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the smell of menthol cigarettes and cheap cologne always clung to jai's skin after a breakup.
pik didn't need to look up from his laptop to know how the night had ended. the heavy, uneven thud of jai's sneakers against the floorboards of their shared apartment was a familiar rhythm. then came the predictable weight of jai dropping onto the mattress beside him, burying his face directly into pik's thigh.
"she blocked me," jai mumbled, his voice muffled by the denim of pik's jeans. "over a text message, pik. can you believe that? two months, and i get a text."
pik's fingers hovered over the keyboard. a familiar, hollow ache blossomed in his chest — not sharp enogh to make him gasp, but deep enough to make breathing feel like heavy lifting. he let out a quiet sigh, closing his laptop and setting it on the nightstand.
"you told her she looked like your ex, jai," pik said softly, his voice a practiced, soothing anchor. "i told you she wouldn't take that well."
"i was paying her a compliment! maya had great bone structure." jai groaned, rolling over onto his back so he was looking up to pik. in the dim light of the desk lamp, jai's features were frustratingly striking — the sharp jawline, the messy dark hair, the dark eyes that looked at everything with a reckless, casual intensity. he reached up, blindly grabbing pik's hand and tugging it down until pik's pam rested against his forehead. "my head hurts. massaging it makes it better. you know the spot."
pik's fingers moved automatically. his thumb traced the temple, applying just the right amount of pressure. he had learned exactly how to cure jai's hangovers, how to soothe his headaches, and how to piece his ego back together after a failed fling. he had been doing it since they were ten years old and jai had cried over losing a middle school football match.
now, at twenty-one, the stakes were different, but the roles remained unchanged. jai drifted. jai collided with people, shattered the connection, and then drifted back.
"what would i do without you?" jai murmured, his eyes closing as he relaxed under pik's touch. "seriously. girls are so temporary. you're the only constant i have, pookpik."
the only constant.
the nickname, a relic from their childhood, felt like a twisted knife. to anyone, the phrase would sound beautiful. their mutual friends at the university constantly whispered about them. "look at the way jai looks at pik," they'd say. "jai never lets anyone touch his stuff, but pik wears his clothes." "pik is the only one who can handle jai's temper."
everyone assumed pik held a sacred, elevated status in jai's life. they though he was the exception to jai's emotional carelessness.
but pik knew the brutal, unvarnished truth. being a constant didn't mean he was cherished; it meanth he was taken for granted. being important to jai was just a fancy title for being the infrastructure. he was the floor jai walked on, the walls that kept the wind out, the air jai breathed without ever thinking to thank it.
"you'll find someone else next week," pik whispered, keeping his tone light, masking the bleeding edge of his own heart. "you always do."
"probably," jai chuckled, completely blind to the ghost of a wince on pik's face. he caught pik's wrist, pulling his hand down to rest over his chest. "but they don't matter. not really. you know you're my number one, right?"
jai's heart beat steadily beneath pik's palm. it was a cruel irony — holding the heart of the person you loved, feeling it pulse with life, while knowing with absolute certainty that its rhythm would never skip a beat for you.
jai treated intimacy like a temporary distraction, a series of shiny objects to chase until they lost their luster. and when the glitter faded, he ran back to the dark, quiet room where pik was already waiting.
"yeah," pik said, his voice barely audible in the quiet room as he gently pulled his hand away from jai's grasp. he reached over to turn off the lamp, plunging them both into the dark. "i know."
hey lay down on his side of the bed, facing away. in the dark, the silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. pik stared at the wall, swallowing down the bitter taste of a realizaiton he faced every single day: jai loved him, but jai would never choose him. and in the economy of a bleeding heart, being important was a miserable consolation prize.
the morning light always brought a shift in the apartment, a cold reminder that the vulnerability of the night before belonged entirely to the dark.
by noon, jai was already on his phone, the mattress shaking slightly as his thumbs flew across the screen. a low, familiar chuckle rumbled in his chest — the sound he always made when someone new caught his attention.
"pik, look at this," jai said, tossing his phone onto pik's lap while pik was trying to lace up his sneakers for an afternoon lecture. "her name is mint. engineering major. she has that cat-eye look going on. you think she's more into coffe dates or drinks?"
pik didn't look at the screen. he didn't need to. instead, he handed the phone back, keeping his expression perfectly blank. "drinks. girls who look like that usually get bored of coffee."
