The last days of the trip passed quietly.
Too quietly.
The kind of quiet that didn't feel peaceful, but unfinished. Like something had been said halfway and then buried before it could fully exist.
Wut made sure of it.
He woke up earlier than usual, left before anyone else could catch him, came back late enough that conversations were already over. If there was a way to avoid Phol, he found it.
If there wasn't, he created one.
It became routine.
Predictable.
Safe.
And yet—
Every time he stepped into a room, there was still that brief moment where his eyes searched without permission.
And every time, he forced them away just as quickly.
Phol noticed.
Of course he did.
But he didn't say anything.
Didn't try to stop him.
Didn't follow.
At some point, he simply… adjusted.
"Work," he said once, when Pheet asked why he wasn't around much anymore.
Pheet had looked at him for a long second, like he didn't believe it.
He probably didn't.
But he let it go.
Because whatever this was—
It wasn't something either of them were ready to explain.
The fourth day was the coldest.
Not just the weather.
The air itself felt distant, like even standing in the same space meant nothing anymore.
Wut stood outside for longer than necessary, hands shoved deep into his pockets, watching his breath fade into the air.
He told himself it was the cold keeping him there.
Not the fact that going back inside meant facing something he had been avoiding for days.
"…You're overthinking."
He muttered it under his breath like a warning.
It didn't help.
Nothing really did.
The trip ended without anything happening.
And somehow—
That felt worse.
His parents' house felt different.
Warmer.
Louder.
Normal.
Wut stepped inside, dropping his bag near the entrance as familiar sounds filled the space. The faint clatter of dishes. The low hum of voices.
His mom appeared first.
"There you are," she said, smiling in that way that felt just a little too knowing. "How was the trip?"
Not even a Hi? Fine.
"Fine."
"Just fine?" she asked, tilting her head slightly.
Wut shrugged, slipping off his shoes. "It was cold."
She laughed softly, like that answered more than it should have.
"That's all?"
"…Yeah."
She didn't look convinced.
But she didn't push.
"Go freshen up," she said instead. "Your dad wants to talk to you later."
Wut paused slightly.
That again.
"…About what?"
"Just go," she replied, waving him off, though the smile she tried to hide didn't go unnoticed.
That wasn't reassuring.
Dinner felt… normal.
Too normal. Like his sister who always threw a tantrum whenever her mother added a little salt in food is suddenly eating peacefully at the other end of the dinner table.
His dad talked about work, his mom added small comments here and there, and everything moved like it always did.
Except—
Every now and then, his mom would glance at his dad.
And smile.
Like she was holding something in.
Wut noticed.
He didn't like it.
His curious self glanced at Pliva hoping that she'd atleast explain what was happening.
But No.
She completely ignored him
That's it. That's the sister he knew.
The one that knows everything but keeps quiet unless it's urgent.
What am I expecting anyways. Wait does that mean whatever this is, isn't urgent?
After dinner, his dad finally spoke.
"Come sit," he said calmly.
Wut leaned back slightly in his chair. "You could've just said it during dinner."
His mom looked down quickly, pressing her lips together.
Definitely holding back a smile.
Yeah.
He really didn't like this.
His dad folded his hands, expression unreadable.
"I have a friend," he began.
Wut blinked.
That was not what he expected.
"…Okay?"
"He has a son."
Wut frowned slightly. "And?"
His mom turned away completely now, pretending to adjust something on the table.
That was worse.
Much worse.
"He lives near your university," his dad continued. "Very close, actually."
Wut stared at him.
"…So?"
His dad's gaze remained steady.
"I thought it would be good for you to get to know him so i asked if you could stay there while youre at university."
Silence.
Then—
"…Why?"
"It's practical," his dad said simply. "You're both around the same age. Same area. It wouldn't hurt to have someone nearby. Also your place is so far away."
Wut leaned back, arms crossing.
"That's it?"
"That's it."
His mom let out the smallest sound—half laugh, half something else—before quickly covering it with a cough.
Wut turned to her.
"…What?"
"Nothing," she said quickly, though her smile gave her away completely.
Yeah.
No.
There was definitely something.
Wut looked back at his dad.
"And what if I'm not interested?"
"You haven't met him."
"I don't need to."
His dad didn't react.
Didn't argue.
Just watched him.
Calm.
Too calm.
"It's just a suggestion," he said. "You can decide after."
Wut hesitated.
Something about the way his mom was acting made it feel less like a suggestion and more like something already decided.
"…Fine," he said finally. "I'll think about it."
His mom's smile widened instantly.
That was not a good sign.
Later that night, Wut lay on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
A friend's son.
Near his university.
It shouldn't matter.
It didn't matter.
And yet—
His thoughts didn't stay there.
They drifted.
Back.
Uninvited.
To quiet rooms.
To unfinished sentences.
To a voice he had been trying not to hear.
You keep staying.
Wut turned onto his side, grabbing his pillow like that could block it out.
"…It doesn't mean anything," he muttered.
But the words felt weaker now.
Less convincing.
Because if it didn't mean anything—
Why was he still thinking about it?
Across the city—
Phol sat at his desk, laptop open, screen glowing in the dark.
Work.
That's what he said he was doing.
And technically—
He wasn't lying.
But the document in front of him hadn't changed in the past twenty minutes.
His phone lay beside him.
Silent.
Untouched.
He glanced at it once.
Then looked away.
"…He needs space," he repeated quietly.
Like saying it enough times would make it easier.
It didn't.
Back in his room, Wut finally closed his eyes.
The house was quiet.
Everything was still.
And yet—
It didn't feel settled.
Not really.
Because somewhere between distance and silence—
Something had already started.
Neither of them had figured out what it was yet.
But it was there.
Waiting.