Chapter Text
Sea arrived twelve minutes early.
Not fifteen, because fifteen felt too eager. Not five, because five felt careless. Twelve was reasonable enough to look accidental and intentional enough to keep him from walking into a room already full of people who had begun forming opinions without him.
The studio was on the fourth floor of the company building, hidden at the end of a hallway that smelled faintly of coffee, floor cleaner, and air-conditioning that had been running since morning. The door had a narrow glass panel, just enough for Sea to see that the room was empty before he stepped inside.
Mirrors covered one entire wall.
That was the first thing he noticed.
The second was the tape.
Colored tape marked the floor in uneven squares and crosses, old rehearsal scars layered over new ones. A stack of plastic chairs waited in one corner. Someone had pushed a portable speaker against the wall. There were two bottles of water on a small table near the door, both unopened, both sweating under the cold air.
Sea stood still for a moment, bag strap tight against his shoulder.
It was only a room.
He knew that.
He had stood in worse rooms before. Bigger rooms. Louder rooms. Courts full of people watching him, waiting for him to run, jump, strike, win. Rooms where expectation had weight. Rooms where a body was not private because every movement could be measured and corrected.
This was only an acting studio.
Still, the mirrors made it difficult to breathe normally.
Every version of him looked too visible.
Sea moved before the thought could settle. He chose a spot near the wall, not far enough to seem detached, not close enough to look like he wanted attention. He set his bag down carefully and sat with his back straight, hands resting loosely together.
Relaxed, he told himself.
He arranged his face into something calm.
That was easy. Sea had always been good at looking calm.
The first person arrived three minutes later.
He came in with too much energy for a room that had not properly started existing yet, opening the door with one hand while holding his phone in the other. He looked up, saw Sea, and smiled immediately.
“Oh. Hi.”
Sea smiled back. “Hi.”
“I’m Mark,” he said, already crossing the room as if they had agreed to be friendly before meeting.
“Sea.”
“Nice to meet you.” Mark dropped his bag near the chairs, glanced at the mirrors, and pulled a face. “These are aggressive.”
Sea’s smile grew slightly, despite himself. “A little.”
“Right? Like, yes, thank you, I know what I look like. No need to repeat it in high definition.”
Sea let out a soft breath that was almost a laugh.
Mark seemed pleased with that, but he didn’t push. He began checking his phone again, humming under his breath.
After that, people arrived one by one.
Fluke came in quietly, polite and slightly nervous, with a smile that looked like it had been practiced in the elevator. Winny followed him with his backpack hanging from one shoulder and a casual “Hey” that made Mark look up immediately. Perth arrived next, expression calm, eyes sharp as he scanned the room with the natural focus of someone who noticed more than he said.
Satang came in with a friendly brightness that did not feel forced. He introduced himself to everyone properly, repeating names once as if placing them somewhere safe in his memory. Win arrived last before the instructor, handsome in a clean, easy way, with the kind of confidence that did not need to announce itself.
Sea greeted each of them.
He smiled. He gave his name. He answered questions when asked.
Yes, first class.
No, he had not done much acting before.
Yes, he was looking forward to learning.
Yes, it was nice to meet them too.
By the time the seventh newcomer entered, Sea had already built himself a comfortable distance from everyone.
Not cold.
Never cold.
Just enough space to remain unclaimed.
Then the door opened again.
Sea looked over because everyone did.
The man who stepped inside did not do anything remarkable. He did not enter loudly. He did not demand attention. He simply came in with a bottle of water in one hand and a black bag over his shoulder, paused when he saw the others, then smiled.
“Hi. Sorry, am I late?”
“You’re fine,” Win said. “Teacher isn’t here yet.”
“Good.” The man’s smile deepened a little, relieved but not embarrassed. “Jimmy.”
He said it easily, naturally, offering the name to the room rather than performing it.
The others introduced themselves in turn. Jimmy listened well. That was the annoying part, Sea thought before he could stop himself. Some people pretended to listen so they could wait for their turn to speak. Jimmy actually listened. He nodded, repeated names, made quick comments that landed just right.
“Satang, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I think I saw your audition clip earlier.”
Satang blinked. “You did?”
“Only part of it. You were good.”
Satang laughed, surprised and pleased. “Now I’m scared.”
“You should be,” Mark said. “Compliments before class are suspicious.”
Jimmy smiled at that too, turning toward Mark as if the joke had been handed to him and he knew exactly how to return it.
Within two minutes, the room had accepted him.