"brilliant. that's why you're the expert," jai grinned, already typing out a response.
within a week, mint's name became the background noise of their life. then, three weeks later, it was a girl named pear. by mid-semester, it was a guy from the photography club named sun. jai's revolving door didn't discriminate by gender or major; it only required that the person be fleeting, passionate, and loud enough to drown out whatever quiet emptiness jai was running from.
to jai, each new person was an adventure, an entertaining story to be summarized over takeout containers on their living room floor. he would come hom buzzing with adrenaline, recounting arguments, dramatic text threads, and intense make-out sessions as if he were reviewing a movie.
"and then sun literally threw his iced americano into the bushes because i told him his lighting was too dramatic," jai laughed over dinner one thursday, leaning back against the couch. "can you believe that? total psycho. i think i'm going to break it off tomorrow."
pik chewed his food slowly. the noodles tasted like cardboard. he listened to the details of sun's hands, of pear's perfume, of mint's laugh, storing them all in a mental ledger he wished he could burn.
"you should probably stop dating people you find exhausting," pik said quietly, setting his chopsticks down.
"but it's fun," jai said, reaching over to steal a piece of chicken from pik's plate, completely oblivious to the way pik's fingers tightened on his own napkin. "besides, if i don't date the crazy ones, who's going ot make you look so good by comparison?"
it was meant to be a joke. it always was. but as the weeks bled into months, the humor stripped away, leaving behind a raw, ugly truth the pik could no longer ignore.
the pattern was always identical. jai would vanish for three or four days, entirely consumed by the initial spark of a new lover. his texts to pik would shrink to one-word answers or get left on read entirely. pik would sit in the quiet apartment, watching the sunset hit the empty side of the room, learning the exact shape of his own insignificance.
but then, the inevitable text would arrive. always past midnight. always after the fight, or the breakup, or the realization that the temporary high had worn off.
'you awake?'
and like a well-rehearsed actor, pik would play his part. he would answer the late-night calls. he would sit on the bathroom floor while jai threw up alcohol and regret. he would listen to jai complain about how selfish people were, how no one knew how to just be there for someone.
one rainy tuesday, after jai had officially ended things with a sophomore named grace, pik found himself sitting on the kitchen counter at 3:00 in the morning, deying a glass that didn't need drying. jai was sitting on the floor, his back against the refrigerator, a half-empty bottle of beer dangling from his fingers.
"they always want more than i can give, pik," jai muttered, his eyes bloodshot, staring at the linoleum. "they want me to change. they want to own me. why can't people just be satisfied with what's there?"
pik stopped wiping the glass. he looked down at jai — at the damp hair, the slumped shoulders, the casual way he occupied the space between pik's feet.
the realization didn't hit him with violence; it settled over him like heavy, suffocating dust.
jai didn't come to him because he was special. jai came to him because pik was the disposal bin for his emotional wreckage. jai gave the best parts of himself — his excitement, his passion, his effort, his desire — to strangers who left him. and then, when he was completely depleted, hollowed out and bored, he came back to pik to be refilled.
pik was the placeholder. the safety net that ensured jai never had to actually face the consequences of being alone.
"pik?" jai looked up, noticing the silence. he reached out, his fingers lightly gripping the hem of pik's sweatpants. "you're not annoyed with me, right? i know i'm a mess tonight."
pik looked at the hand on his hem. he felt the familiar, pathetic urge to reach down, to smooth jai's hair, to tell him that it was fine, that he would always be here. he fought it down, leaving his hands tightly gripped around the dish towel.
"i'm just tired, jai," pik said, his voice flat, completely stripped of the warmth jai usually relied on. "i'm going to bed."
jai blinked, clearly caught off guard by the lack of comfort, but he didn't push. he just let his hand drop away. "oh. okay. goodnight."
as pik walked into his bedroom and shut the door, he didn't turn on the light. he stood in the dark, listening to the muffled sound of jai moving around the kitchen, cleaning up his own mess for once. pik pressed his forehead against the cool wood of the door, his chest aching so badly it felt physical.
jai only ever sought him out when the rest of the world was dark. and pik was beginning to realize that being the only light left in someone's world didn't make you loved. it just meant you were the last thing they used before they went to sleep.
the rainy season dragged on into the next month, leaving the campus permanently slicked with gray puddles and smelling of wet asphalt.
pik adjusted his grip on his umbrella, his shoulder automatically dropping to tilt the canvas over jai's head as they walked toward the university cafeteria. it was an old habit, a physical reflex born from years of standing on the left side of the sidewalk so jai wouldn't get splashed by passing cars.
