Slipping Away

Mix feels the threads tethering him to the preschool unraveling, one by one. Each day weighs heavier on him as he watches Earth navigate his complicated dynamic with Namtan.

Lately, Earth has been busier with work, leaving Namtan to fetch Edin most days, which spares Mix the awkwardness of seeing them together. Yet, Earth still texts him every day, sometimes even calls. Mix either ignores the messages or silences the phone, letting it ring until it stops.

Despite the physical distance, Mix can’t escape the whispers.

Parents at drop-off share their opinions freely. “It’s nice for Edin to have both parents involved,” one mother says. Another adds, “Earth and Namtan look like they’re rebuilding. Good for them.” The words crawl under Mix’s skin, festering into doubt. He tells himself to stay professional, to focus on his duties. But the comments linger long after the parents leave, deepening his sense of displacement.

For the first time, Mix feels like a guest in a story that isn’t his own. He looks at Edin, bright-eyed and cheerful, and feels a pang of guilt. Where does he fit in all this? Not with Earth. Not with Edin. Not even with himself.

After weeks of internal conflict, the answer becomes clear: he needs to step away. The exhaustion has been creeping up on Mix for days. He hasn’t been sleeping well; chills rack his body at night, only to fade by morning. His chest feels tight, his mind sluggish. He tells himself it’s nothing serious—just stress piling up.

But it isn’t just his body; his heart is tired too. The strain of pretending he’s okay, of pretending it doesn’t hurt, is finally catching up to him.

So he decides.

Mix approaches the preschool administrator with a carefully rehearsed explanation. “I need to take a leave of absence,” he says, his voice steady but his hands trembling. “It’s personal.”

The administrator looks at him kindly. “Of course, Mix. Take the time you need.”

As he gathers his belongings from the classroom, he feels a pang of loss. He stares at the drawings Edin made for him, little stick figures labeled “Mix” and “Edin” with hearts drawn around them. He promises himself it’s only temporary. He’ll be back. He just needs to breathe.

Mix leaves without telling anyone—especially Earth. It’s not an act of spite, but of self-preservation. He knows Earth will try to stop him, and he’s terrified he’ll cave under those earnest, pleading eyes. The guilt of not saying goodbye to Edin gnaws at him, but he tells himself it’s gonna be better after this.

Mix heads straight to his friend Ter’s apartment, knowing Earth would look for him at home. Ter doesn’t ask questions at first, simply handing Mix a spare key and a blanket.

The days blur together. Mix keeps himself busy with mindless tasks—reading, cleaning, cooking, rearranging furniture. But no matter how hard he tries, Earth’s face sneaks into his thoughts. He remembers the way Earth’s laugh makes his chest feel warm, the gentle way he talks to Edin, the quiet moments when Earth looked at him like he was the only person in the room. “Such a weakling,” Mix mutters to himself, scrubbing at a countertop that’s already spotless.

“How long are you staying?” Ter asks one evening, flopping onto the couch beside Mix.

Mix glances at him, pretending to be offended. “Why? Do you want me out already?”

Ter smirks. “Well, if you stay too long, I might start falling for you again.”

Mix bursts out laughing. “I better leave, then.” He pretends to stand but sinks back into the couch, shaking his head.

“Kidding,” Ter says, grinning. “You know I’m over you.”

“I know.” Mix smiles, grateful for the lightheartedness.

“And now you’re hitting on your pupil’s dad?” Ter teases, his voice dripping with mock scandal.

Mix throws a pillow at him. “Shut up.”

But the teasing brings a flush to his cheeks. He knows Ter is joking, but the words hit too close to home. Mix doesn’t know how long he can hide. Every day feels like a battle between wanting to stay invisible and wanting Earth to find him. He’s scared—scared of going back, scared of being hurt, scared of what it means if he lets himself hope.

But for now, he stays. For now, he tells himself that this distance is what he needs.

What Earth needs.

What they both need.

The afternoon air feels heavy, pressing against Mix as he paces back and forth in the apartment. Ter is always away for work, at this point, it feels like Mix owns the apartment and loneliness is not good. Restlessness churns in his chest, and he decides he can’t stay inside any longer. Grabbing his wallet, he heads out. A grocery run feels like the perfect excuse to clear his mind—mundane enough to distract him but necessary enough to feel productive.

The fluorescent lights of the supermarket greet him, bright and clinical, a stark contrast to the chaos in his thoughts. He drifts through the aisles, his basket swinging loosely from one hand. He picks up a box of instant noodles, a carton of eggs, some vegetables—his choices more automatic than intentional.

