The day passed easier than Wut expected.
Min wasn't there.
No sudden voice behind him. No careful smile waiting at the corner of his vision. Just… space.
He didn't realize how much energy that saved until he sat down beside Pheet and felt his shoulders finally drop.
"Wow," Pheet said, watching him. "You look almost human today."
"Thanks," Wut muttered, actually feeling the tension leave his neck.
Kiran leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "So. Crisis over?"
Wut shrugged. "Temporarily."
They ended up talking about something stupid, as usual. The bickering between Kiran and Pheet was the perfect background noise to drown out the lingering echoes of Min's voice from the weekend.
"You should just move in already," Wut said, pointing his fork at them. "I'm tired of hearing the same argument every week."
Pheet rolled his eyes. "And commute two hours every morning? No thanks."
Kiran smirked, glancing at Pheet with a look that was far from professional. "Your place is closer. We're being strategic."
"Strategic," Wut repeated flatly. "Right."
It felt normal. Too normal. Like yesterday hadn't happened.
After his last lecture, Wut walked out of the building, already pulling his phone out to check his messages—then stopped.
Phol's car.
Parked right across the street.
Wut didn't think. He didn't care who was watching or if any of his classmates were whispering. He just moved. By the time Phol stepped out of the car, Wut was already there. He grabbed him by the sleeve, pulled him in—and hugged him.
Phol froze for half a second. Then, the tension in his frame melted, and he relaxed, his arms coming up to steady Wut. Wut pulled back just enough to look at him—and kissed his cheek.
Quick. Casual. Like it was nothing, even though it was everything.
"Get a room!" Pheet's voice called from behind.
Wut didn't even turn around. He just waved a hand blindly in the air. "Bye!"
Phol glanced past him briefly at the two friends, a flicker of his usual composure returning, then he looked back at Wut.
"…You're in a good mood."
"Don't ruin it," Wut warned, grinning as he hopped into the passenger seat.
The drive was quiet. Not the heavy, suffocating silence of the previous night, but something calm and rhythmic. Wut didn't ask where they were going. He didn't feel like he needed to. He just watched the city buildings give way to more open space, the air turning saltier.
When the car finally stopped, Wut blinked. It was a small house near the water. The sound of waves was somewhere just out of sight, a low, constant hum against the shore.
"What is this place?" Wut asked, stepping out into the breeze.
Phol walked around the car, stopping a few steps away. He looked out toward the horizon.
"…Somewhere I go when I don't want to think."
Wut looked around at the modest, beautiful house. Then back at the man standing in front of it.
"I can't believe I've never been here."
Phol didn't answer right away. He just watched Wut, his eyes soft in a way he only allowed when they were truly alone.
"You're the best thing that has ever happened to me," he said.
Wut stilled. There was no hesitation in Phol's voice. No joke. No mask.
Phol stepped back slightly, like he needed the physical distance to keep the words coming.
"I used to think…" he started quietly, "that I was fine on my own. Like a rose. Just… existing."
Wut blinked, confused by the sudden metaphor. "…A rose?"
Phol ignored the interruption, his gaze fixed on Wut. "You picked it up. And suddenly it mattered that it had thorns."
Wut stared at him.
"…Since when are you a poet?" he muttered, though his heart was hammering against his ribs.
Phol huffed out a quiet breath. "Since I ran out of normal ways to explain things."
There was a space between them. Not far, but noticeable. Wut didn't like it. He had spent enough time lately feeling like there were walls between them.
So he closed it.
He stepped forward—then faster—then just ran the last step and crashed into Phol.
Phol stumbled back, caught off guard, falling onto the outdoor couch behind him with a soft thud. Wut didn't move away. He stayed there, half on top of him, arms wrapped around him like that was exactly where he was supposed to be.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The only sound was the distant waves.
Then Phol exhaled. Slow. Deep.
"…Wut."
"Hmm?"
A pause.
"What if I told you," Phol said carefully, his voice vibrating against Wut's chest, "that the second time we bumped into each other…"
Another pause.
"…wasn't an accident."
Wut froze. Then—
"I knew it!"
He pushed himself up slightly—too fast—and knocked his head hard against Phol's chin.
"—Ow!"
"—Ow!"
They both stopped, clutching their respective injuries. They stared at each other for a beat. Then, the absurdity of the moment broke, and they both started laughing.
Wut dropped his head back down, still chuckling.
"I knew it," he repeated. "There was no way you just kept appearing like that. You're a stalker."
Phol rubbed his chin, looking half-amused, half-relieved. "…You're not mad?"
Wut looked at him. Really looked. He saw the vulnerability Phol usually hid behind thousand-dollar suits and cold glares.
Wut smiled. "Should I be?"
Phol didn't answer. He just reached up, his hand lingering at the back of Wut's neck. Wut leaned closer, resting his forehead lightly against Phol's.
"…Was this house planned too?" he asked softly.
Phol's lips twitched. "Not everything."
Wut huffed out a quiet laugh.
The glass wasn't broken. Here, by the water, with Phol's heartbeat under his ear, it felt stronger than ever. Wut closed his eyes, deciding that for tonight, the thorns didn't matter. Only the rose did.