"i'm telling you, the professor is out to get me," jai grumbled, his fingers lightly hooking into the back of pik's belt loop to pull him closer so they wouldn't collide with a crowd of freshman rushing past. "he gave me a C on the draft. a C, pik. i literally used your thesis structure from last term."
"that's probably why," pik replied, his voice level despite the sudden warmth of jai's knuckles pressing against the small of his back through his thin shirt. "he reads my work every week, jai. he knows what my writing sounds like."
jai laughed, a bright, unbothered sound that drew a few glances from passing students. instead of letting go of the belt loop, his hand shifted, his long fingers wrapping briefly around pik's upper arm to guide him through the cafeteria doors. "whatever. you're writing the final edit anyway, right? i'll buy you that terrible matcha cake from the corner shop."
they found a table near the back. jai immediately slid into the booth, pulling his phone out, while pik went to get their tray. when pik returned, jai had already cleared a space on the table, pushing his own laptop aside to make room for pik's notebooks.
as pik sat down, jai reached over without looking and pushed a small container toward him. it was a side of pickled ginger.
"they tried to give me the radish, but i made them swap it," jai said, his eyes still fixed on his screen as his thumb scrolled through a feed. "you hate the radish texture."
pik stared at the small plastic cup. a heavy, suffocating knot tightened in his throat. it was always these moment — the tiny, unprompted acts of domesticity — that felt the most dangerous. if jai had been entirely cruel, entirely selfish, it would have been easier to tear himself away. but jai wasn't cruel. he remembered the ginger. he remembered that pik couldn't sleep if the bedroom window was unlatched during a storm. he knew the exact temperature pik preferred his coffee.
jai performed the motions of a deeply devoted partner, but without any of the weight. to jai, it was just the natural byproduct of a lifetime spent together. to pik, it was an accidental starvation diet — just enough crumbs to keep him from leaving, but never enough to actually sustain him.
"thanks," pik murmured, keeping his eyes on his food.
"hey, look who it is," a voice called out.
pew and beam, two seniors from their faculty, dropped their bags onto the adjacent table. pew leaned forward, his elbows on the wood, a knowing grin on his face as he looked between jai and pik.
"Are you two ever not together?" pew asked, shaking his head. "seriously, i went to the library at 8:00 on a saturday last week and you were both in the study pod. are you guys finally going to admit you're dating, or are we going to keep playing this game until graduation?"
pik's hand froze mid-air, a piece of chicken caught between his chopsticks. his chest went completely cold, his heart thumping hard against his ribs. he didn't breathe, his eyes locked onto his plate, terrified of what his own face might reveal if he looked up.
jai didn't even hesitate. he let out a loud, amused snort and knocked his shoulder playfully against pik's.
"man, don't gross him out," jai laughed, leaning back against the vinyl booth with a casual shrug. "pik's got way too much taste to date a guy like me. we're basically brothers at this point. i'd be homeless without him, but romance? nah. we'd kill each other in a week."
"right, brothers…" beam scoffed, rolling his eyes as he opened his laptop. "keep telling yourselves that. everyone in the department has a bet going on when you two are going to make it official."
jai kept joking, turning the conversation toward the upcoming football match, his tone light and completely untouched by the exchange. he didn't notice that pik hadn't put the chicken in his mouth. he didn't notice the way pik's chopsticks were trembling slightly against the plastic edge of the tray.
brothers.
the word felt like a death sentence pronounced with a smile. pik closed his eyes for a fraction of a second, forcing his hands to steady. how could something that felt so heavy, so entirely consuming on one side, be comepletely invisible on the other? he looked at jai's profile — relaxed curve of his lips, the easy way he existed in the world, entirely unburdened by the secret agony sitting less than a foot away from him.
pik quietly set his chopsticks down, his appetite completly gone. he reached into his bag for his notebook, needing a distraction, needing anything to stop the hot, burning sensation building behind his eyes.
"pik, you okay?" jai asked suddenly, his voice dropping into that quiet, intimate register he only used when they were alone or when he sensed a shift in pik's mood. he reached out, his cool palm flattening against the back of pik's neck, his thumb lightly brushed the hairline. "you look pale. did you skip breakfast again?"
the touch was soft. it was the touch of someone who cared. but as pik sat there under the weight of jai's hand, surrounded by the chatter of the cafeteria, the contrast between the gesture and jai's words from a minute ago felt like a physical blow.
"i'm fine," pik said, pulling away from the touch under the guise of reaching for his pen. he didn't look at jai. he couldn't. "just have a lot of reading to do."