Sea watched it happen with the detached interest of someone observing weather.
Jimmy was older than most of them. Not much older, but enough to carry himself differently. He had a steadiness that did not belong to someone trying to prove he deserved to be there. His clothes were simple, his hair neat, his posture relaxed. He looked like someone who had already passed through difficult things and come out certified.
Then Winny said, “Wait, aren’t you the doctor?”
Jimmy made a small sound, half laugh, half resignation. “Depends who’s asking.”
Mark turned fully. “Doctor?”
“Dermatology,” Jimmy said. “Well, fresh internship. So don’t make it sound more impressive than it is.”
“That’s already impressive,” Fluke said.
“It’s mostly lack of sleep and memorizing things until your soul leaves your body.”
Everyone laughed.
Sea smiled too, because it was the appropriate response.
Inside, something in him closed by one careful inch.
A doctor.
Of course.
Sea looked down at his hands.
He knew it was unfair immediately. The thought had appeared too quickly to be generous. Jimmy had not done anything wrong. He had not bragged. If anything, he had tried to soften the information, turn it into a joke so the room would not treat him differently.
Still, the judgment arrived before Sea could stop it.
Must be nice, he thought, to already have a life and come here looking for another one.
It was ugly. Small. Ungrateful.
Sea folded the thought neatly and put it somewhere no one could see.
When he looked up again, Jimmy was looking at him.
Not staring. Just noticing.
Sea smiled politely.
Jimmy smiled back.
There was no reason for either of them to dislike the other.
Not yet.
That did not stop the air between them from cooling by half a degree.
The instructor arrived at exactly nine.
She was a woman in her forties with short hair, black trousers, and the calm authority of someone who had watched enough young actors embarrass themselves to no longer be surprised by anything. She entered with a notebook under one arm and clapped once.
“Good. Everyone’s here.”
The room shifted instantly.
Phones disappeared. Backs straightened. Mark stopped humming. Even Jimmy, who had looked comfortable since the moment he entered, became more focused in a subtle, immediate way.
Sea liked that.
Then he noticed he liked it, and stopped.
“I’m Kru Nida,” the instructor said, setting her notebook on the table. “For the next year, this room will either become a place where you learn how to be honest, or a place where you learn how good you are at pretending to be honest. Those are not the same thing.”
No one laughed.
Kru Nida looked pleased by that.
“You were chosen because the company saw potential. Potential is useful, but it is not work. Talent is useful, but it is not discipline. Beauty is useful, unfortunately, but it is not craft.”
Mark raised his hand halfway. “Unfortunately?”
“Unfortunately for all of us who have to look at your faces while convincing you that faces are not enough.”
That got a laugh.
Sea laughed too, softly.
Kru Nida smiled once, then became serious again.
“We’ll start simply. Name. Age. Why you’re here. Not your official answer. Not what you think sounds humble. Not what your manager told you to say. Why you are here.”
A small silence followed.
It was different now. Heavier.
Sea felt the old instinct rise in him: calculate, prepare, choose the safest truth. Not a lie. Lies were messy. A safe truth was better. A safe truth could survive being examined.
Kru Nida pointed at Win first.
The introductions moved around the room.
Win spoke smoothly, saying he had always loved stories and wanted to understand what made people believe in them. Mark said he liked attention, then admitted, with a sheepish grin, that making people laugh had always been easier than telling them when he was scared. Fluke said he wanted to become braver. Perth kept his answer short: he wanted to know how far he could go if he took it seriously.
Winny shrugged and said, “I don’t know yet.”
Kru Nida narrowed her eyes.
Winny added, “But I want to find out properly.”
She accepted that.
Satang said he wanted to do something that scared him and not run away from it.
Then it was Jimmy’s turn.
He stood with his hands loosely clasped in front of him. He did not look nervous, exactly. But for the first time since entering the room, he looked careful.
“I was scouted a few years ago,” he said. “I said no because I wanted to finish medicine first.”
Sea looked at the floor.
Of course, he thought again, and disliked himself for it again.
Jimmy continued, “I graduated. I’m doing my internship now. When the company contacted me again, I thought…” He paused, searching for the right words. “I thought maybe I didn’t want everything in my life to be something I chose because it made sense.”
The room went quiet.
Jimmy gave a small smile, almost uncomfortable with his own honesty.
“So I’m here because acting doesn’t make complete sense for me. And I want to try anyway.”
Kru Nida studied him for a moment. “Good.”
Jimmy sat down.
