Chapter Text
The morning unfolded softly over campus, sunlight slipping through the tall buildings in quiet streaks of gold. It wasn’t particularly special—just another day, like any other. Students moved in clusters, laughter echoing across walkways, the distant hum of chatter blending with the rustle of leaves overhead.
Everything felt… normal.
Duang leaned over his desk, pencil loosely held between his fingers as he stared down at a half-finished sketch. The lines were there, the structure too—but his mind wasn’t.
“Hey,” Pae’s voice broke through, loud and bright as ever. “Are you even listening, or are you just pretending to be deep again?”
Duang blinked, glancing up as if pulled from somewhere far away. “I am listening.”
“You’ve been staring at that same line for, like, five minutes,” Jamie added from across the table, not even looking up from his own work. His tone was calm, but there was that usual edge of amusement tucked beneath it. “If that line gets any more attention, it might start staring back.”
Pae snorted. “At this point, it probably already is.”
Duang huffed softly, shaking his head as a faint smile tugged at his lips. “I was thinking.”
“Dangerous,” Jamie muttered.
“Very,” Pae agreed.
The three of them settled back into a familiar rhythm—light teasing, easy laughter, the kind of comfort that didn’t need effort.
Around them, the Decorative Arts studio buzzed with energy. Brushes clinked against glass jars, chairs scraped lightly across the floor, and somewhere in the corner, someone argued passionately about color palettes.
It was warm. Alive.
Duang belonged here.
And yet... There was a quiet restlessness sitting somewhere in his chest, something he couldn’t quite name.
---
Across campus, in a different building where the air felt heavier and the sounds didn’t travel as far, Qin sat in a practice room with his guitar resting against his thigh.
The notes he played were clean. Precise. Controlled.
Each one placed exactly where it should be.
“Hey, that progression earlier—can you run it again?”
Kim leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching with a small tilt of his head. Tong stood nearby, flipping through sheet music, calm as ever.
Qin nodded once, fingers moving before the request had fully settled.
The melody flowed again.
Perfect.
Unwavering.
And yet… There was something distant about it. Like the music existed, but the person playing it was somewhere just slightly out of reach.
Tong glanced up briefly. “You’ve been practicing that a lot.”
“It needs work,” Qin replied simply.
Kim raised a brow. “If that needs work, I don’t even want to know what you think about the rest of us.”
No answer.
Qin’s gaze stayed lowered, focused on the strings beneath his fingers.
The room fell into a quiet that wasn’t uncomfortable—but not entirely warm either.
---
By midday, the campus had shifted into something livelier.
Students poured out of buildings, conversations overlapping, footsteps quickening as people crossed from one side to another. The sun sat higher now, casting sharper light across the open spaces, catching on windows and glass and movement.
It was loud.
It was alive.
It was everything Qin didn’t quite feel part of… and everything Duang stood comfortably within.
Duang stepped out from his building with Jamie and Pae flanking him, their conversation already halfway into another joke.
“I’m telling you,” Pae insisted, throwing his hands up, “if you submit that piece as ‘abstract emotion,’ no one can argue with you.”
Jamie scoffed lightly. “That’s not how it works.”
“It is if you say it confidently enough.”
Duang laughed softly under his breath, shaking his head as they approached the crosswalk that connected the two sides of campus.
Students moved back and forth in steady streams.
The signal shifted.
They stepped forward. At the same time, from the opposite side, Qin stepped off the curb.
It wasn’t anything special.
Not to anyone else.
Just two people walking in opposite directions, blending into the rhythm of campus life.
But then—Duang looked up.
And for a moment… everything stilled.
Not the world—no. The world kept moving. People passed by, voices continued, footsteps echoed across the pavement.
But for him—Something quieted.
Qin walked toward him with an ease that wasn’t careless, but composed. His posture straight, movements unhurried, gaze slightly lowered as if the ground held more interest than the people around him.
There was nothing outwardly striking. Nothing loud.
And yet—Duang couldn’t look away.
It was in the way Qin carried himself. In the stillness that seemed to follow him despite the noise. In the quiet distance behind his eyes, even from afar.
Something about it felt… calm.
And strangely—Lonely.
Duang’s breath caught, just slightly. He didn’t understand why. Didn’t understand why this—this fleeting, ordinary moment—felt like it had weight. Like it meant something.
Qin felt it too. Not in the same way. Not as something blooming or beginning.
Just—A flicker. A brief awareness of someone passing close enough to brush the edge of his space.
He lifted his gaze for half a second.
Enough to see—A boy.
Soft features. Gentle eyes. Something open in the way he looked, like he wasn’t trying to hide anything.
It lingered for the smallest fraction of time.
Then, Qin looked away.
They passed each other. No words. No pause. No reason to stop.
But Duang turned. Just slightly. Not enough for anyone else to notice. Just enough to catch one more glimpse of the figure already moving away from him.
And then he was gone.
Swallowed back into the crowd like he had never stood out at all.
“Duang?” Pae’s voice snapped him back.
“Huh?”
“You’re walking into people now?” Jamie added dryly.
Duang blinked, realizing he’d slowed without meaning to. “Sorry—I just—”
His words trailed off. His eyes drifted back once more. But there was nothing left to find.
On the other side of the crossing, Qin continued walking.
His pace unchanged. His expression the same. The moment already slipping into the blur of everything else.
If it had meant anything—He didn’t let himself think about it.
“Earth to Duang,” Pae nudged him lightly. “You good?”
“…Oh? Yeah,” Duang murmured, though it came out softer than intended.
He glanced down at his hands, then back ahead. But something had shifted. Subtle. Quiet. Unexplainable. And no matter how much he tried to brush it off—His mind kept drifting back to that single moment.
To someone he didn’t know.
To eyes that barely met his.
To a presence that had already disappeared.
For Duang, it lingered. Like the beginning of something he didn’t have the words for yet.
For Qin, it was just another passing moment—one of many. Already gone before it could mean anything at all.