"don't overwork yourself," jai said softly, his hand dropping back to the table, his fingers tapping an idle rhythm against the wood. "if you get sick, who's going to take care of me?"
the shared apartment grew quiet during the third week of november.
pik stood by the small kitchen counter, watching the kettle come to a slow boil. on the dining table sat two identical containers of pad see ew, bought from the street vendor downstairs over an hour ago. the plastic containers had warped slightly from the fading heat, the noodles thickening into a cold, congealed mass.
the front door unlocked with a muted click.
jai stepped inside, but he didn't drop his keys into the ceramic bowl by the entryway like he usually did. he didn't complain about his day, and he didn't drop his weight onto pik's shoulders to ask for a distraction. he stayed near the door, his phone held tightly in his right hand, his thumb typing rapidly while a small, genuine smile tugged at the corner of his lips.
"you're late," pik said, his voice flat as he poured the hot water into a single mug. "the food's cold."
jai looked up, blinking as if waking from a deep sleep. "oh. sorry, pik. i ran into khun after our afternoon lecture. we ended up sitting by the lake talking for three hours. i forgot to check the time."
pik held the mug between both hands, letting the ceramic burn his palms. "khun… the junior from the architecture faculty?"
"yeah," jai said, his voice dropping into a tone pik had never heard before. it lacked the usual carelsss arrogance, the casual amusement he used when talking about mint, or pear, or sun. this voice was quiet. hesitant. careful. "he's… different, pik. he doesn't play those weird mind games. he asked me what my favorite books were. no one's ever asked me that."
"i've asked you that," pik whispered.
jai didn't hear him. he was already looking back down at his phone, his face illuminated by the white screen. "he asked if i wanted to go to that design exhibition in the city tomorrow. i told him i'd go."
"tomorrow is friday," pik said slowly, the words heavy in his mouth. "we always do the grocery run and watch the football replays on fridays, jai. we've done that since freshman year."
jai paused, a brief flicker of guilt crossing his features before it vanished behind a look of soft pleading. "can we do it saturday instead? just this once? i really want to see him again. i think… i think i really like him, pik. like, properly."
"sure," pik said. "go."
"thanks. you're the best, seriously," jai said, crossing the room to quickly pat pik's shoulder before retreating to his bedroom to change.
'just this once' became three times a week. then it became five.
by the time december arrived, the apartment felt less like a home and more like a train station where jai occasionally stopped to sleep. the calendar on the wall remained blank where their shared plans used to be. friday nights came and went in absolute silence. pik learned exactly how many floorboard creaked when the wind hit the balcony, and how long it took for the streetlights outside to flicker from yellow to orange.
one evening, pik sat in the library until closing time, staring at the same page of a textbook for three hours. when he finally walked back to the apartment through the biting wind, he found the living room dark. he turned on the small lamp by the sofa, only to find a sticky note on the coffee table in jai's messy handwriting.
staying at khun's place tonight. don't wait up. eat dinner!
pik crumpled the note in his fist until the edge dug into his skin. he didn't throw it away. he just stood there in the center of the quiet room, the emptiness of the apartment pressing against his chest until he could barely draw a full breath.
it wasn't just that jai was gone; it was the way he had vanished. when jai had been with the others, he would call pik to complain, to laugh, to keep his anchor dropped in their shared life. but with khun, jai didn't need an anchor. he was trying to be better. he was cleaning his own room, adjusting his schedule, cancelling plans with old friends to ensure he never missed a call from khun.
pik watched from the absolute edge of jai's life as the person he loved gave someone else the version of himself pik had spent ten years trying to cultivate: a jai who was responsible, attentive, and committed.
a week later, pik went to the campus convenience store to buy coffee before an early exam. as he came around the corner of the building, he saw them.
jai was standing by the bike racks, holding a heavy wool scarf. he was carefully wrapping it around the neck of a smaller, quiet-looking boy with round glasses. khun was smiling up at him, his cheeks flushed pink from the cold. jai reached out, his thumb gently wiping a stray smudge of just from khun's cheek, his expression so incredibly tender it made pik's stomach turn over with a violent, sickening lurch.
it was the exact same gesture jai used when pik was sick or tired. but looking at them now, pik realized the devistating difference.
when jai touched pik, it was the casual, unthinking fondness of an owner adjusting a piece of old furniture. when jai touched khun, it was terrified, reverent care of someone holding something precious that they were desperately afraid of breaking.
pik stepped backward, retreating into the shadow of the concrete pillar before jai could look up. his throat felt tight, a hot, suffocating burn rising behind his eyes. he walked back toward the main building with his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his fingers curling into tight, aching fists.
