kla: Yu said he’s worried because he couldn’t reach you.

He read it again as if the words might rewrite themselves. His thumbs hovered over the keyboard, frozen. Should he call? Reply? Ignore it?

The memory of the practice room returned like a wave — unbidden, uninvited. Kla’s voice echoing that name: P’Chan. The way his face had stiffened, almost fearful, when he realized what he’d said. That fear was real.

But who was P’Chan?

And why did the name sound like it belonged to Tan too — like something he’d left behind, echoing in his chest as if Kla had pulled it loose from some hidden place?

The questions circled without rest. Was Kla trying to avoid him now? Was it guilt? Or something else?

Another buzz.

Yu.

Tan turned his phone face-down. He wasn’t ready — not for Yu. Not for Kla. Not even for himself.

The exhaustion in his chest was heavier than the questions. Hoping sleep might muffle the noise in his head, he got ready for bed. It was barely 9:30 p.m., early for him. He switched off the lights, lay down, and closed his eyes — praying, not for dreams, but for silence.

---

The next day, Tan stepped into the practice room to find Kla already inside.

He sat cross-legged with a guitar resting on his lap, but his fingers weren’t moving. His shoulders were stiff, back straight with tension. Even his usual stillness felt more forced today — like someone holding their breath too long. His warm brown skin looked pale, and the gleam in his eyes had dulled.

Tan didn’t speak. He leaned against the window, crossed his arms, and waited for Yu.

The silence stretched between them like the pause between wrong notes.

Five minutes later, the door burst open.

Yu looked like he’d sprinted from the other side of campus. His shirt was untucked, his tie slung loosely around his neck, and his usually styled hair was in disarray.

"Am I late?" he panted, sucking down water from a half-empty bottle. His eyes flicked between Tan and Kla, immediately catching the tension radiating between them.

He narrowed his eyes like a disapproving teacher. "Okay. What’s going on here?"

Neither of them answered.

"Seriously? Look, I don’t know what happened yesterday, but if you two have issues, talk it out. We can’t practice like this."

Kla looked up, a small, bitter smile tugging at the edge of his lips. "It’s nothing. I can always separate personal things from music."

He proved it, too. Throughout practice, he was composed — methodical even. He offered suggestions, adjusted his parts, and helped Tan with the harmony. But Tan felt it. The space Kla maintained, the silence between their notes. The way his smiles were all polish and no warmth and none of them reached his eyes.

He wasn’t playing with them. He was playing next to them.

And Tan… Tan wasn’t much better. Every time Kla looked away, Tan stole glances. Every time Kla reached for something, Tan’s breath hitched — waiting, hoping for a brush of contact that never came.

He wasn’t the only one watching.

Yu’s eyes lingered on Kla too — longer than usual.

Unlike the previous day’s lively session, today’s rehearsal was eerily quiet. No teasing. No inside jokes. It felt like walking across cracked glass — every step cautious, every word filtered through the fear of shattering something fragile.

By noon, they began packing up for lunch. Tan left first, claiming he had a call, but really — he just needed air. His hands shook. His chest felt tight, like a string wound too tight across a fretboard.

He didn’t notice he’d left a book behind.

Just as Kla was about to leave, Yu stepped closer.

"Kla…" he began, voice lower, unsure.

Kla turned, pausing as he slung his bag over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

Yu’s mouth opened, then closed again. For a moment, he looked down — unsure of how to say something he’d never said before. Then he met Kla’s eyes.

And he thought: Pretty.

Not handsome. Not cute. Just… pretty. In the kind of way that lingers. In the way a quiet song gets stuck in your head after one listen. There was something careful and delicate about Kla — like he was always half-present, half-haunted.

"I wanted to ask…" Yu cleared his throat. "Are you… single?"

Kla blinked. Surprise flickered across his face, followed by something else — something unreadable.

Then slowly, he nodded. "I am."

Yu’s heart beat like a kick drum in his chest. "I like you."

The words dropped into the air like a cymbal crash.

Silence followed.

Kla looked at him for a long moment, eyes softening with something like regret. "I'm sorry, Yu. I don’t feel that way about you. You’re a good person. But I’ve never seen you as more than a friend."

Yu swallowed. "Is it because you don’t… like guys?"

"I do," Kla said gently. "I just don't have those feelings for you."