He’s so lost in thought that he doesn’t even notice the two familiar figures just ahead.

“Mix?”

The voice snaps him out of his daze. He looks up, startled, to see Khaotung standing there, arms overflowing with oversized chip bags, his face lighting up in recognition. Behind him, First lingers by their half-filled cart, scanning the shelves.

“It’s you,” Khaotung says, his voice warm with surprise. He places the chip bags in the cart but immediately narrows his eyes at First. “Don’t you dare put my chips back.”

“I wasn’t going to,” First replies dryly, though the twitch of a smirk gives him away.

Mix manages a faint smile, watching their playful exchange, but it doesn’t last long. First’s gaze shifts to him, sharp and observant, and Mix feels the weight of it like a spotlight on his every flaw.

“How are you?” First asks gently, his voice steady but full of concern. His eyes take in everything—the dark circles under Mix’s eyes, the slump in his shoulders, the tension in his jaw. His voice is steady, but there’s a softness in it that makes Mix’s throat tighten.

“I’m… fine,” Mix says, the words coming out too quickly. He tries to smile, but it feels forced, his lips stiff and unnatural. “Really. Just, uh, grabbing some stuff for dinner.”

He hopes they’ll buy it, but the look on their faces tells him otherwise. Concern flickers in First’s eyes, and even Khaotung, usually less perceptive, glances at him with worry. Mix feels exposed, like they can see right through him.

Good job, Sahaphap, he thinks bitterly. You’re terrible at hiding things.

Before he can come up with an excuse to leave, First steps in. “You should join us for dinner tonight,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. “We’re making curry, and there’s plenty to go around.

“Yeah,” Khaotung chimes in, nodding enthusiastically. “You should come.” His voice is softer than usual, though, and there’s a quiet kindness in his eyes that makes it impossible for Mix to refuse.

First and Khaotung immediately goes to the kitchen the minute they arrive, excitement im their veins. Mix offers to help but is shooed away.

Not long after, the scent of curry fills the apartment. Warm, savory aroma that feels both comforting and cruel. The cozy space radiates with an inviting energy, the kind of home where love is spoken through small gestures, where even silence feels safe. Yet, for Mix, it only amplifies the chaos swirling in his chest. The laughter echoing through the apartment feels distant, like a language he’s forgotten how to speak.

“Make yourself at home,” Khaotung says, slouching into his chair at the dining table with an easy smile as he left First to attend to the rest. His words are light, but his gaze carries the weight of someone who sees too much. “I hope you like curry.”

Mix nods as he takes a seat, his shoulders stiff and his hands awkwardly resting on his lap. “I do,” he replies, his voice soft, almost drowned out by the sound of First bustling in the kitchen.

“How’s it been?” Khaotung asks, his tone casual, though his eyes betray a quiet worry.

The question catches Mix off guard. His fingers fidget against his lap as his throat tightens. The answer isn’t simple, but how can he say that without unraveling completely?

“I…” he starts, but the words catch in his throat. His silence feels heavy, almost deafening.

Khaotung notices the hesitation and raises a hand, his expression kind but firm. “Hey, no pressure. I’m just asking about you. You don’t have to tell me about anything else especially when you’re not ready. I'm not here to pry.”

The sincerity in his voice catches Mix off guard. Slowly, he exhales, some of the tension lifting from his chest. He offers a faint smile, grateful for Khaotung’s patience, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. First appears then, carrying a bottle of wine and glasses, his face flushed with mild annoyance. “Sorry for the wait,” he says, placing the items on the table with a dramatic sigh. “The corkscrew decided to stage a rebellion.”

Khaotung chuckles, the sound light and teasing. “You’re lucky I didn’t open it myself. I might’ve broken the bottle.”

Mix manages a quiet laugh as First playfully rolls his eyes and disappears into the kitchen again. For a brief moment, the warmth of their banter seeps into the cracks of his guarded heart, offering him a flicker of reprieve.

First comes back and they sit down to eat, the conversation flows naturally.

First and Khaotung fall into an easy rhythm of playful arguments, their affection threaded through every quip and counter. Mix watches them, the corners of his lips lifting despite himself. He admires how effortlessly they seem to belong to each other, how love sits so comfortably between them. But their closeness reminds him of someone, someone who used to bring him that same warmth. The thought sneaks up on him, tugging at his heart before he can push it away.