he wasn't jai's best friend. he wasn't the irreplaceable constant. he was just the storage locker where jai kept his loneliness until someone better came along to clear the space.
the front door didn't just open. it hit the stopper against the wall with a sharp, violent crack that echoed through the empty living room.
pik didn't look up from his desk. he kept his eyes on the prinout of his final essay, though the words had long since blurred into a meaningless gray smudge.
jai stormed past the kitchen counter, his jacket soaked through from the sudden midnight downpour, his hair sticking to his forehead in clumped, dark strands. he dropped his keys onto the dining table with enough force to rattle the cold mug pik had left there hours ago. then, without a word he slammed his palms down onto the edge of pik's desk, breathing heavily, his chest heaving under his wet shirt.
"it's over," jai said, his voice raw, cracking slightly on the edge of a jagged laugh. "he told me i'm too much. he said i'm too intense, that he feels like he's suffocating because i'm always trying to fix everything. two months, pik. i changed everything for him. i didn't go out. i didn't drink. and he just walked away."
pik slowly lowered his red pen. the plastic clicked against the wood — the only quiet sound in the room. he didn't turn around to face jai. he didn't offer a dry towel. he didn't stand up to make the tea that usually cured jai's anger.
"pik, did you hear me?" jai pushed, his hand reaching out to grab the shoulder of pik's chair, tugging it roughly until pik was forced to look up at him. jai's eyes were bloodshot, his face pale and twisted with the familiar, frantic panic of a child who had dropped his favorite toy. "he blocked my number. right in front of me. i need you to call him. use your phone. he doesn't know your number, he'll answer—"
"no," pik said.
the word was quiet. low. it hung in the air between them, heavy and completely foreign.
"jai blinked, his hand freezing on the back of pik's chair. his brow furrowed in genuine confusion. "what do you mean, no? pik, i'm dying here. he literally left me on the street in the middle of a storm. just give me your phone."
he reached toward the desk to grab pik's phone, but before his fingers could touch the glass, pik slammed his hand down over it. the slap of his palm against the desk was loud, a sudden explosion of movement that made jai flich backward.
"i said no, jai," pik said, standing up. his knees were shaking, but he forced himself to stand striaght, his height finally levelling with jai's, the hallow ache that had been sitting in his chest for years suddenly felt like boiling oil, rising up his throat until he couldn't choke it down for another second. "i am not calling him. i am not fixing this. i am not picking up your pieces anymore."
"what the hell is wrong with you?" jai's voice rose, his shock turning into defensive anger. "my relationship just fell apart, and you're acting like this? you're my best friend. you're supposed to have my back!"
"your… best friend? is that what you just said…?" pik let out a short, bitter laugh that sounded completely broken. he stepped closer, forcing jai to see the raw, red rims of his own eyes, the exhaustion eteched into every line of his face. "is that what i am? a friend? because for the last three fucking years, i've been your garbage bin, jai."
"what are you talking about—"
"you give everything to them!" pik shouted, his voice finally breaking, the sheer volume of it tearing through the quiet apartment. "you give them your effort! you give them your romance! you change your entire life, your schedule, your habits, just to make sure they smile for five minutes! and then, when they throw you away because they realize you're careless, you run back here. you come to me because you know i'll be sitting in the fucking dark, fucking waiting for you."
jai stared at him, his mouth open slightly, his hands falling limply to his sides. he had never seen pik raise his voice. he had never seen pik look at him with anything other than absolute patience. "pik… i don't— i come to you because you're the most important person to me. you know that. i tell you everything."
"you come to me because everyone else is fucking gone!" pik's chest heaved, tears finally spilking over his lower lids, hot and furious against his cold cheeks. "you make me feel like i'm loved, jai. you hold my hand in the dark, you remember my favorite food, you touch my neck when i'm tired, and you look at me like i'm the only thing that matters. you spend ten years making me completely dependent on you, and then you stand in a cafeteria and tell everyone we're like brothers?"
jai stepped back, his face completely blank with horror as the words finally registered. his eyes traveled from pik's tears down to his trembling hands, a sudden, terrible comprehension dawning on his face. "pik… you… you love me?"
