NO SAFE DISTANCE

CHAPTER SIXTEEN __ DENIAL AND RECOGNITION

The late afternoon sun slanted through Kian’s apartment window, casting thin gold lines across the floor. Dust motes drifted lazily, catching in the beams, and for a moment, the room seemed almost serene. But inside Kian’s chest, the calm was deceptive. His mind was a tangle of thoughts he wasn’t ready to confront.

He sat on the edge of his couch, phone balanced on his knees, headphones resting around his neck. A playlist he had downloaded earlier that morning looped softly in the background. It was a soundtrack he couldn’t quite explain OST Matra by Harit Keng. Each haunting chord, each drawn-out note, seemed to echo something he couldn’t name. Something about it reminded him of Aou: steady, deliberate, and yet impossibly intense.

Kian’s fingers tapped nervously against the couch cushion, tracing patterns he didn’t even realize he was making. He told himself he was just enjoying music, that’s all. Nothing more. But the pull in his chest, that impossible tension whenever he thought of Aou told him otherwise.

His phone buzzed, and he glanced down to see Ethan’s name flashing across the screen. His older brother’s video call. Kian hesitated, thumb hovering over the green icon. After a long inhale, he accepted.

“Hey, little brother,” Ethan’s voice boomed through the screen, framed by the sunlight streaming through his office window in the US. “You look… intense. Everything okay?”

“I’m fine,” Kian replied quickly, forcing a smile. His eyes flicked toward the window, watching a stray cloud drift past. “Just… studying and listening to music, actually. Trying to… focus.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow. “listening to music? I thought you said you're not interested in music anymore. Are you trying to compose or just… obsess over some new soundtrack”

Kian’s fingers tightened around the phone. “I… I don’t know. It’s… relaxing. Help me think.” “ I've been listening a lot lately, and I've got a few favorites in Thai pop. He didn’t say “help me think about him.” He didn’t dare.

On the screen, Ethan’s grin widened. “Thinking about someone, huh? Or just drowning in your own thoughts?”

Kian’s cheeks warmed, but he quickly looked away. “Just… thoughts,” he muttered, voice tight.

“Sure, sure. Well, just don’t get lost in them, okay?” Ethan’s tone softened. “Bison’s been asking about you too, by the way. He’s finally sending me less weird memes and more… polite questions. Wants to know if you’re eating properly. You better not be starving yourself over there.” “ or your little brother is gonna sulk when he comes over “

“I’m fine,” Kian repeated, almost mechanically. “I’ve been… managing.”

The conversation drifted into safer territory, small talk about Ethan’s work, Bison’s and kian's university life, mutual complaints about the city heat, and the latest movies streaming online. But beneath the words, Kian’s mind kept looping back to Aou: the way he leaned forward when speaking, the precision in his movements, the faint warmth of his hand on Kian’s shoulder during their last session.

When the call ended, Kian exhaled slowly, resting his forehead against the back of the couch. The apartment felt simultaneously too quiet and too loud. Every creak in the floor, every distant car horn outside, reminded him that Aou’s presence, or the memory of it, still lingered in the space like an invisible weight.

He pressed play on the music again. The low hum of strings, the rhythm of the percussion, it wrapped around him like a second skin. He imagined Aou there, kneeling beside him, guiding his breathing, tracing his thoughts. He shook his head slightly, trying to break the spell. “No,” he whispered. “Just music. That’s all it is.”

But the truth had a way of seeping in.

The phone buzzed again. This time it was a notification from Aou, a simple message: “Thinking of today’s session. Are you ready?”

Kian’s chest tightened. Ready? Ready for what? To sit in the same room, to breathe in the same air, to hear that meticulous, controlled voice that both calmed and inflamed him? He typed back: “Yes.” But even as he hit send, he felt a flutter of panic mingled with longing.

The evening came quicker than he expected. Shadows lengthened across the floor, and the city lights blinked awake in the distance. Kian cleaned the coffee mugs off the table, arranged the cushions just so, almost compulsively. He wanted control, needed it, a faint echo of the lessons from Aou’s sessions. The anticipation coiled tight in his stomach.