Sea kept his face neutral.
It was a good answer. Honest. Clear. Almost too clear. The kind of answer that made people respect you immediately.
Sea wanted to respect it too.
Instead, he felt something bitter press under his ribs.
He already had something that made sense. A degree. A profession. A title people respected. A future that could survive failure.
Acting did not make sense for him, so he wanted to try.
For Sea, acting was not like that.
It was not a charming wrong turn. It was not rebellion after success.
It was the first thing in years that had made his body feel like it belonged to him again.
“Sea.”
His head lifted.
Kru Nida was watching him.
Sea stood.
Eight faces turned toward him, mirrored by eight more behind them. For a second, his throat forgot how to work.
He smiled.
“My name is Sea,” he said. “I’m twenty-one.”
His voice sounded composed. Good.
“I used to play badminton.”
Something flickered in Perth’s expression. Interest, maybe. Recognition. Sea did not look at him long enough to know.
“I stopped.” His fingers pressed lightly against his palm. “And then I became interested in acting.”
He could feel the empty space after the sentence. The missing pieces. The things he had not said.
The injury.
The hospital smell.
The national games he had watched from a bed with his leg wrapped and his future quietly ending without asking permission.
The months of pretending he was grateful for everyone’s encouragement when he had wanted to break every racket in the house.
The first time he had read lines in a workshop and realized that being someone else did not feel like escape. It felt like breathing.
Sea kept smiling.
“I want to learn,” he finished.
Kru Nida did not say anything immediately.
Sea wondered if she could see through him.
Then she nodded. “Good.”
He sat down.
Across the room, Jimmy watched him with an expression Sea could not read.
That irritated him, because Sea preferred being unreadable. He did not like being reminded other people could do it too.
Jimmy’s first thought was that Sea had given the room almost nothing.
Not nothing exactly. That would have been unfair. There was information there: age, badminton, acting, learning. But the shape of it was smooth, sealed at the edges. Every word had been placed carefully, like furniture in a room no one was allowed to enter.
Jimmy did not know why that bothered him.
Some people were shy. Some people needed time. Some people were private. None of that was a crime.
Still, as Kru Nida moved on and began explaining the structure of the class, Jimmy found himself glancing at Sea again.
Sea sat straight. Attentive. Respectful. His face gave away nothing except mild interest. He looked like the kind of person teachers liked because he never caused problems.
Jimmy had never fully trusted people who never caused problems.
Problems were useful. Problems told you where the truth was.
Kru Nida made them stand.
They started with breathing, then movement, then walking around the room without speaking. It should have been easy. It was not. The mirrors made everyone self-conscious. Mark kept catching sight of himself and grimacing. Fluke bumped lightly into Winny and apologized three times. Satang laughed under his breath when Kru Nida told them to “stop walking like people trying to look natural.”
Sea moved quietly through the space.
Jimmy noticed that too.
Not dramatically. Not with the exaggerated grace of someone trying to be seen. Sea simply seemed aware of his own body in a way most people were not. He knew where his feet landed. He knew how to shift around others without colliding. There was discipline there, old and ingrained.
Badminton, Jimmy thought.
That made sense.
Then Kru Nida told them to make eye contact when they passed someone and say their own name.
The room filled with awkward repetitions.
“Win.”
“Satang.”
“Mark.”
“Fluke.”
“Jimmy.”
“Sea.”
The first time Jimmy crossed Sea’s path, Sea met his eyes for precisely one second.
“Sea,” he said.
“Jimmy,” Jimmy replied.
Sea moved away.
It was not rude.
That was what made it difficult.
It would have been easier if Sea had been rude.
Kru Nida let them continue for another minute before stopping them.
“Now add one true thing.”
Mark groaned. “Already?”
“One true thing,” she repeated. “Not one impressive thing. Not one tragic thing. One true thing.”
They began again.
Win said, “I overthink first impressions.”
Satang said, “I’m nervous, but pretending not to be.”
Fluke said, “I want people to like me.”
Winny said, “I hate exercises like this.”
Kru Nida pointed at him. “That one I believe.”
Laughter loosened the room.
Jimmy passed Perth. “I slept three hours.”
Perth nodded solemnly. “You look like it.”
Jimmy laughed.
Then he turned and found Sea in front of him again.
For a brief second, they stood close enough that Jimmy could see the tiny hesitation before Sea spoke.
“My name is Sea,” he said. “I’m happy to be here.”
It was a true thing.
Probably.
It was also useless.