"of course i love you, you fucking idiot!" pik choked out, his shoulders shaking as he pulled his hands up to cover his face, trying to hide the pathetic, ugly sob tearing out his throat. "i've loved you since we were fifteen. and you knew. somewhere in that selfish, careless heart of yours, you knew exactly how i felt. you just didn't care, because as long as you didn't acknowledge it, you could keep using me without ever having to choose me."
jai stood rooted to the floorboards. the arrogant, untouchable boy who always had an answer was completely gone, replaced by someone who looked entirely hollowed out. he reached a hand out, his fingers trembling, trying to touch pik's arm. "pik… i didn't… i swear i didn't think—"
"that's your problem, jai," pik whispered, dropping his hands from his face, his eyes entirely dead as he looked at the boy he had given his youth to. "you never think about me. you only think about how much you need me. why did you even awaken the love in me if you have no intention of staying long enough to understand the depth of it?"
pik grabbed his wallet and his keys from the desk. he didn't look at jai's stunned, pale face as he walked past him. he didn't look back when he opened the front door, stepping out into the cold, concrete hallway of the building, leaving jai standing alone in the center of the quiet, dripping apartment.
the lock on the bedroom door clicked into place at 6:00 am.
pik didn't look at the living room as he walked through it, ignoring the silhouette slumped on the sofa, still wearing the same damp clothes from the night before. he shut his bedroom door, pulled his duffel bag from the top of the wardrobe, and began packing. he didn't take everything — just enough clothes for two weeks, his laptop charger, and his textbooks.
when he opened the door to leave, jai was standing right outside, his eyes bloodshot and swollen, his hand raised as if he had been debating whether to knock for hours.
"where are you going?" jai’s voice was barely a whisper, thick with sleep and panic. he looked down at the duffel bag slung over pik’s shoulder, his fingers twitching at his sides. "pik, please. it's six in the morning. let's just talk. i didn't sleep. i couldn't—"
"i'm staying at my cousin's place near the sub-campus," pik said, his voice entirely devoid of the warmth that had defined their entire relationship. he didn't look jai in the eyes; instead, he focused on the collar of jai's wet shirt. "i have finals coming up. i need to focus."
"you can focus here," jai pleaded, stepping into pik's path as pik tried to move toward the entryway. jai reached out, his hand wrapping around pik’s wrist, his grip tight, almost desperate. "i’ll leave. i’ll stay at a hotel, or i’ll sleep in the car. just don't leave the apartment, pik. please. don't do this."
pik looked down at jai’s fingers around his wrist. for years, that touch had been his favorite thing in the world. now, it just felt like a heavy iron cuff. gently, but with absolute finality, pik pried jai’s fingers away, one by one.
"let go, jai," pik said quietly.
jai’s hand dropped as if he had been burned. he stood frozen as pik walked past him, slipped into his shoes, and closed the front door behind him without a second glance.
the silence that followed over the next few days was a physical weight.
at 2:00 am on tuesday, pik’s phone buzzed on the desk of his cousin’s spare room.
jai
are you sleeping?
i found that green notebook you thought you lost. it was behind the bookcase.
i haven't eaten the noodles in the fridge. i'm waiting for you to come back so we can have them.
pik stared at the glowing screen. his thumb hovered over the keyboard, the muscle memory of ten years screaming at him to type a reassuring response, to tell jai he was okay, to fix the crack in jai’s world. instead, pik locked the screen, turned the phone face down, and went back to his reading.
by friday, the notifications had piled up. dozens of unanswered texts, five missed calls, and a voicemail that pik didn't bother to play.
on campus, pik changed his routine entirely. he arrived forty minutes early for lectures, sitting in the very front row where jai — who always slid into the back row five minutes late — couldn't easily reach him. when the professors dismissed the class, pik was the first one out the door, moving through the crowded corridors before jai could pack his bag and follow.
from the edge of his vision, pik saw him twice. once by the library, jai was sitting on a concrete bench alone, holding a cigarette he wasn't smoking, staring blankly at the ground. he looked smaller, his posture slouched, his usual effortless confidence completely stripped away. the second time, jai was standing outside pik's seminar room, waiting, but pik had already exited through the back service door.
back in the shared apartment, jai sat on the edge of pik’s empty bed.
the room smelled faintly of the cedarwood detergent pik always used. on the desk, pik’s pens were neatly arranged in a ceramic mug, and a single sticky note with a checklist for the upcoming week remained stuck to the monitor.
jai reached out, his hand dragging slowly across the smooth, unwrinkled sheets. for the first time in his life, there was no one to answer his late-night texts. there was no one to make sure there was food in the refrigerator, no one to laugh at his reckless stories, and no one to pull the blanket over his shoulders when he fell asleep on the couch.
he pulled his phone out, scrolling through their chat history. years of text messages showed a terrifyingly one-sided dynamic.