And then the door clicked.

Aou stepped in, as always, precise. Coat folded neatly over his arm, shoes aligned at the entrance. But tonight, there was a subtle shift in his expression, a brief softening that didn’t go unnoticed by Kian. His heart stuttered.

“คุณ…กลับมาแล้ว”

*Khun… glàp maa láew*

“You’re late,” Kian whispered, voice barely steady.

“Just a few minutes,” Aou said.

Aou’s eyes lingered a moment longer than usual. No words were necessary. They moved through their evening with a strange rhythm. silent touches, shared glances, gestures almost too deliberate, yet unspoken. Kian could feel the pull between them, a tension he tried to deny even to himself. Every movement from Aou seemed to magnify it.

Kian’s fingers itched to reach out, to trace a line of warmth along Aou’s arm, but he forced them to rest in his lap. Denial was still possible just barely but the music in the background pulsed through him, syncing with the rapid beat of his chest, reminding him that control was an illusion.

He thought about the earlier conversation with Ethan. His brothers were worlds away, yet their concern their steady, protective voices reminded him of what he wanted to protect here. Himself. Aou. The growing, impossible thread connecting them.

The session stretched onward, and Kian found himself narrating his inner thoughts to the music, letting the haunting chords carry the weight of what he couldn’t yet speak. Aou noticed, of course. He didn’t comment, didn’t ask, but the small shift in his eyes, the way he softened, the way he leaned slightly closer when Kian flinched at a note made Kian’s denial crumble piece by piece.

He tried to ignore it. Tried to pretend this was about music, about control, about nothing at all. But when Aou finally sat beside him, a mere foot away, Kian felt a shiver run through him. And he realized, almost with a shock, that he wasn’t just observing Aou anymore. He was longing.

Longing had a dangerous clarity.

Kian swallowed hard, heart hammering. “I… I think I like music more now,” he said softly, almost as if confessing to the air itself. “It… it helps me think. Helps me focus.”

Aou’s gaze flickered briefly, almost imperceptibly, before settling on him. “Perhaps,” he said gently, “we can use music together. It might help ground you, focus your mind… and your emotions.”

The suggestion was innocent enough. But Kian felt it differently as a tether, a thread pulling him closer to the center of Aou’s orbit. He nodded quickly, unable to speak. Words felt inadequate anyway.

The evening continued. They organized papers, adjusted lighting, and occasionally paused to let the music swell through the apartment, sing along, carrying with it memories, imagined touches, and the quiet ache of what they were both pretending not to acknowledge.

By the time the night had deepened, Kian was sitting cross-legged on the floor, the music softly vibrating through the room, and he finally allowed himself a small, shivering exhale. Aou remained near, meticulous, deliberate, patient. And Kian realized with startling clarity: he didn’t want to stop listening. I didn't want to stop feeling.

“I…” Kian whispered, barely audible. “I… don’t know why it feels like… everything is… isn't going well.”

Aou didn’t answer immediately. He merely reached out, a measured, careful movement, resting his hand near Kian’s, a silent acknowledgment of the closeness they now shared. That was enough. For now. Enough to let Kian recognize what he was trying so desperately to deny: that his thoughts, his heartbeat… were all tethered to Aou.

“ We don't have to be perfect, you know,” Aou answered.

“Mmm, okay” Kian said, almost smiling.

“ You've been obsessed over music lately, you don't even want to put it off”. Aou said jokingly.

“ Yep, All thanks to you” he replied.

The night ended with the playlist still humming in the background, a reminder of the pull, the obsession, and the undeniable truth that had begun to root itself deep in Kian’s chest. He closed his eyes, letting the sound wash over him, trying to convince himself it was just music. But even as the room faded into quiet, the music lingered, as did Aou, meticulous, watchful, impossible to forget.

By the time Kian finally lay back against his couch, the phone still warm from his earlier call, he realized one thing with sharp clarity: denial was no longer possible. The pull had been recognized. And though he tried to anchor himself in music, in routine, in reason, he knew the truth of it . He was tethered, irrevocably, to Aou.