Jimmy did not mean to react. He thought he kept his face neutral. But something must have shifted, because Sea’s eyes sharpened for less than a second before his polite smile returned.
“Jimmy,” Jimmy said. “I don’t know what I’m doing yet.”
Sea’s smile changed.
Not enough for anyone else to notice. Just a small adjustment at the corner of his mouth.
For some reason, Jimmy had the distinct impression that Sea did not believe him.
The first hour passed in exercises designed to make dignity impossible.
They shook out their limbs. They copied each other’s movements. They stood in pairs and mirrored expressions. Mark made Fluke laugh so hard Kru Nida separated them like schoolchildren. Win and Satang were good together immediately, both responsive and open, adjusting without much effort. Perth and Sea worked together for one round, and Jimmy noticed that Sea seemed more comfortable with him.
Not open. Not warm, exactly.
But less careful.
Perth did not crowd him. He gave Sea space, and Sea filled it.
Interesting, Jimmy thought.
Then Kru Nida clapped again.
“Next exercise. Asking and refusing.”
The room made a collective sound of dread.
“Yes,” she said. “Good. Dread means we found something useful.”
She paired them quickly.
Win with Satang.
Mark with Perth.
Winny with Fluke.
Then her eyes moved between the last two.
“Jimmy and Sea.”
Sea’s expression did not change.
Jimmy gave a polite nod.
Neither of them looked at each other immediately.
That, more than anything, made Kru Nida smile.
They moved to the center of the room.
“The exercise is simple,” Kru Nida said. “One person wants something. The other refuses. No elaborate story. No comedy unless comedy happens honestly. You are not trying to win. You are trying to need something and hold a boundary.”
Mark lifted a hand. “Can I refuse to need something?”
“No.”
“Worth trying.”
Kru Nida ignored him. “Jimmy, you ask first. Sea, you refuse.”
Jimmy faced Sea.
Sea looked back, calm and pleasant.
That pleasantness bothered Jimmy before they even began.
He took a breath.
“Come with me,” Jimmy said.
Sea blinked once. “Where?”
“Doesn’t matter. I need you to come with me.”
“I’m sorry,” Sea said gently. “I can’t.”
Jimmy waited.
Sea waited too.
Nothing happened.
Kru Nida watched without helping.
Jimmy tried again, adding urgency. “It’s important.”
Sea nodded. “I understand.”
“So come with me.”
“I’m sorry,” Sea repeated, voice still soft. “I can’t.”
There was no resistance in it. No weight. It was like pushing against silk hanging in the air. Jimmy had the strange, irritating feeling that if he pushed harder, Sea would simply step aside and apologize for being in the way.
He changed tactic.
“I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need you.”
Something moved in Sea’s expression then. Not much. A small tightening, quickly hidden.
“I understand,” Sea said. “But I can’t.”
“Why?”
Sea smiled politely. “I just can’t.”
Jimmy stared at him.
Kru Nida let the silence stretch.
Jimmy knew, intellectually, that this was an exercise. He knew Sea did not owe him a real explanation. He knew the point was not to actually win.
Still, frustration rose in him, sharp and immediate.
“You’re not giving me anything to work with,” he said before he could soften it.
The room went very quiet.
Sea’s smile stayed exactly where it was.
That made it worse.
“I said no,” Sea replied.
“Yes, but you don’t mean it.”
Sea tilted his head slightly. “I do.”
“No,” Jimmy said, then stopped because he heard his own tone.
Kru Nida stepped in.
“Pause.”
Jimmy exhaled through his nose and looked away first.
Sea lowered his eyes politely, hands relaxed at his sides.
That irritated Jimmy too. The politeness. The composure. The way Sea could make Jimmy look like the unreasonable one simply by standing there calmly.
Kru Nida came closer.
“Jimmy,” she said, “you’re trying to force an answer because you don’t trust the one he’s giving you.”
Jimmy accepted that with a tight nod. “Yes.”
It came out more blunt than he intended.
Kru Nida looked amused. “At least you’re honest.”
Mark whispered, “Doctor diagnosis: no trust.”
Winny snorted.
Kru Nida pointed without looking. “Mark, silence.”
Mark shut his mouth.
Then she turned to Sea.
“Sea.”
Sea looked up. “Yes?”
“You are apologizing for having a boundary.”
His expression changed.
It was fast. Barely there. But Jimmy saw it.
For the first time since they had started, Sea looked uncomfortable.
Not nervous.
Exposed.
“I refused,” Sea said.