jai
pick me up?
pik
outside in five.
jai
i'm starving.
pik
made the chicken soup. it's on the stove.
jai
lost my keys again.
pik
i'm coming down to let you in.
jai stared at the screen, a cold, sickening realization twisting in his gut. it wasn't that pik had suddenly changed; it was that jai had been living in a house built entirely on pik’s silent sacrifices, never once wondering how much the foundation had to bear to keep the roof over his head. he had called it friendship, had called pik his 'constant,' because it was a convenient excuse to consume everything pik had to give without ever offering a single drop of himself in return.
he locked the phone, dropping his head into his hands as the absolute, deafening silence of the apartment pressed in around him. for the first time, jai wasn't running from a breakup or a temporary heartbreak. he was looking into the empty space where pik used to be, realizing that the only person who had ever truly known him was finally learning how to live without him.
a stack of old, water-damaged photo albums sat between them on the coffee table.
jai had brought them from his parents' house over the weekend, a desperate, clumsy offering spread out across the living room floor of the apartment. pik stood near the entryway, his duffel bag gripped tightly in his right hand. he had only come back to collect the rest of his winter sweaters, but the sight of jai sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by their childhood, made his boots feel glued to the linoleum.
"look at this one," jai said, his voice cracking slightly as he pointed to a faded glossy print. his fingers were trembling. "fourth grade. you fell out of that mango tree because i dared you to climb to the very top. you broke your left wrist, but you didn't even cry until my mom started yelling at me."
pik looked at the photograph from across the room. he didn't move closer. "i remember."
"i kept thinking about that yesterday," jai whispered, his head dropping as he stared at the little boys in the picture. "you always did that. you took the fall for me. when i failed chemistry junior year, you spent your entire semester break re-writing my notes. when i got into that fight behind the stadium, you told the dean it was a misunderstanding so i wouldn't lose my scholarship. i just... i always thought you did those things because we were a team."
"we weren't a team, jai," pik said, his voice quiet, carrying the heavy, exhausting weight of a hundred buried truths. "a team implies that both people are playing the same game. you were playing, and i was just keeping score from the sidelines, making sure you didn't lose."
jai stood up slowly, the album sliding off his lap and hitting the floor with a dull thud. he looked older, the sharp confidence completely drained from his face, replaced by a raw, hollow panic. he stepped toward pik, but stopped three feet away, as if sensing the invisible, unyielding wall pik had built around himself.
"i didn't know," jai choked out, a tear spilling over his lower lid and tracing a wet line down his cheek. "pik, i swear to god, i never realized how much it was hurting you. i just— you were always there. every time i turned around, you were just there. i became so stupidly dependent on you that i couldn't see past my own face. i assumed you stayed because you wanted to be here. i never thought about what it was costing you."
"that’s the difference," pik said, looking directly into jai’s eyes, his own vision remaining brutally clear. "you assumed i would stay forever because it was easy for you. you never had to pay for my presence, so you thought it was free."
"i'll pay now," jai begged, his hands reaching forward, hovering in the empty air between them, terrified to touch but desperate to close the distance. "tell me what to do, pik. tell me how to fix it. i’ll stop dating. i won't talk to anyone else. i’ll stay here every friday, we can watch the football replays, we can do the grocery runs— i’ll do whatever you want. just don't look at me like i’m a stranger. please."
pik stared at the desperate boy in front of him. for years, this was the exact scenario he had dreamed about in the middle of his loneliest nights — jai begging, jai realizing his worth, jai offering the exclusive devotion pik had starved for.
but looking at him now, pik didn't feel a rush of validation. he only felt a deep, profound sorrow.
"you're only offering those things because you're lonely, jai," pik said softly, his grip tightening on the strap of his duffel bag. "you don't want me. you just want the version of yourself that only exists when i'm around to take care of you. if i accept this, if i stay, i’ll spend every single day wondering when you're going to get bored again. i'll be waiting for the next mint, or the next khun, or the next stranger who catches your eye while i’m left holding the groceries."
