Xu Chen stepped back into the room, slower than usual, as if the space itself had changed in his absence. Aum was still on the couch, sitting upright, his posture composed, his gaze steady. It almost looked like he had been waiting, though he did not say it.
For a brief moment, Xu Chen considered speaking—something simple, something normal—but the words did not come.
Instead, he said, "I'll use the other room tonight."
The sentence landed quietly, but it was enough.
Aum's expression did not change immediately. He simply looked at Xu Chen, as if trying to understand the reason behind the decision rather than the decision itself.
"Is something wrong?" Aum asked.
"No," Xu Chen replied, a little too quickly. He turned slightly, avoiding Aum's eyes. "I just need some space."
There was a pause.
Aum nodded once. "If that is what you prefer."
Xu Chen moved toward the table, picking up a few things—his phone, a notebook, anything that gave his hands something to do. The silence stretched, not uncomfortable, but unfamiliar.
"You can sleep here," Xu Chen added. "The bed is better."
"I was not uncomfortable," Aum said. Then, after a second, "But I understand."
Xu Chen gave a small nod. "Get some rest."
"You too."
There was nothing more to say.
Xu Chen walked out.
The door closed with a soft click.
Inside the room, Aum remained seated for a few seconds, his gaze fixed on the door. The sound had been quiet, almost gentle, but it stayed in his awareness longer than expected.
"He left," Aum said softly.
The statement was simple. Accurate.
And yet, something about it did not settle the way facts usually did.
He lay down on the couch, adjusting his position once, then again. The couch had never felt uncomfortable before. It had been sufficient—efficient, even.
But now, it felt… different.
He turned slightly, his eyes drifting toward the bed.
Empty.
The absence was noticeable.
Aum frowned faintly.
"Distance is acceptable," he said under his breath, as if reaffirming a known principle. "It serves purpose."
He closed his eyes.
A few seconds passed.
Then he opened them again.
"Then why is this… unpleasant?"
In the other room, Xu Chen stood with his back against the door, his hand still resting on the handle. His breathing was steady, but his expression was tight, controlled.
He pushed himself away and walked toward the bed, sitting down heavily.
"This shouldn't be bothering me," he muttered.
He leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.
"He didn't lie," he added after a moment. "Not exactly."
But the thought didn't settle.
Xu Chen ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply.
"Then why didn't he tell me earlier?"
The question lingered.
Not loud. Not demanding.
Just… there.
He leaned back, staring at the ceiling now.
"Why does it feel like something changed?"
There was no immediate answer.
Only the quiet realization that whatever had changed—it mattered.
More than it should.
Back in the room, Aum shifted again.
Sleep did not come easily.
His body remained still, but his mind did not.
He turned his head slightly, looking at the closed door again.
It was just a door.
A physical boundary.
Simple.
Clear.
And yet, it felt like more than that.
Aum sat up slowly.
"If he needed space," he said, his voice calm, measured, "then it is reasonable to give it."
He paused.
"But…"
The word lingered.
He did not finish the sentence.
Because he did not have the structure to explain what followed.
Instead, he simply sat there, aware of something unfamiliar pressing quietly against his thoughts.
Time passed.
Xu Chen turned to his side.
Then to the other.
The bed felt too large.
Too empty.
He closed his eyes.
Opened them again.
"This is better," he said under his breath.
But the words lacked conviction.
After a while, he sat up abruptly, running a hand over his face.
"This is ridiculous."
He stood and walked toward the door.
His hand reached for the handle.
Rested there.
Still.
"Just open it," he said quietly.
The idea was simple.
Open the door. Say something normal. Ask something simple.
Fix this.
His fingers tightened slightly around the handle.
Then loosened.
"…Not now."
He stepped back.
At nearly the same time, Aum stood up from the couch.
He looked toward the door again.
Waited.
For what—he was not sure.
A response?
A sound?
A change?
Nothing came.
Aum exhaled slowly.
"This is temporary," he said.
Another statement.
Logical.
Accurate.
And yet—
his chest felt tight.
Only slightly.
But enough to make him pause.
The night stretched on.
Neither of them slept properly.
Morning came quietly.
Xu Chen stepped out first.
Aum was already awake.
Sitting on the couch.
The same place.
"Morning," Xu Chen said.
"Morning."
Their voices were steady.
Neutral.
A brief silence followed.
"Did you sleep?" Aum asked.
"Enough," Xu Chen replied. Then, after a pause, "You?"
"I rested."
Xu Chen nodded once.
"I'll get ready for work."
"I will prepare breakfast," Aum said, standing up.
Xu Chen hesitated.
Then said, "No, I'll do it."
Aum looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "Alright."
In the kitchen, Xu Chen moved with quiet efficiency.
Cracking eggs.
Heating the pan.
Measuring without thinking.
Aum stood at a slight distance, watching.
Not interfering.
"You don't have to do this," Aum said.
"It's fine," Xu Chen replied. "I usually manage."
Aum nodded. "I am aware."
Another pause.
Xu Chen placed the food on the table.
"Eat before it gets cold."
"You too," Aum said.
"I will."
They sat across from each other.
The conversation was minimal.
"How long will you be at the site today?" Aum asked.
"Not sure. Depends on the findings."
"I see."
Xu Chen took a bite, then added, "Call me if you need anything."
"I will."
Aum looked at him briefly. "Will you return late?"
"Probably."
"Understood."
Silence returned.
But this time—
it was different.
Not empty.
Just… careful.
Xu Chen stood up after finishing.
"I'll leave now."
Aum nodded. "Take care."
"You too."
Xu Chen paused for a fraction of a second.
Then turned and walked out.
The door closed behind him.
Aum remained where he was.
Standing near the table.
He looked at the empty seat across from him.
Then at the door.
"He is maintaining distance," Aum said quietly.
The conclusion was correct.
But the feeling that followed—
was not something he could define.
And for the first time—
that uncertainty stayed with him.
Long after Xu Chen had left.