The car door closed with a thud that sounded far too loud in the quiet driveway. Wut's parents were still waving from the porch, their silhouettes framed by the warm glow of the entryway, but inside the car, the atmosphere was freezing.
Phol didn't start the engine immediately. He just sat there, his hands gripping the steering wheel at ten and two, his knuckles white.
"Phol?" Wut asked softly.
No response.
Phol turned the key. The engine roared to life, and they pulled away from the curb. The streetlights of the neighborhood flickered across Phol's face, casting long, sharp shadows that made him look like a stranger. This wasn't the man who had tickled him until he couldn't breathe that morning. This was the "friend's son" again—the one who hid behind a desk and a title.
Ten minutes passed. Then twenty. Wut watched the city lights blur past the window. He felt like he was sitting next to a ticking bomb.
"Are we really going to do this?" Wut finally asked, his voice cracking the silence.
"Do what?" Phol replied. His voice was flat.
"This. The silent treatment. The 'I'm fine' mask. You saw the text, Phol. If you're angry, just say it. Don't act like I'm invisible."
Phol's foot pressed harder on the accelerator. The car sped up, weaving through the light Sunday night traffic with a precision that felt just a little too sharp.
"I'm not acting like you're invisible, Wut. I'm thinking."
"Thinking about what?"
"About how easily you let him back in," Phol snapped. He didn't look away from the road, but his jaw was clenched so tight it looked painful. " 'He's just being friendly.' Do you really believe that? Or do you just like the attention?"
Wut felt like he'd been slapped.
"Attention? Phol, I didn't even reply to him. I was at my parents' house with you. How can you even say that?"
"Because I know him!" Phol's voice rose, losing its practiced calm. "I spent two years knowing him. I know exactly what 'I passed by the library' means. It's a hook, Wut. He's fishing to see if you'll still bite. And you're just… standing there with the line in your hand."
"I'm not biting!" Wut shot back. "I was trying to be mature. I thought if I didn't make a big deal out of it, it wouldn't be one. I didn't want to ruin the day."
"Well," Phol said, his voice dropping back to a low, dangerous quiet as they pulled into their driveway, "mission failed."
Phol killed the engine and got out of the car before Wut could say another word. By the time Wut got inside the house, Phol was already in the kitchen, pouring himself a glass of water with unsteady hands.
The house, which usually felt like a sanctuary, suddenly felt too big. Too empty.
Wut walked into the kitchen and stopped across the island from him.
"Phol, look at me."
Phol said nothing, staring at the water.
"Phol. Look. At. Me."
Slowly, Phol raised his head. His eyes weren't angry anymore—they were exhausted. Beneath the jealousy was something sharper. Something close to fear.
"He told me he stayed because it was convenient," Phol said, his voice rough. "He left the moment things got hard. And now I see you at university, meeting him every day, getting texts while we're with your family…" He swallowed. "And I'm just waiting for the moment you realize I'm just as convenient."
Wut's breath caught. He walked around the island, stepping into Phol's space. This time, he didn't hesitate. He grabbed Phol's shirt, pulling him down until they were eye-to-eye.
"Is that what you think?" Wut whispered, his voice tight. "You think I'm here because of my dad? You think I let you hold me this morning because it was convenient?"
Phol didn't answer. But he didn't pull away either.
"The glass," Wut said more quietly. "I told myself I'd hold onto it. That I wouldn't let it break." He shook his head slightly. "But you keep waiting for it to shatter before it even slips."
Wut reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and opened Min's contact. He hesitated—just for a second—then hit Block.
He turned the screen toward Phol.
"He's gone."
The silence that followed wasn't sharp anymore. It just… hung there.
"Is that enough?" Wut added, softer this time. "Or are you going to keep looking for reasons to leave me before I leave you?"
Phol stared at the screen, then at Wut. Something in him gave way. His shoulders dropped, and he leaned forward, burying his face in the crook of Wut's neck.
He didn't say anything. He just held on—tight, like letting go wasn't an option.
Wut exhaled slowly, resting his chin on Phol's head. The tension in the room eased, but it didn't disappear completely.
"We're going to bed," Wut murmured. "No more company letters. No more Min. Just sleep."
"Wut?" Phol's voice was muffled.
"Yeah?"
"Don't let go."
Wut tightened his hold.
"I'm not the one who let go. Remember that."
They walked upstairs together, the house quiet once more. But as Wut lay in the dark later that night, listening to Phol's breathing settle, the thought lingered.
The number was blocked. The fear had quieted.
But Min wasn't the kind of person who stayed gone.
Especially not on the same campus.
The glass was still in one piece.
For now.