The lunch hall was loud with the day's mess, the sound of trays and loud talk hitting the tall glass walls. The cooks worked fast, giving out soup, rice, and yelling orders lost in the sound around. The air was thick with smells—fried dumplings, teriyaki chicken, kimchi stew—a mix of smells that stuck to hair, clothes, and skin. In one corner, a group of first-years laughed out loud, one almost dropping their bubble tea as the rest made fun of him.
Sunlight came in through the windows, bright yellow beams crossing tables and floors. Dust danced in the light, looking like small stars floating. To most, it was just a loud, normal lunch.
But for Zac, things felt far, soft—like he was hearing it all under water.
He sat alone in his corner, apart from the flow of students. His tray was in front of him: cold miso soup, two onigiri sat untouched. His chopsticks were still, left aside. He did not look at his tray, or the people, or even the loud room.
He looked at the sky outside the glass.
The clouds moved slow up there, far and cold. A blue so deep it was hard to keep looking. But Zac's mind was not there.
It was on a name.
Januz.
The name beat in his heart, soft but always there—like a song he could not stop.
He saw the rooftop again, the cold night around them, the quiet so deep it was thick. He saw Januz there, dark shapes on his face, eyes hard to read but open in a way Zac saw few times.
"You make it easier to breathe."
Those words came back so clear Zac felt a tight knot in his throat. They were not quite a full tell, but not nothing either. They stayed in the air like stars, just out of hand, softly shining with what could be.
His heart jumped a small, false beat.
And then—
BANG!
Two trays hit the table, shaking his miso bowl and pulling him from his deep thoughts. Zac jumped.
"Zac, you there?"
Tristan's voice came over, teasing, loud enough for the next table to look over. "You're not making sad space poems about your love again, are you?"
Zac blinked, shocked. "What—Tristan?! Tim?"
"Hey," Timothy said, his voice soft, as he sat down across Zac. His smile was small, but his eyes held a twinkle. "You seemed miles out. Or maybe a few stars away."
"I was just… thinking," Zac said, putting down his chopsticks.
Tristan having finished with one chicken skewer had already brought another close to himself. Whilst chewing he talked.
"You had to be afraid of just two things. One, that a science experiment would happen to your food. Two, that you would behave like a lovesick astronaut in front of other people."
"I am not the one that looks lovesick," Zac pronounced confidently.
"Yes, you are," Tristan pointed to him with the skewer for support. "You look as if your soul had just been touched by the stars and now you are doomed to desire it eternally. That's typical lovesick."
Zac felt the heat that raised from his neck to his face. He mumbled under his breath, "Not with you." Then with a hand on his temple, he said, "I'm not doing this."
"Tristan, as always, with his characteristic grin, declared, "It means it's Januz who's guilty."
Zac groaned.
Timothy unwound a rice sandwich, his actions measured, and relaxed. "So," he said smoothly, "what's it like being on the same team as him? Mr. Mystery?"
Zac first hesitated, then slouched back and folded his arms. "He is… different. Quiet. But not in a negative way. It's kind of… he listens first. Like he's evaluating every word. He spots the things that others haven't."
Tristan theatrically reclined. "Wow. It seems that someone has been seeing him noticing."
"Shut your trap." Zac was annoyed but a smile involuntarily tugged at his lips.
They both laughed, and their laughter merged with the lunchroom turmoil. For a moment, Zac allowed himself to feel this—this bubble of comfort, this ordinary life. After a long time, he was not wrapped up in silent doubts or longing. Just three friends sitting at the table. Familiar. Safe.
Until Timothy leaned forward, his voice quieter.
"Zac," he said softly, "how's your dad?"
The laughter was abruptly stopped.
Zac's hand went still. He looked at his meal of which the soup was cold and the rice pieces were untouched. Tightness was in his chest.
"He's…" Voice went off. He swallowed. "He's still the same. Still calling. Still acting as if I'll change."
Tristan this time without doing so, didn't crack a joke but only frowned and put his skewer down.
"Is it…" Timothy eyed him and with a kind expression asked, "Does he know?"
Zac nodded, once, and shook his head, "No. And I am pretty sure that I will never tell him."
The silence was extended not similar to the previous one. It was heavy and suffocating.
"He still expects me to come back," Zac kept going, his words slow as if moving stones. "Still thinking I'm throwing my time away with astrology. That it's just a phase. He continuously telling me that I need to grow up, cease to embarrass him, and take over the business."
His phone buzzed.
The sound was cutting through the moment.
Zac turned to the screen with his eyes.
Xavier: Dad's birthday is tomorrow. Can you come home?
It felt like the ground underneath him was moving. His hand was over the phone but it was not touching it.
Xavier. His brother. His father. That home.
The memory came back to him in pieces—the well-kept dining table, the sound of silverware being used. The eating that was different, more intense. His father's eyes that were penetrating and icy, not looking at Zac but a son who was stubborn and not willing to be transformed into a typical figure of a father.
His heart tightened.
He covered the phone face down. He let out a short breath.
"He still hasn't figured out me," Zac uttered. His voice became weaker and more uncertain at the edges. "Not really. Not the one that loves the stars. Nor the one that...looking at Januz too long."
Timothy's look was fixed. He was very calm but his words were firm. "He doesn't need all the details right now. Only what he can't do is choose your character."
Zac felt Timothy's riles and the instance, conviction, surprise and understanding all at once. He was not expecting this.
"Not the way he is your blueprint," he continued more firmly. "You have the right to live without restrictions and the skyscape of your own."
The pain and emptiness in Zac chest were there. But not only from fear or guilt. It was also from the intense relief of being acknowledged.
"I just wish it was easier than that," he uttered.
"It is never," Tristan replied, quieter than usual. He was only a little more serious than usual when he said this and even then Zac barely noticed it. "However, that doesn't stop you from having us. Even in your most pessimistic, lovestruck and geeky moments."
For instance, Zac could not resist groaning and saying "Gee, thanks."
Tristan chuckled and smiled slyly as he shoved the mochi towards Zac across the table. "Have a sweet treat. You look like a ghost has kissed you."
Zac did not just smile, he really did smile, a laugh burst out of him—the sound was unfamiliar to him as if a window had opened in his chest. He ate the mochi—the sweetness was very light on his tongue.
Still, however, not only under the sugar and the fun, but Xavier's message was still hanging like a dark shadow.
The fact that he didn't say it pressed harder than the actual words he did say.