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By the end of the week, Charn had learned exactly how close was too close.
Not in steps or inches, he’d never measured it like that, but in instinct. In the way Jet’s breathing shifted when Charn rolled over on his mat. In the way Jet went unnaturally still when Charn spoke too softly in the dark. In the moment right before something tipped.
They were careful. Painfully so.
Sharing a room made it unavoidable.
Khem slept on the single bed pushed against the wall, his breathing light, steady. Jet and Charn lay on separate mats on the floor, parallel but not touching, a narrow strip of woven space between them that felt wider at night. Every movement carried weight. Every sound mattered.
That evening, the house had gone quiet early.
Por Kru had turned in, incense burned low and clean. The windows were cracked just enough to let the night air drift in, carrying the smell of damp earth and distant trees. Somewhere far off, a motorbike passed and disappeared again.
Jet lay on his back, staring at the ceiling.
Charn lay on his side, facing him.
He hadn’t meant to turn that way. It had just… happened.
“You’re still awake,” Charn murmured.
Jet didn’t look at him. “So are you.”
Charn smiled faintly. “As your friend, I’m allowed to notice.”
Jet exhaled through his nose. “Don’t start.”
“I’m not starting,” Charn said quietly. “I’m just talking.”
Silence stretched.
Khem shifted on the bed, sighing softly in his sleep. Both of them froze, breath held, bodies still, until his breathing evened out again.
Only then did Jet turn his head.
Their eyes met.
Something pulled tight in Charn’s chest.
Jet rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow without thinking. Charn mirrored him, slower, careful, like any sudden movement might shatter what little control they had left.
They were close now. Too close.
Charn could see the shape of Jet’s mouth in the dim light. The way his lips parted slightly when he breathed. The flicker of hesitation in his eyes.
Charn swallowed. “You know I’m not mad,” he whispered. “Right?”
“I know,” Jet replied just as softly.
“I just…” Charn hesitated, then huffed quietly. “I don’t like pretending we’re something we’re not.”
Jet’s jaw tightened. “I don’t like it either.”
Charn shifted closer by accident, or maybe on purpose. His mat creaked faintly beneath him. He froze, listening.
Khem didn’t stir.
Jet’s gaze dropped, just for a second.
That was all it took.
Charn shifted closer. Not much. Barely a movement. Just enough that their mats creaked faintly beneath them.
Jet’s hand lifted automatically, hovering near Charn’s wrist. Not touching. Never touching.
Their faces were inches apart.
Then less.
Charn leaned in without deciding to. Slowly. Carefully. As if giving Jet time to stop him.
Jet didn’t.
Their breaths mingled, warm, shallow, uneven. Charn’s lips hovered just shy of Jet’s, so close that the world narrowed to that single, unbearable space.
A heartbeat.
Another.
Jet’s eyes flicked down.
Charn felt it, the pull, the inevitability. His mouth tilted instinctively, closing the last fraction.
For half a heartbeat, everything else disappeared, the bed, the mats, the promise they’d made.
Then Khem sighed softly in his sleep, shifting again.
The sound snapped through them like a wire pulled too tight.
Reality snapped back into place.
Jet pulled back immediately, breath unsteady, hand dropping to the mat like it had burned him. “We said we’d wait.”
“I know,” Charn whispered, already retreating, already forcing space between them. “I remember.”
They lay there in silence, facing each other across the narrow gap, the wanting thick and unresolved. The air between them still charged, still vibrating with everything they hadn’t done.
“I’m sorry,” Jet said quietly.
Charn shook his head. “Don’t be.”
He rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling, jaw tight. “As your friend,” he added, voice carefully light, “I should probably stop doing that.”
Jet let out a soft, broken laugh. “That would help.”
They didn’t move closer again.
Didn’t reach out.
Eventually, the quiet settled back in, heavy but manageable.
Just before sleep took him, Charn murmured, barely audible, “I meant it, you know. I’ll wait.”
Jet didn’t turn this time. But his voice was steady when he answered.
“I know.”
Neither of them slept right away.
The almost-kiss lingered between them, unfinished, undeniable.
So close it hurt.
And in the shared dark of that small room, between a single bed, two mats, and a promise neither of them regretted, they lay awake a little longer than necessary, wanting something they refused to take.
Waiting.
Still waiting.
Just, not yet.