The name leaves his lips before he even realizes it.

“How is he?” Mix asks softly, staring at his plate as though the answer might be hidden in the grains of rice.

Khaotung freezes, his fork hovering mid-air. He blinks, then lowers it slowly. “Earth?”

Mix’s cheeks flushes. He didn’t meant to say it out loud, but now that he had, he couldn’t take it back. “Yeah,” he admits softly. “How is he?”

Khaotung’s expression softens, a hint of sadness creeping into his smile. “Oh, Earth… He’s everywhere. Like, literally everywhere.”

“Everywhere?” Mix echoes, confusion knitting his brows.

First chimes in, his voice quieter but no less sincere. “He’s been going here and there. Hoping to bump into you.”

Mix’s breath hitches, his chest tightening. The thought of Earth searching for him stirs something fragile and unsteady inside him.

Khaotung places a comforting hand on Mix’s arm. “He’s been looking for you, Mix. He misses you.”

First nods, his face solemn. “He even comes here sometimes, just in case you show up. Man doesn't even think, you haven't been here ever so how will he find you here, tsk. But the thing is, he looks for you.”

The words hit Mix like a punch to the gut, leaving him breathless. His grip on the fork falters, and he sets it down before his trembling hands betray him further. Guilt gnaws at him, sharp and unrelenting.

Khaotung's hand brushes Mix’s arm, gently. “It’s obvious to anyone who sees him. But… he’s struggling, Mix. He’s not himself without you.”

Mix’s throat tightens. The warmth of the apartment feels oppressive now, the air too thick to breathe. His heart aches with a pain he can’t describe, a mix of longing and regret that threatens to spill over.

Khaotung’s hand lingers, grounding him. “You don’t have to do anything right now,” he adds, his voice soothing. “Take your time, but… don’t shut him out forever. And Mix… Edin misses you, too.”

The mention of Edin cracks something inside him, the weight of everything he’s left behind pressing down on him. He looks up, his voice barely above a whisper. “But… they’re rebuilding. Earth and Namtan.”

First’s brows furrow. “What?” he asks, his tone sharp with confusion.

“They’re trying to get back together,” Mix says, his voice breaking. “That’s what Namtan said.”

First and Khaotung exchange a look, their faces etched with disbelief. First leans closer, his tone firm. “Namtan said that? Mix… that doesn’t make sense. Earth’s been so focused on pursuing you. Why would he—What did he said about this?”

“I.. I didn’t give him a chance to explain,” Mix admits, shame coloring his words. “I just… I left.”

“You two should talk,” Khaotung says, his hand closing around Mix’s trembling one. “Something’s not right, Mix. You need to talk to him. Whatever’s happening, you both deserve the chance to figure it out.”

Mix nods slowly, though his thoughts are a tangled mess. The storm inside him rages on, the pieces of this puzzle refusing to fit together. He knows Khaotung is right, but the path ahead feels impossibly daunting. Still, a part of him wonders if maybe, just maybe, there’s a way to make sense of it all.

At the preschool, the familiar chatter of children fills the air, their laughter echoing through the colorful hallways. Earth steps inside, Edin’s small hand clasped in his, but his eyes immediately scan the room for someone. The warmth he usually feels upon seeing Mix is absent, replaced by a hollow feeling in his chest. The vibrant energy of the preschool feels muted, like something essential is missing.

As he walks Edin to his classroom, Earth can’t stop himself from searching again. His gaze flickers to every corner, every cluster of teachers and staff. But Mix is nowhere to be found. His chest tightens with a sense of unease, an uncomfortable weight settling over him.

When they reach the classroom, Edin gives his father a quick hug before bounding inside, already absorbed by the art supplies on the table. Earth lingers by the door for a moment, hesitating. He knows he should leave—his own responsibilities await—but the gnawing feeling won’t let him go.

Turning back, he approaches a small group of parents chatting near the entrance. Their conversation halts when they notice him, their polite smiles greeting him. “Excuse me,” Earth says, his voice calm but laced with urgency. “Can I ask if Teacher Mix is here today?”

The parents exchange glances before one of them speaks. “Oh, didn’t you hear, Mr. Pirapat? Teacher Mix went on leave.”

The words hit him like a jolt, his breath catching slightly. “He did?” he asks, his tone more subdued now. A pang of guilt rises in his chest, sharp and unforgiving. Why did he leave? Did he leave because of me? Because of what happened?

