The late morning sun slanted through the wide glass windows, casting faint golden bands across the table where Kla sat, spine taut, fingers wound tightly around his water glass.

Across from him, Nicha lowered her voice. "They're pushing harder," she said, without preamble. Her hands were folded on her lap, knuckles white. "My mother's asking why I'm not spending weekends with you anymore. They want photos. Public appearances."

Kla's throat felt dry. "My father's the same," he said. His voice came out hoarse, thinner than he intended. "Talks of duty. Honor. If I back out now…" He exhaled sharply. "I can't afford another scandal. I can't move again."

His temples throbbed — relentless, like the pressure in his chest. There was nowhere left to run.

Nicha's gaze softened. "I know," she said quietly. "I hate this too. But if we both push too hard, we'll lose what little freedom we still have."

"I'm already losing it," Kla whispered. His pulse pounded in his ears. Each day had become harder to endure. The thin mask he wore around his family, around the world, was cracking at the edges.

Nicha reached across the table, her fingers brushing lightly against his wrist. The gesture was brief, but grounding. "You're not alone," she said. "I won't betray you. We'll find a way. But you can't afford to burn out."

"I'm so tired of this," he said, voice trembling despite himself. "I'm tired of pretending, of carrying all this alone."

"I know," she murmured. "But hold on a little longer, P'Kla. Just a little longer."

Kla clenched his jaw. The weight of it pressed down on him — expectations, pressure, a life that wasn’t his own. He wasn't sure how much longer he could keep going.

Outside, clouds began to gather. Distant thunder rumbled softly in the sky.

---

Tan walked briskly through the mall's parking lot, the late morning air sticky against his skin. The glass walls behind him reflected a restless sun now slipping behind thickening clouds.

He had left the building without really deciding to. His feet had simply carried him away, driven by a knot of feelings he couldn't quite unravel.

The dream from that morning still clung to him.

A river turned red beneath a setting sun. The air heavy with the scent of frangipani.

A silhouette standing beside him, clothed in garments he couldn't place.

A voice — soft, aching — had called out to him. The name hovered on the edge of memory, almost within reach — then gone.

Tan stopped by his car, hand resting on the door handle. A light drizzle began to tap against the windshield, soft as a whispered memory.

"Why does it feel so real?"

The question circled through him again and again. The melody lingered, as vivid as when he had first awoken. The ache beneath his ribs had only deepened.

"Why him?" he thought bitterly. Why did seeing him with that girl bother me so much?

He didn't even know her name. Yet the flash of jealousy had burned sharp and bright, deeper than he cared to admit.

"I'm not entitled to this," he told himself. I barely know him. We haven't even spoken since the last practice.

And that last session had been strained, awkward. They'd spoken only when necessary, their words clipped and impersonal as they worked on the song. The silence between them had stretched longer than the verses they'd written.

Still, Tan couldn't shake the feeling that something was wrong. That Kla was hiding more than his usual guarded silence.

"Why do I care so much?"

The answer eluded him. But it wasn't just about the melody anymore. It wasn't about curiosity or guilt. It was something deeper — older. A bone-deep protectiveness that made no sense.

"Am I allowed to reach out to him?" he wondered. On what grounds? They were barely friends. He couldn't even claim that anymore.

His phone buzzed in his pocket. A small relief, a thread pulling him back to the present.

TheYuShow: Hey. Can we meet sometime this week? I need to talk.

Tan frowned slightly, thumbs hovering. Yu didn't mention why. But instinct told him it wasn't about assignments.

T.chord: Of course. When are you free?

TheYuShow: Maybe tomorrow or the day after. I'll text you.

Tan pocketed the phone again, unsettled.

Whatever this was — between him and Kla, between all of them — it wasn't over.

And he wasn't sure if he wanted it to be.

---

Yu glanced at his phone again. No reply from Tan yet. His fingers hovered, tempted to add, It's about Kla, but he decided against it.

What could he even say? I saw him with a girl. I overheard things I wasn't meant to hear. And now I feel like the worst person alive.

His stomach twisted.

The image of Kla’s battered dorm haunted him. The peeling walls, the dim hallway. And Kla's voice, low and weary:

"I don't have another place to go."

Bitterness no longer filled him. It had melted into something colder — guilt, deep and gnawing.

"I judged him too quickly," Yu admitted to himself. I never asked why. Never thought there might be more beneath the surface.

A tap on the shoulder pulled him from his thoughts.