He hesitated, then added, "Don't waste your heart on someone who can't return it. You deserve love that's real. That's mutual."

His hand landed briefly on Yu's shoulder — warm, steady, final. Then he walked away.

Yu stood still, frozen in place.

He didn't notice the shadow in the hallway — a figure who turned quietly and slipped away like a verse left unsung.

Tan had come back for his book.

He hadn't meant to overhear. He hadn't wanted to.

But when he heard Yu’s voice and Kla’s reply, something in him… unknotted.

A strange wave of guilt followed the flicker of relief. He pressed the book to his chest, heart thudding like a steady beat, as if the music inside him was trying to tell him something he still didn’t understand.

---

Tan was about to head back to his condo when his phone buzzed.

Tarn.

A small smile bloomed across his lips.

Thanyaporn Phongthawat — his younger sister, his anchor.

He answered. “Missed me much, N’Tarn?”

[“Don’t flatter yourself,”] she said, but her voice was warm. [“I’m just calling to check if you’re still alive.”]

A pause. Then her voice dropped into something quieter.

[“Mom and Dad want you to come home. And… I do too.”]

Tan’s smile faded.

“I’ll be there soon,” he said, trying to sound casual. “Just left uni.”

[“Okay then. See you soon. Love you na.”]

“Love you too ja.”

---

The Phongthawat house stood tall and cold behind its iron gates boasting wealth. The marble floor gleamed, the air was sterile, and the walls echoed with silence.

To anyone else, it was a mansion. To Tan, it had always felt like a cage made of expectations.

As he stepped inside, his father’s voice sliced through the stillness.

“Finally decided to come home? Thought you forgot about your family.”

Tan waied stiffly. He didn’t answer.

His mother’s voice followed, soft but insistent. “Why don’t you help your father at work when you’re free? You have too much time on your hands.”

“I have assignments,” he said flatly.

“In music?” his father barked. “You think strumming a guitar is a career? It’s not too late to change majors. You still have time to do something real.”

Tan’s temper snapped like a guitar string. His mind raced — the past few days spinning in his head: Yu’s confession to Kla, the whirlwind of emotions he was still untangling… and that slip, Kla letting the name P’Chan escape by mistake. The memory hit him unexpectedly, tugging at something he didn't — no couldn’t yet understand.

Just nod and walk, P'Tan… just leave without looking back, his sister’s voice echoed in his mind. He tried to picture it, to focus on it, but it felt impossible. His chest tightened, his thoughts scattered, and for the first time in a long while, he couldn’t follow her advice.

“Is the family business all you care about?” he said, voice rising. “What about what I want? What I’m actually good at?”

His father stood, looming. “How dare you raise your voice at us?”

The slap came fast. Sharp. Final. Tan’s cheek burned. Pain mixed with frustration and confusion, the weight of everything pressing down on him. He stumbled backward, trying to leave, but the words, the anger, and the memory of Kla’s slip all tangled inside him, holding him in place.

“Don’t show your ungrateful face in front of me again.”

“Don’t worry,” he said, turning away, voice trembling. “I don’t want to see you either.”

He stormed upstairs and slammed the door.

He slid to the floor, back pressed against the doorframe. His breath trembled.

This house was never home. They were the ones who asked him to come.

And yet…

---

Afternoon light spilled across the floor of Tan’s childhood bedroom. The walls were lined with old posters, bookshelves, and framed certificates. All the artifacts of a boy who once tried so hard to please everyone.

Now, they felt like relics of a stranger.

He reached for his phone. Two messages from Yu.

TheYuShow: I’m sorry about earlier. Didn’t mean for you to get dragged into that mood.

TheYuShow: Thanks for being patient with me lately. I know I’ve been a bit off.

Tan stared at the screen, then typed a reply.

T.chord: You okay?

Short. Honest. Maybe that was enough.

He set the phone down.

But his thoughts didn’t settle. Kla’s name still played like a stubborn refrain in his mind — like a song he couldn’t stop humming, a melody missing its final line.

Something didn’t add up.

The fear when he said P’Chan, the distance he kept, the sadness in his eyes when he rejected Yu… It wasn’t indifference. It was grief. Or maybe guilt.

Tan didn’t know what Kla was running from.

But he knew one thing.

He wanted to find out.

Not because he had to.

But because he needed to.

Like finishing a song you didn’t even know you’d started.