"no, it's not like that, i swear—"
"i spent ten years sacrificing my own dignity to keep your world spinning," pik interrupted, his voice dropping to a whisper that cut through the room sharper than any shout. "i can't do it anymore. my heart is entirely empty, jai. there's nothing left in here for you to take."
jai dropped his head, a broken, strangled sob tearing out of his chest as he finally collapsed inward, his shoulders shaking violently. he reached out and grabbed the sleeve of pik’s jacket, burying his face into the fabric just like he used to do, but this time, the gesture was heavy with the realization of a debt that could never be repaid.
pik let him hold the sleeve for a long, agonizing minute. he looked down at the dark hair of his childhood friend, the boy he had loved more than his own life, and felt the final, fragile thread of their history snap cleanly in two.
gently, pik pulled his arm back, slipping out of jai's desperate grasp. he turned toward the door, lifted his duffel bag, and stepped out into the hallway, leaving the apartment — and the remnants of their shared youth — bleeding on the floor behind him.
the humidity of the late-afternoon heat hung heavy over the suburban train platform, the air thick with the scent of upcoming rain.
pik stood beside his single large suitcase, his fingers loosely hooked into the strap of his backpack. the university semester had officially ended two days ago, and the quiet suburban station was nearly empty, save for an elderly couple sitting several benches down.
the heavy glass doors of the station terminal slid open behind him.
pik didn't turn around until the shadow fell across his luggage. jai stood there, breathing heavily, his white linen shirt wrinkled and damp from what must have been a frantic run from the main campus. he didn't have his phone in his hand. he didn't have his car keys. his eyes were wide, fixed on pik’s ticket stub sticking out from his back pocket.
"you're transferring to the northern campus," jai said, his voice flat, stripped entirely of the frantic desperation from the week before. it was the voice of someone who had finally run out of arguments.
"the faculty approved it yesterday," pik replied quietly, his gaze drifting past jai to watch the gray tracks stretching out into the distance. "my cousin lives up there. the rent is cheaper, and the department has a better research lab."
jai took a single step closer, his sneakers scraping against the yellow safety line on the concrete. he looked at pik’s face — at the calm, steady set of his jaw, the lack of anger, the absolute absence of the familiar, accommodating warmth that had once been jai’s safety net.
"i went to the market this morning," jai said, a small, fragile smile lifting the corner of his mouth, though his eyes remained entirely glassed over with tears. "i bought the pickled ginger. the small containers. i put them in the fridge, pik. i thought... i thought if i showed you i could remember on my own, without you having to prompt me, you might come back for dinner."
pik closed his eyes for a brief second, the mental image of jai standing alone in an empty kitchen with a plastic cup of ginger cutting deep into his chest. the love hadn't vanished; it was still there, a massive, heavy ache that had defined the entire trajectory of his youth. but the realization followed right behind it, cold and unyielding.
"you remembered because i left, jai," pik said, opening his eyes and looking directly at him. "that’s the tragedy of us. you only notice the space i occupy when i’m not there to fill it."
jai swallowed hard, a single tear escaping and tracking down his throat. "i know. i know i’m too late. i sit in that apartment every night, pik, and every time the floor creaks, i look at the door thinking it’s you. i’ve spent the last three weeks realizing that every single good thing in my life was actually just you. i love you. i think i’ve always loved you, but i was too small, too selfish to realize that love isn't just someone waiting for you to finish playing."
the heavy, mechanical rumble of the approaching train vibrated through the concrete beneath their feet. the wind picked up, blowing the scent of dust and hot metal across the platform.
pik looked at the boy who had finally learned how to see him. it was everything he had ever wanted to hear, spoken with absolute sincerity, under the gray, heavy sky of a june afternoon. but as the train screeched to a halt between them and the tracks, blocking out the rest of the world, pik knew that some understandings arrived only after the foundation had already turned to dust.
"i know you mean it," pik said, his voice carrying clearly over the hiss of the train brakes. he reached down and gripped the handle of his suitcase. "but a promise made in an empty room doesn't erase the years i spent suffocating in it. i can't stay here and wait to see if you'll keep choosing me when the loneliness wears off."
"pik—" jai reached out, his hand halting inches away from pik’s sleeve, his fingers curling into a tight, trembling fist as he forced himself to honor the boundary pik had drawn. "will you ever come back?"
pik stepped toward the open doors of the train car. he paused on the threshold, turning his head just enough to look at jai one last time. the boy who had always drifted from one person to another was completely stationary now, rooted to a fading platform, finally left behind.
"i don't know," pik whispered.
the doors slid shut with a heavy, pneumatic seal, cutting off the sound of the wind.
through the tinted glass of the window, jai watched the train begin to roll forward, slowly at first, then gaining speed until the silver cars blurred against the gray horizon. he stood exactly where he was, his hands shoved deep into his empty pockets, finally understanding the true depth of what they had shared — and the permanent, silent weight of a love that had stayed too long, only to leave nothing but an empty apartment behind.