“Yes,” another parent chimes in, their tone casual, as if discussing the weather. “But I’m sure he’ll be back soon. For now, the teacher’s aide is taking over his duties.”

Earth nods politely, thanking them before stepping outside. But as he walks to his car, his thoughts spiral. He replays their last conversation in his head, every word, every expression. Was I too hard on him? Did I push him away? The possibility gnaws at him, relentless and unyielding.

By the time he gets into the driver’s seat, the weight of his thoughts feels unbearable. The silence in the car is deafening, amplifying the storm inside him. He pulls out his phone, his fingers fumbling slightly as he scrolls to Mix’s contact. Without hesitation, he presses the call button.

The phone rings. Once. Twice. Over and over. Each unanswered ring feels like a blow, his frustration mounting with every second of silence. Finally, the call disconnects, and Earth stares at the screen, his heart sinking.

He tries again, his grip tightening on the phone. This time, the call doesn’t even ring; it goes straight to voicemail. Earth’s chest constricts, his breath shallow. The idea that Mix might be deliberately avoiding him twists the knife of guilt even deeper. He leans back in the driver’s seat, exhaling a shaky sigh. His hand falls to his lap, still clutching the phone. The ache in his chest feels unbearable now, a combination of longing, regret, and fear.

I need to talk to him. I need to fix this. I can’t lose him—not like this.

For a moment, he sits there, his hands gripping the steering wheel as his mind races. The bustling world outside his car feels distant, a blur of movement and noise he can’t connect to. All he can think about is Mix.

But now, all of that feels like it’s slipping away. And Earth doesn’t know if he can bear it.

The sun hangs low in the sky as Earth pulls into the preschool parking lot, its golden light casting long shadows over the play area. He steps out of the car, a mixture of dread and longing swirling in his chest as he heads toward the door. When Edin spots him from across the room, his face lights up, and he comes running, his small arms wrapping tightly around Earth’s legs.

“Daddy!” Edin exclaims, his usual excitement bringing a flicker of warmth to Earth’s heavy heart. But the moment they step outside, as Earth lifts Edin into his arms to carry him to the car, the child’s expression shifts.

“Daddy,” Edin begins, his voice soft but curious, “Where is Teacher Mix?”

The question lands like a weight in Earth’s chest, momentarily stopping him in his tracks. He glances down at Edin, his bright, expectant eyes wide with innocence. Earth forces a smile, though it feels like it might crack under the pressure.

“Well, honey,” he says gently, opening the car door and setting Edin into his car seat. “Teacher Mix took a break.”

Edin’s small brows knit together, confusion and disappointment evident on his face. “He left school?”

“Yes,” Earth says, adjusting Edin’s seatbelt with steady hands even as his heart wavers. “He did, but he’ll be back.” The words come out firm but hollow, his voice trembling slightly on the last syllable. “He’ll be back.”

The reassurance is as much for himself as it is for Edin. Earth clings to the words like a lifeline, hoping they will keep his own guilt and fear at bay. He can’t let himself think otherwise—not now.

As Earth climbs into the driver’s seat, Edin’s voice pipes up again, quieter this time. “Why didn’t he say goodbye to Edin?” There’s a raw sadness in his tone that cuts straight through Earth’s defenses.

Earth’s hands grip the steering wheel as he exhales shakily. The truth—that Mix’s departure might be because of him—feels too heavy, too complicated for a child’s ears. But the weight of Edin’s disappointment feels unbearable.

“Maybe he was just busy, honey,” Earth says softly, forcing a calm he doesn’t feel. He turns to glance at Edin, offering what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “But I’m sure you’ll be the first to know when Teacher Mix comes back.”

Edin’s lips press into a pout, his small hands fiddling with the strap of his seatbelt. “I miss Teacher Mix,” he murmurs, his voice barely above a whisper.

Earth’s chest tightens, the guilt consuming him in waves. He reaches out, gently brushing a hand over Edin’s hair. “Me too, buddy,” he says, his voice breaking ever so slightly. He turns his eyes back to the road, blinking rapidly against the sting of tears threatening to fall. “Me too.”

The car ride home is quiet, the usual chatter between them replaced by the heavy silence of their shared longing. Every glance at Edin through the rearview mirror only deepens Earth’s resolve.

I need to fix this. I need to make things right. He thinks, again.

Earth’s days have become a blur, a routine that feels both grounding and suffocating. He moves through them on autopilot—driving Edin to and from school, meeting deadlines with his face buried in blueprints, enduring sleepless nights that bleed into one another. Yet, no matter how tired or overwhelmed he feels, one thing remains constant: he texts Mix.

