NO SAFE DISTANCE

CHAPTER FOUR __ EARLY DEPENDENCE

Morning light slipped through the curtains in thin, cautious lines.

Kian woke before the alarm, body alert long before his mind fully caught up. For a few moments, he lay still, listening, not for danger, but for confirmation. The distant sounds of life threading through the apartment complex, the rustle of a neighbor’s footsteps, the faint creak of a door somewhere down the hall. Normal life.

He checked the clock: 7:18 a.m.

Aou was due at twelve. That knowledge settled a measure of calm in him, like the promise of an anchor.

He moved slowly, deliberately through his morning. Shower. Fresh clothes. He made the bed meticulously even though he wouldn’t return for hours. Order mattered. Disorder invited spirals.

At exactly 7:19, He grabbed his bag and ran towards the elevator heading to the varsity. He still has a lot of things to do. Entering the school he met Aria and Leo along they all hosted about the time they were apart. Then Leo and Kian went to their faculty.

At exactly 12:07, Aou knocked on the door. Kian was already home but tired from the school's stress.

Kian’s chest tightened reflexively. Crossing the apartment, he opened it.

Aou stood there, shirt neatly pressed, slacks straight, hair perfectly arranged, expression neutral yet intentional. Professional. Contained.

“ Sawatdee khrap,” Aou said.

“Good afternoon,” Kian replied, stepping aside.

Aou entered, removing his shoes with quiet precision, taking in the apartment without comment or judgment. His eyes lingered just long enough on the drawn curtains, cleared counter, and lack of clutter to register attention, not critique.

“You slept?” Aou asked softly.

“A little,” Kian replied.

Aou nodded. No insistence. No follow-up. Just presence.

He set a small paper bag on the counter. “Eat,” he said simply.

Inside were packaged pastries, small fruits, easy choices meant to nourish without overwhelm. Kian hadn’t told him he struggled with breakfast and lunches. He didn’t need to.

They sat at opposite ends of the table. No forced conversation. No awkward silences. Aou checked his phone, reviewing notes, while Kian ate, aware of the calm yet intentional watchfulness. Halfway through, he noticed his hands no longer shook. He noticed this too.

Aou asked practical questions: how the apartment felt, whether locks were secure, if neighbors were loud at night. Kian answered honestly, carefully. Relief settled into him. No probing questions. No judgment.

After the lunch, Aou guided him through a grounding exercise: feet flat on the floor, breathing counted, sensations noted without interpretation. Kian faltered. Aou corrected him, steady voice leading the way.

“Again,” he said. “Slower.”

Kian followed, muscles loosening, awareness settling like water in a glass.

When the session ended, Aou checked his watch.

“I’ll come by tomorrow morning as well. Same time.”

The weight of the routine struck Kian more than it should have. “Okay,” he replied.

As Aou moved to leave, he paused, adding, “One thing. Try not to stay inside all day after school. Even ten minutes outside helps.”

Kian nodded, silently aware that the apartment felt larger now. Not empty, just unstructured without the careful, guided presence of Aou. He sat back, absorbing the quiet. Time stretched without the rhythm of order, yet he felt tethered by the thought of twelve o’clock tomorrow.

Hours later, he glanced at the clock. 4:28 p.m.

The structure, the routine, the precision of Aou’s care. He clung to it, knowing it was temporary, but necessary. His chest tightened occasionally, but not with panic. It was anticipation. Dependence, perhaps, in its earliest, safest form.