“You did,” Kru Nida agreed. “Very beautifully. Very respectfully. Very uselessly.”
A few people laughed softly, then stopped when Sea did not.
Kru Nida’s voice softened, but only slightly. “Refusal is not only words. If your mouth says no but the rest of you says, ‘Please don’t be upset with me for saying this,’ the scene becomes about avoiding discomfort. Not about need. Not about conflict. Not about truth.”
Sea nodded.
Of course he nodded, Jimmy thought.
“Yes,” Sea said.
Kru Nida watched him. “Don’t just agree with me.”
Sea paused.
A flicker of something passed through his eyes.
There, Jimmy thought.
There it is.
But Sea only said, “I understand.”
Kru Nida sighed, not unkindly. “Again.”
This time, she reversed it.
“Sea asks. Jimmy refuses.”
Sea turned back to him.
For one brief, unguarded second, Jimmy thought Sea looked tired.
Then the polite expression returned.
Sea took a breath. “Can you stay?”
The question was so soft that Jimmy almost missed the need inside it.
Almost.
He refused automatically, because that was the exercise.
“No.”
Sea nodded. “Okay.”
Kru Nida made an offended sound. “Sea.”
Sea looked at her.
“Ask him.”
“I did.”
“No. You gave him an opportunity to say no and then politely disappeared.”
Mark pressed his lips together like he was physically holding back commentary.
Sea swallowed. He turned to Jimmy again.
“Can you stay?” he asked.
Jimmy held his gaze. “No.”
This time Sea did not say okay.
The silence changed.
Jimmy felt it before he understood it.
Sea stood very still, but the stillness was different now. Less empty. More contained. His eyes stayed on Jimmy’s, dark and steady, and for one strange second the room seemed to narrow around them.
“Please,” Sea said.
The word was quiet.
Not weak.
Jimmy’s answer caught behind his teeth.
It was an exercise. He was supposed to refuse. But suddenly refusing felt less like following instructions and more like stepping on something alive.
Kru Nida’s voice came from beside them.
“Good.”
Sea looked away first.
The room returned all at once: mirrors, tape, air-conditioning, seven other bodies watching with varying levels of interest and discomfort.
Jimmy cleared his throat.
“No,” he said, late and rougher than he wanted.
Sea nodded once. “Okay.”
But this time, the word was not smooth.
Jimmy heard the difference.
He hated that he heard it.
Kru Nida let them step back. The others took turns after that, and the room loosened again. Mark made his refusal too dramatic. Perth surprised everyone by being quietly intense. Satang and Win found a rhythm quickly, turning a simple request into something that felt almost like a scene from a drama already in progress. Winny complained through the whole thing and somehow did well anyway.
Sea returned to his place by the wall.
Jimmy did not look at him.
Which was, of course, how he knew he was aware of him.
By the end of class, everyone looked slightly worn out in a way that felt more emotional than physical. Kru Nida gave them homework: observe three strangers, write down what they showed and what they tried to hide. Mark complained that this sounded creepy. Kru Nida told him actors were professional thieves of human behavior and he should get used to it.
People laughed. Bags were collected. Numbers were exchanged with the messy enthusiasm of new beginnings.
Satang came over to Jimmy first.
“You were intense,” he said cheerfully.
Jimmy made a face. “That bad?”
“Not bad. Just…” Satang searched for a word, then smiled. “Medical.”
Jimmy stared at him. “Medical?”
“Like you wanted to cut the exercise open and find the organ responsible.”
Despite himself, Jimmy laughed. “That sounds terrible.”
“It was a little scary,” Satang admitted. “But interesting.”
“Interesting is what people say when they don’t want to say terrible.”
“Also true.”
Jimmy liked him immediately.
Across the room, Sea was speaking with Perth. Or rather, Perth was speaking and Sea was listening. But again, Jimmy noticed that Sea looked less sealed with Perth. Not open exactly. Just not bracing.
Jimmy looked away before the observation became annoying.
He checked his phone. Three missed messages from the hospital group chat. One from his mother asking if class had ended. One from his sister sending a sticker of a cat fainting dramatically.
Normal life, waiting.
He should leave.
Instead, he found himself glancing back once more.
Sea had finished talking to Perth. He lifted his bag onto his shoulder and turned toward the door.
Jimmy moved before thinking too much about why.
“Sea.”
Sea stopped.
His face arranged itself before he turned. Jimmy saw it happen this time, and something about that bothered him more than the smile itself.
“Yes?”