"P'Yu khrap?" Run's soft voice broke through. "You okay? You've been staring at that page for almost ten minutes."

Yu blinked, glancing down. The open textbook in front of him remained unread.

"I... sorry," he said. "I'm distracted."

Run studied him with quiet concern. "If it's too much, we can stop. You don't have to help me today."

"No," Yu said quickly. "I want to. It's better than sitting alone and thinking."

Run hesitated, then smiled gently. "Well... how about a break first? Coffee? My treat."

Yu almost declined. But something in Run's tone — gentle, undemanding — made it impossible.

"Yeah," he said softly. "I'd like that."

---

The café was small and quiet, tucked into a corner of campus. Rain had begun to fall as they'd walked there — soft at first, then steadily heavier.

Now they sat in the warm light near the window. Steam rose from their cups. Outside, the rain traced shimmering paths across the glass.

Run sipped his drink and glanced sideways. "You've been quieter than usual," he said gently. "I know it's not my place, but... if you want to talk, I'll listen."

Yu stared into his coffee, words caught in his throat.

It was the second time Run had offered a listening ear. 

Yu hadn't intended to say it. But somehow, in this small, warm space, with Run's sincere gaze watching him — the words swelled inside him, too heavy to swallow this time. 

"I couldn't return the book," he said finally. His voice shook. "I went to his dorm, but I left. I couldn't face him."

Run didn't press. Only waited.

Yu drew a breath. "It was Kla. He's the one who... broke my heart."

The words hung between them, fragile as glass.

Run nodded once, slow and calm. No surprise, no judgment.

Yu exhaled shakily. "I thought I hated him. But now..." His voice cracked. "Now I just feel guilty. I didn't know he was struggling. I judged him so easily."

Silence fell again, broken only by the rain.

Then Run reached across, not touching but close enough that Yu felt the warmth of his presence.

"You cared about him," Run said softly. "It's okay to still care. And it's okay to feel confused."

Yu's throat tightened. "I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"You don't have to do anything," Run said. "Just... take your time. If you ever want to talk, I'm here."

Yu looked at him then — really looked. The steady sincerity in Run's gaze undid something in him.

For the first time in days, the weight on his chest eased, just a little.

"Thank you," he whispered.

Run smiled — small, warm, expecting nothing. Only offering a place to lean, if Yu chose.

---

Across the table, Run watched Yu quietly.

He could see the ache in Yu's eyes, the war between guilt and longing and grief.

But he didn't pity him. He simply cared.

He didn't know if Yu would ever look at him the same way — but that wasn't why he stayed.

"He's hurting," Run thought. And he doesn't need someone to push him right now. Just someone to sit beside him.

He would be that person if Yu allowed it. No expectations. No demands. Just presence.

"I hope I can help him heal," he thought. Even if just a little.

Outside, the rain softened. The world beyond the glass blurred in gentle gray.

---

Later that evening, Tan sat on his bed, phone in hand.

He had opened Kla's chat window in Line hours ago. The screen still waited, blank and accusing.

What would I even say?

The cursor blinked in the message box. His thumb hovered, unmoving.

The melody returned — soft, insistent. The river. The red sky. The ache beneath his ribs.

A voice — aching, tender — calling out to him:

"P'..."

The name remained elusive, just out of reach. But the longing it carried was unmistakable. Bone-deep. Timeless.

Tan shut his eyes, breath unsteady. The scent of frangipani ghosted through his mind, inexplicable but vivid.

"Why do I feel this way?"

"Why does it feel like I've known him forever?"

"Why does he matter so much?"

Jealousy flared again when he recalled the girl — her hand brushing Kla's wrist, her voice low with concern.

Who was she? Why was she warning him?

Tan shook his head, trying to clear the haze.

Why am I jealous? Why do I feel protective? What right do I have?

They hadn't spoken since that last practice. The awkwardness had weighed heavier than any words they'd managed to write. And now... now he didn't know where they stood. If they stood anywhere at all.

"Do I even have the right to ask if he's okay?"

"Would he want me to?"

Yet the ache didn't fade. The melody didn't fade.

His thumb tapped the screen once, twice — then stopped again.

In the silence of his room, the music played on.

And somewhere beneath it, a single thought pulsed steady and sharp:

"I need to know what’s happening to him. I need to understand."

His gaze remained fixed on the empty chat. Fingers trembling faintly.

For now, the message remained unsent.

But in his heart, a decision had already been made.