Wut woke up slowly.
The room was quiet, sunlight barely slipping through the curtains. For a moment, he didn't move.
Then his phone buzzed.
He frowned slightly and reached for it.
Mom: Are you still coming, or should I come over there?
Wut blinked.
"Mom…" he mumbled, half awake.
He typed quickly.
- It's early in the morning. You can't rush people like that.
Then, after a second—
- Do you really miss me, or do you just want to see Phol?
Above him, Phol was already awake.
Reading everything.
A small smile formed on his lips.
Wut turned to him.
"Lay down. I'm gonna make breakfast."
Phol didn't argue. He just nodded.
Wut pushed the blanket off and was about to get up—
when suddenly—
a hand wrapped around his waist.
He froze for a second as he was pulled back.
Phol buried his face slightly closer.
"…Can I stay like this for a bit before you go?"
Wut didn't answer.
He just relaxed, letting him.
For a moment, nothing moved.
No words.
Just quiet.
Then—
Buzz.
Wut groaned and grabbed his phone again.
Mom: What time are you getting here?
Wut rolled his eyes.
- Any time I want. Byeee.
A quiet chuckle escaped from behind him.
Wut turned his head slightly.
"What?"
Phol didn't even try to hide it.
"Why do you sound so mad?"
Wut turned fully to face him.
"I'm not mad."
Phol raised an eyebrow.
"I am NOT mad. Okay?"
Phol said nothing.
He just kept smiling.
Wider.
And wider.
Wut narrowed his eyes.
"…Don't."
Too late.
Phol suddenly reached out and started tickling him.
"HEY—" Wut burst out laughing, trying to push him away. "Stop—Phol—!"
"Thought you weren't mad," Phol said, completely amused.
"I'm not—STOP—"
The room filled with laughter.
Light.
Carefree.
Like nothing had changed.
The drive over carried that same light energy, but the moment they stepped into Wut's childhood home, something shifted.
Wut's mom didn't even pretend to be subtle.
She hugged Phol first, checking him over like a prized possession she had successfully curated.
"You look well, Phol. Wut isn't making too much of a mess, is he?"
"He's trying his best, ma'am," Phol replied, his tone polite—almost too perfect.
The playful warmth from earlier had slipped away, replaced by something more controlled.
Dinner felt strangely familiar.
Phol and Wut's father discussed the company in low, steady voices, like it was the most natural thing in the world. Wut sat between them, listening, but not really part of it.
It felt like watching a scene he wasn't meant to understand.
By the time they settled in the living room, the tension had softened—just a little.
Wut's mom was flipping through old photo albums, specifically the embarrassing ones.
"Wut, look at this!" she laughed. "You were so grumpy when we took your pacifier away."
Wut didn't even get the chance to react.
His phone lit up.
Min: I passed by the library today. It's quiet without you. Are you free to talk later?
Wut's thumb hovered over the screen.
Something about the message felt… too familiar.
Too comfortable.
Beside him, Phol hadn't moved.
He was still looking at the photo album.
But something had changed.
The relaxed slope of his shoulders was gone.
Replaced by a rigid stillness.
"Wut," his mom called again, laughing softly. "Come look at this one!"
Wut didn't look.
He looked at Phol.
Phol finally turned his head.
His eyes weren't laughing anymore.
They were flat.
Unreadable.
"We should probably get going soon," Phol said, his voice calm. "I have a lot of letters to review tonight."
Wut's chest tightened.
The warmth from the morning felt distant now.
Like it belonged to a different day.
As they said their goodbyes and stepped outside, the air felt heavier.
Nothing had been said.
Nothing had happened.
And yet—
it felt like something had shifted.
Like something fragile had been touched.
The glass didn't break—
but Wut could feel it cracking under everything they weren't saying.