.
Art didn't move. He just held the broken pieces of the bowl.
Then, Mali sniffled. "I'm sorry, Phi."
Thanom pulled her into the crook of his arm, shielding her from the darkness of the hall. He reached up and smoothed her hair back.
"Don't cry," he murmured. "It's okay, Mali. I've got you."
"Someone was here and pushed me," she whispered into his shoulder, her voice tiny.
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The following night, long after the lights were out and the only sound was the snuffling breathing of sleeping kids, Art sat on the floor in the hallway. His back was against the cool wall. His stomach was a painful, empty knot.
He wasn't hungry anymore; the feeling had passed into a dull, nauseous ache that made his head feel light and his limbs weak. He was… waiting. For sleep, for morning, or for the feeling to just go away already.
Creak.
A floorboard groaned. Art didn't look up. He assumed it was someone heading to the bathroom, but the footsteps stopped in front of him.
Thanom crouched down, holding a small, round bamboo kratip in both hands. He knelt in front of Art, who looked at the basket. Thanom popped the lid off.
A cloud of steam escaped, smelling of sweet rice and charcoal. Inside was a mound of warm sticky rice and a piece of grilled, salted fish. It was Thanom's favorite. The kind he always traded for.
"You didn't eat," Thanom whispered.
"It's fine," Art whispered back, swallowing against the dryness. "I'm okay."
"No, you clearly are not," Thanom said, obviously irked. He didn't budge, a stubborn shadow in the dark. He pushed the basket closer.
"Eat. Now."
Art looked from the food to Thanom's face. In the thin moonlight, he saw the uncompromising loyalty burning in Thanom's eyes. Thanom wasn't leaving until he was sure Art was okay. He would sit here all night if he had to.
Art reached in. The rice was hot, burning his fingertips slightly—a welcome warmth against the cool hallway breeze. He pulled a small ball of sticky rice from the basket, adding a flake of the salted fish. He took a bite.
The salt. The smoke. The sweetness. It was the best thing he had ever tasted.
Thanom stayed until the last grain was gone.
"You don't need to act tough," Thanom assured him. "I handle the tough. You just stay full."
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