The messages are often short, disjointed thoughts he can’t keep inside. Random updates about his day, the projects he’s working on, and always, without fail, an apology tucked in between. "I’m sorry." Sometimes he asks where Mix is, if he’s okay, and even though he gets no response, he always ends with the same promise: "Whenever you’re ready, we’ll talk. I’ll wait."

Each night, Earth falls asleep with his phone clutched tightly in his hand, hoping against hope for even the smallest reply. But as days turn into weeks, the silence stretches, and the ache in his chest grows heavier. The only thing that keeps him anchored is Edin. Despite the chaos, Edin’s laughter and boundless energy ground him, a bright light in the storm of uncertainty.

One lazy afternoon, Namtan calls, asking if she can have Edin for the evening. “A little mother-son date,” she says cheerfully. Earth hesitates for only a moment before agreeing.

At her place, Edin bounces on his feet, clutching his favorite toy. “I’ll see you later, buddy,” Earth says, ruffling his son’s hair.

“See you later, Daddy!” Edin chirps, his voice full of joy.

As Earth turns to leave, Namtan calls out, her tone unusually soft. “Don’t you want to come in for a bit? You look sweaty.” She tilts her head, a teasing smile on her lips. “You still have a few shirts here, you know.”

Earth forces a polite smile but shakes his head. “I’m fine. Thanks, though. Have a good time with Edin.” With a final wave, he drives off.

But as he grips the steering wheel, unease creeps into his chest. Something feels off, though he can’t name it. It’s not Namtan’s invitation—it’s deeper, a pull he doesn’t understand. His heart seems to take the wheel, guiding him without thought or reason, until he finds himself parked in front of a familiar house.

Without knocking, he pushes open the door, the faint but unmistakable aroma washing over him.

“Wow, you’re cooking curry?” he says, stepping inside. His voice is light, but his heart is heavy. In the kitchen, First and Khaotung freeze, dishes in their hands. They exchange a look that sends Earth’s stomach twisting.

“What?” Earth asks, his brow furrowing. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Neither of them speaks, their hesitation palpable. Earth’s chest tightens as he paces around the house, eyes roaming. “What’s up with you two? You’re scaring me.”

“It’s just—” Khaotung starts, but his voice falters.

Earth doesn’t need him to finish. His eyes shift to the living room, and he stops dead in his tracks. There, draped over the arm of the sofa, is something achingly familiar. His breath catches as he takes a shaky step forward. “That’s his favorite jacket,” he whispers, more to himself than anyone else. “Mix is here?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer, his legs moving of their own accord as he searches the house. “Mix?” he calls, his voice rising in desperation. “Mix, are you here?”

First and Khaotung scramble to intercept him, their words tumbling over one another. “Earth, wait! Listen—”

“He's here?” Earth snaps, his voice trembling. “He’s here, and you didn’t tell me?”

“Earth, listen!” Khaotung shouts, his rare outburst freezing Earth mid-step. His chest heaves, his eyes glassy with unshed tears.

“He was here,” Khaotung says quietly, the words heavy with regret. “Was. He left not long ago. We invited him over. We talked.”

“And no one thought to call me?” Earth says, his voice cracking with betrayal.

“It’s not our place,” First interjects firmly. “It’s Mix’s choice when—and if—he wants to see you.”

Earth falters, the truth of First’s words hitting him like a blow. He wouldn’t force Mix into anything, but the thought of being so close only to miss him—it’s unbearable.

Slowly, Earth sinks onto the sofa, his hands trembling as they clutch Mix’s jacket. The familiar scent fills his senses, and he stares at it, his shoulders shaking. “How… how is he?” he chokes out. “Is he okay? Is he healthy?”

Before either can answer, the front door creaks open. The three of them turn as one, their eyes locking on the figure standing in the doorway.

“Hi, I’m sorry… I left my jacket—”

Mix’s voice trails off as his gaze lands on Earth, hunched over on the sofa, clutching his jacket like a lifeline. His eyes are red, his cheeks streaked with tears. For a moment, neither of them moves.

“Mix,” Earth whispers, his voice thick with emotion.

Mix freezes, his heart pounding as he takes in the scene before him. The man he’s been avoiding, the one he’s been too afraid to face, is right there, looking at him like he’s the only thing that matters.

And it falls.

The rain, it is.