Jimmy hesitated.
He had intended to say something normal. Good work. See you next time. Sorry if I came on too strong during the exercise.
All acceptable options.
Instead, because his mouth had never shown much interest in protecting him from himself, he said, “You say okay a lot.”
Sea blinked.
Behind him, Mark’s head turned with predatory interest.
Jimmy immediately regretted speaking.
Sea did not look offended. That was somehow worse. He only gave a small, polite smile.
“Do I?”
“Yes.”
Sea adjusted the strap of his bag. “I didn’t notice.”
Jimmy did not believe that.
He was not sure Sea did either.
“It makes it hard to know what you actually think,” Jimmy said.
There was a tiny pause.
Not long enough to be rude.
Long enough to be real.
Sea’s smile remained. “Maybe I don’t think anything interesting.”
The answer was mild. Almost self-deprecating.
Jimmy found it completely unconvincing.
“I doubt that.”
For the first time, something like irritation crossed Sea’s face.
It vanished quickly, but not quickly enough.
“That's because you don't know me,” Sea replied.
Softly.
Respectfully.
A closed door with a lock clicked into place.
Jimmy stared at him.
Sea bowed his head slightly, not formal enough to be strange, just polite enough to end the conversation.
“See you next class.”
Then he left.
Jimmy stood there for a second after the door closed.
Mark appeared beside him like a bad idea given human form.
“Well,” he said. “That was smooth P'.”
Jimmy sighed. “Don’t.”
“I’m just saying, if your plan was to make him want to avoid you, strong start.”
“I wasn’t trying to—”
“Cut him open and find the organ responsible?”
Satang called from the other side of the room, “That was my line.”
“It was good,” Mark said. “I’m stealing it.”
Jimmy rubbed a hand over his face.
He did not know why the conversation sat badly in his chest. Sea had not been rude. Sea had not done anything wrong. If anything, Jimmy was the one who had pushed too directly after knowing him for less than three hours.
Still, the irritation remained.
Not sharp enough to be anger. Not important enough to be dislike.
Just a small stone in his shoe.
Outside, Sea walked down the hallway alone.
He could hear the others still talking in the studio behind him, their voices spilling through the door before fading with distance. He kept his pace even. Not too fast. Not like he was escaping.
Even though he was, a little.
The elevator was empty when it arrived. Sea stepped inside and pressed the ground floor button. As the doors closed, his reflection appeared in the brushed metal.
Calm face.
Polite mouth.
Nothing out of place.
You say okay a lot.
Sea looked at himself until the elevator began to move.
He did not like Jimmy.
That was too strong, maybe.
He did not dislike him either.
Not exactly.
Jimmy had not been cruel. He had not been arrogant in any obvious way. He had listened during class. He had worked seriously. He had even been honest, which was usually something Sea respected.
But there was something about him.
Something too direct. Too certain. Too willing to press his fingers against a bruise just because he had noticed it existed.
Sea did not want that kind of person near him.
People like Jimmy asked questions and expected real answers. They treated silence like a problem to solve. They looked at a closed door and thought the issue was that they had not found the right key yet.
Sea closed his hand around the strap of his bag.
No, he thought.
He would be polite. He would be professional. He would learn. He would do the work.
But he would not give Jimmy anything unnecessary.
The elevator doors opened.
Sea stepped out, face composed, and walked into the bright lobby of the company building.
By the time he reached the street, he had already folded the morning into something manageable.
A room with mirrors.
Seven other newcomers.
One instructor who saw too much.
One doctor who asked too directly.
A first class.
Nothing more.
Behind him, four floors up, Jimmy was still in the studio, listening to Satang talk about getting lunch with the others. Mark was trying to convince everyone that emotional honesty required fried chicken. Winny was arguing that emotional honesty required going home and sleeping.
Jimmy smiled at the noise, answered when spoken to, and checked his phone again.
But when he looked toward the door, he caught himself wondering if Sea always left first.
Then he caught himself wondering why he cared.
He did not know Sea.
He did not understand him.
He was fairly sure working with him would be difficult.
Across the city, Sea reached the bus stop and stood beneath the narrow shade of a sign, watching traffic move under the pale afternoon sun.
He did not know Jimmy.
He did not understand him.
He was fairly sure being near him would be exhausting.
It was, considering all things, not a dramatic beginning.
No argument.
No insult.
No obvious wound.
Just two people leaving the same room with the same quiet certainty.
That they had already read each other correctly.
And both of them were wrong.