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They’ve touched before, but this is different.
Jet tells himself that first, the way he tells himself most lies.
Different would imply new, and nothing about this feels new. It feels inevitable, like something that’s been waiting quietly for a long time and finally decided to breathe. It feels like standing on the edge of the river at night, knowing how cold the water will be, knowing exactly how deep it goes, and stepping in anyway.
Different would mean unexpected.
This isn’t.
Jet adjusts Charn’s sleeve, fingers brushing the inside of his wrist.
Charn stills.
It’s barely anything, an absent gesture, almost polite. The kind of thing Jet has done before without thinking. The kind of thing friends do. The kind of thing students do when they’re trying very hard to behave.
But Jet’s fingers linger.
They both notice.
Charn’s pulse is fast beneath Jet’s thumb. Too fast for someone pretending to be calm.
Jet feels it like a confession.
He pulls his hand back before either of them can say anything.
They are sitting on the floor of Por Kru’s house, backs against opposite sides of the low table. Afternoon light filters in through the open windows, carrying the smell of dust, incense, and something faintly sweet from the kitchen. Outside, Khem is arguing with Por Kru about something, herbs, maybe, or the placement of a charm. Their voices blur into background noise.
Inside, it’s just Jet and Charn.
Too quiet.
Too aware.
They haven’t talked about what happened.
Not really.
They talked *around* it, though. In careful, deliberate ways. Jet mentioned needing to focus. Charn nodded, serious and earnest, like this was a problem to be solved instead of a feeling to be survived.
They agreed, together, in that way they always seem to agree, that nothing could happen until Khem’s curse was dealt with.
Until everything was safe.
Until no one could get hurt.
It was the right decision.
Jet believes that.
He has to.
Because the alternative is acknowledging how badly he wants to lean back into Charn’s space and stay there.
Charn clears his throat. “You’re… fidgeting.”
Jet blinks. Realizes his knee has been bouncing for who knows how long. He stills it with effort. “Sorry.”
Charn watches him for a second longer than necessary. His glasses catch the light. He looks tired. Focused. Controlled in that particular way that makes Jet want to ruin him just a little.
Jet looks away first.
They sit like that for a while, close enough that Jet can feel Charn’s warmth through the thin space between them, far enough that neither of them is technically doing anything wrong.
Jet hates how much effort it takes.
“You don’t have to stay,” Charn says quietly. “If it’s uncomfortable.”
Jet huffs a short laugh. “I’m fine.”
It’s not a lie.
It’s just not the whole truth.
Charn shifts, adjusting his posture. The movement draws Jet’s attention automatically. He hates that his body reacts faster now, like it’s memorized Charn in a way his brain hasn’t caught up to yet.
They’ve touched before.
They’ve *kissed* before.
They’ve crossed that invisible line in a way that can’t be uncrossed.
And now every small thing feels magnified.
Every brush of fabric. Every shared breath. Every moment of silence where neither of them is brave enough to say the wrong thing.
Jet watches Charn rub his thumb along the edge of his notebook, over and over, like he’s grounding himself.
Jet understands the impulse.
“I meant what I said,” Charn adds, not looking at him. “About waiting.”
Jet nods, even though Charn isn’t looking. “I know.”
“I don’t regret—” Charn stops. Starts again. “I don’t regret u.”
That makes Jet’s chest ache in a way he doesn’t have words for.
He swallows. “Neither do I.”
The words hang between them, fragile and heavy.
Jet risks a glance.
Charn is watching him now, expression carefully neutral, like he’s trying very hard not to hope for something he’s already decided not to reach for.
Jet thinks, not for the first time, that Charn is unfairly good at this. At restraint. At discipline. At choosing the hard thing because it’s right.
Jet is not.
Jet has always been the kind of person who follows feeling first and deals with consequences later. He’s impulsive. Emotional. Honest to a fault.
This, this, feels like punishment.
Charn shifts closer without realizing it. Just a few centimeters. Enough that their shoulders nearly touch.
Jet doesn’t move away.
He should.
He doesn’t.
Charn’s sleeve brushes Jet’s forearm.
Jet feels it everywhere.
They both freeze.
Slowly, deliberately, Jet reaches out again, not to Charn’s wrist this time, but to the cuff of his sleeve. He smooths it down like he did earlier, like it’s a habit he’s had for years.
His fingers linger again.
Charn’s breath stutters.
Jet feels Charn’s pulse beneath his thumb, faster than before.
They pretend not to notice.
They both notice everything.
Jet lets his hand drop this time, resting it on his own knee, curling his fingers into his palm like that will help.
“I should go,” Jet says, even though he doesn’t want to.
Charn nods immediately, too quickly. “Yeah. That’s probably for the best.”
Neither of them moves.
Outside, Khem laughs at something Por Kru says. Life continues.
Jet pushes himself to his feet, every movement deliberate. Charn stands too, smoothing his shirt, adjusting his glasses. He looks composed again, like he’s rebuilt all the walls Jet accidentally knocked down.
Jet hates that he respects him for it.
They walk to the door together.
Jet slips on his shoes. Charn holds the door open.
For a moment, just before Jet steps outside, something shifts.
Charn’s hand brushes Jet’s again.
This time, it’s unmistakable.
Intentional.
Jet looks up.
Charn is looking at him, not guarded, not distant, but raw in a way Jet hasn’t seen before. Like he’s standing at the edge of something and choosing, again, not to jump.
“After,” Charn says quietly. “When it’s over.”
Jet nods. “After.”
It’s not a promise.
But it feels close enough.
Jet steps outside.
The door closes behind him with a soft click.
And even with the distance between them, even with restraint, even with waiting, Jet can still feel Charn’s pulse under his thumb.