Not even at 2 AM, when the city had gone quiet and the dim blue of Tan’s phone screen was the only light in the room.

It curled through his mind in fragments — a river running red beneath a vanishing sun, the echo of a voice he couldn’t name. The scent of frangipani. The unbearable ache of a memory he couldn’t place.

And beneath it all, a single thread pulled tighter: the need to see him.

Tan stared at Kla’s chat again. Fingers hovering, heart racing.

What was he afraid of?

That Kla wouldn’t answer?

That he would?

Before he could talk himself out of it again, he typed three words and hit send.

T.chord: Can we talk?

Read.

There was no taking it back now.

kla: About what?

The reply came a while later.

T.chord: Can we?

Tan deflected the question.

kla: Umm

kla: When are you free?

T.chord: Then we’ll meet tomorrow at 10?

kla: Umm... okay.

Tan stared at the screen in disbelief. Kla had agreed.

His heart thudded painfully fast. What am I going to say to him?

He tossed and turned for hours. Sleep never came.

---

Tan arrived at the practice room early, hoping to settle his nerves.

But Kla was already there.

“You’re early,” Tan said.

Kla raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you early as well?”

Tan flushed, embarrassed. He hadn’t thought about that.

Kla gestured toward the empty chair across from him. "What did you want to talk about?" he asked, his tone carefully neutral.

Tan hesitated. Don’t back out now.

“I saw you in the mall yesterday,” he began.

Kla’s expression didn’t shift much, but Tan caught it — a slight tightening around the eyes.

“You were with a girl…” Tan’s voice trailed off.

Kla sighed. “She’s a friend.” Then, with a bitter smile, he added, “She’s my fiancée, more like.”

Tan blinked. “You’re getting married?”

“It’s not like we want to.”

There was a weariness in Kla’s voice now, and something beneath it — something fraying.

Kla let out a shaky breath. His voice was low when he spoke again.

“They don’t care what I want. My parents arranged the match to preserve their image. Their place in society.”

He looked down at his hands, fingers curling around the hem of his sleeve.

“Neither Nicha nor I wanted this.”

Tan stayed quiet, sensing Kla wasn’t done.

“She’s like family to me. We’re trying to find a way out, but…” His voice faltered. “It’s not easy.”

A pause. Then, almost a whisper: “That’s why I transferred here. I had to get away. I ran.”

Tan felt a surge of something sharp — sympathy, protectiveness.

“It’s easier not to care,” Kla murmured, more to himself than to Tan. His fingers tightened around the fabric of his sleeve. “I thought if I stopped feeling anything, things would be easier. That running away would make it easier.”

A bitter breath escaped him.

“But my heart doesn’t listen,” he said quietly. “No matter how hard I try... it still longs for something I can’t have.”

Tan’s breath caught.

Kla shook his head, a small, helpless smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Or someone,” he added, barely audible.

A flicker crossed his eyes — something raw, something he wasn’t ready to name.

Tan wanted to speak — wanted to ask who, wanted to offer some kind of comfort — but the rawness in Kla’s voice stopped him.

Instead, he reached out slowly, resting a hand on Kla’s head and leaning it gently against his own shoulder.

Kla stiffened at first, but didn’t pull away.

For a long moment, they sat there, in fragile silence.

I’ll find a way to protect him, Tan vowed. Even if I don’t understand everything yet. Even if he won’t let me in.

---

Outside, rain began to tap softly against the windows.

Tan lingered a little longer in the room. By the time he left, the ache of the melody had eased — just a little.

But something new had taken its place now.

A promise.

---

The morning rain had cleared by noon, but the sky still hung heavy and gray when Yu stepped out of his apartment.

His usual Sunday routine — meeting Tan — had been upended. Tan had texted him earlier: Something came up, can’t meet this morning.

Yu wasn’t used to the emptiness. He’d almost resigned himself to another dull afternoon when his phone buzzed.

run.s: Wanna grab coffee together?

A smile tugged at Yu’s mouth before he could stop it.

TheYuShow: Sure, count me in!

Yu stared at the screen for a beat longer than usual. Maybe it would be good not to be alone today.

---

They ended up at a small café near campus — one Run knew, tucked away behind an alley of flowering vines.

It was quiet, save for the faint strains of music playing low from a speaker above the counter. A soft, wandering piano melody.

They sat across from each other by the window, hands wrapped around warm cups. For a while, conversation stayed light — safe. Music, classes, the occasional stray comment about the weather.

But something about the gray light outside, the empty seat beside Yu where Tan usually sat... made the silences feel heavier today.

Run glanced at Yu, then down at his coffee.

After a beat, he spoke, voice quiet but steady.

"You ever care about someone so much that it’s exhausting?"

Yu’s fingers tensed around his cup.

"You want to stop," Run continued softly, eyes fixed on the swirling steam. "But your heart doesn’t know how."

Yu swallowed. His throat felt too tight to speak.

Run gave a small, almost self-conscious smile. "I used to like someone, back in high school."

The words came out light, but there was an undertone Yu caught — a lingering ache beneath the calm.

"They were one of my closest friends. I thought... maybe they liked me too. We always hung out, texted late into the night, shared everything."

He traced the rim of his cup with a fingertip, gaze distant.

"But one day, they told me they were seeing someone else."

A pause. A faint shrug. "Someone completely different. And I realized they’d never seen me that way."

The piano music overhead swelled, a minor chord lingering unresolved.

"It hurt like hell for a while," Run admitted softly. "But you can’t force someone to stay. All you can do is wish them well... even if it still hurts sometimes."

Yu’s chest tightened painfully. The words echoed in places he wasn’t ready to name.

"Yeah," he said hoarsely after a moment. "It’s hard to stop caring... even when you know you should."

He didn’t say Kla. Didn’t need to.

Run looked up then, gaze meeting Yu’s with surprising warmth. No pity. No judgment. Just quiet understanding.

For the first time, Yu felt like he could breathe.

"It takes time," Run said gently. "But it gets easier. Especially when you let yourself... lean on someone else once in a while."

Yu blinked. Was that an invitation?

A faint smile curved his lips. "I might take you up on that."

They stood to leave a little later. Outside, the rain had started again — soft, light as a memory.

Without a word, Run slipped off the thin gray scarf from around his neck and held it out.

"Here. You forgot yours."

Yu opened his mouth to protest, but Run’s look stopped him — gentle, insistent.

Their fingers brushed as Yu took the scarf. The touch lingered just a heartbeat too long.

"Thanks," Yu said quietly.

Run only smiled.

They walked side by side into the rain, something fragile and new stringing itself between them.

Not quite a song. Not yet.

But a beginning.

And somewhere in the city, as the rain traced quiet lines down windowpanes, three hearts carried their own unfinished songs.

One longing for answers.

One longing to hold on.

One longing to let go.

The melodies of longing didn’t resolve all at once. They trembled between the notes, in every unsaid word, every fleeting touch.

But sometimes, even an unfinished chord could carry you forward — toward the next verse.