Auan

The sterile scent of the clinic usually acted as a trigger for Net’s frustration. He sat on the edge of the examination table, his jaw set in a hard line as a nurse finished taping a gauze pad over a scrape on his forearm. It wasn’t a major accident—a distracted driver had clipped his motorbike at a low speed—but the impact had been enough to send him skidding across the asphalt.

"I told you, I’m fine," Net said, his voice clipped and tight. He looked toward the doorway, where his brother and a handful of close friends were huddled like a defensive wall. "I have somewhere to be."

"You have a concussion check to finish, Net," Latte countered, crossing his arms. He held Net’s phone in his hand, which had been buzzing intermittently for the last twenty minutes. "The doctor said stay put, so you stay put. You’re always trying to shoulder everything alone. Just for once, sit still."

Net exhaled a sharp breath, his shoulders hunched near his ears. He hated the fuss. He hated the feeling of being a burden, and more than anything, he hated that he was currently forty minutes late for his dinner with JJ. He had been looking forward to it all week—a rare pocket of peace in a schedule he usually kept packed with military-like discipline.

The phone in Latte’s hand began to vibrate again. The screen lit up with a contact name that made Latte pause: Auan.

"Who is 'Auan'?" Latte asked, tilting the phone toward the others. "Net, you have a caller. They’ve tried four times."

Net’s expression shifted instantly. The hardness in his eyes flickered, replaced by a momentary flash of guilt. "Don't answer that," he said, though there was less bite in his tone and more of a quiet plea.

Latte, sensing the shift in energy, ignored the command. He slid the green icon across the screen and pressed the phone to his ear. "Hello?"

"Net? Hey, I’ve been waiting at the restaurant, but I haven't heard from you. Is everything okay?" The voice on the other end was warm, melodic, and laced with genuine concern.

"Actually, this isn't Net. This is his friend, Latte," he explained, his eyes widening as he realized the person on the other end sounded incredibly polite. "Net was in a minor accident. He’s at the clinic on Sukhumvit. He’s okay, just getting patched up, but he might be here a while."

"An accident?" The voice sharpened with alarm, though it remained calm. "Which clinic? I’m coming right now."

Latte gave him the address and hung up, turning to the group with a mischievous glint in his eyes. "Well, 'Auan' is on his way. And he sounded very worried."

Net groaned, leaning his head back against the cool wall. "You shouldn't have told him. He’s going to worry for no reason."

"For no reason?" his brother chimed in. "Net, you’re bleeding and covered in bruises. Normal people worry when that happens to people they care about. Maybe you should try it sometime."

Net didn't respond. He simply closed his eyes, his mind drifting to JJ. He could picture him—the way his brow would furrow slightly, the way he’d probably be driving a little too fast right now despite being the most composed person Net knew.

Twenty minutes later, the glass doors of the clinic slid open. A young man hurried in, his eyes scanning the waiting area with focused intensity. He wasn't loud or frantic, but there was an unmistakable gravitational pull to his movements. He wore a simple linen shirt and slacks, looking every bit the picture of effortless grace, even with the sheen of sweat on his forehead.

He spotted the group standing near the treatment rooms. As he approached, Net’s friends fell silent, observing him with clinical curiosity.

"Excuse me," the man said, offering a small, respectful bow. "I’m looking for Net. I spoke to someone on the phone?"

"That was me," Latte said, stepping forward. He took in the stranger’s soft features and the kind, attentive light in his eyes. "I’m Latte. And you are?"

"I’m JJ," he replied, his voice steadying now that he was closer to the source of the news. "Is he... is he really alright?"

The name hit the group like a lightning bolt. They didn't gasp, but the atmosphere changed instantly. Heads turned, glances were exchanged, and a collective "Ah" seemed to hang in the air. This was the JJ. The JJ who Net mentioned in passing during late-night drinks. The JJ who Net had started seeing three nights a week. The JJ who, according to Net’s mother, was the reason Net had finally started smiling at his phone like a teenager.

"So you're JJ," Net’s brother said, a wide, knowing smile breaking across his face. He stepped forward to shake JJ’s hand. "We’ve heard a lot about you. I’m P'Mark. Don't worry, the stubborn idiot is fine. Just a few scrapes and a bruised ego because he couldn't keep his bike upright."

JJ let out a breath he seemed to have been holding for a long time. The tension left his frame, and he offered a shy, relieved smile. "I’m very glad to hear that. And it’s a pleasure to meet you all. I’m sorry it’s under these circumstances."

"Nonsense," Latte said, patting JJ on the shoulder. "We’ve been dying to see the man who actually makes Net leave work on time."

JJ looked a bit confused by the comment, his cheeks tinting a faint pink. To him, he was just JJ. He didn't realize he was a mythological figure in Net’s inner circle—the man who had successfully breached the fortress Net had built around himself.

A few minutes later, the curtain to the treatment area retracted. Net stepped out, his arm bandaged and a small adhesive strip across his cheekbone. He looked tired, his usual stiff posture slightly slumped from the adrenaline crash.

He stopped dead when he saw the crowd. More specifically, when he saw the man standing in the center of his family and friends.

"JJ?" Net asked, his voice losing that sharp, defensive edge it had carried all evening.

JJ moved toward him immediately. He didn't hover or fuss. He simply stopped a comfortable distance away, his eyes roaming over Net’s face to verify his safety. "Hey. You had me worried."

Net rubbed the back of his neck with his uninjured hand. The irritation that had been radiating off him for the last two hours seemed to evaporate, replaced by a quiet, sheepish softness. "I’m sorry. I was on my way. Some guy decided stop signs were optional."

"It’s okay," JJ said softly, his voice a soothing balm. "The dinner doesn't matter. I’m just glad you’re standing up."

"I missed our reservation," Net muttered, looking down at his boots.

JJ laughed, a light, airy sound that seemed to fill the cramped hallway. "Net, it’s a restaurant. They have food every day. We can go another time. Right now, you look like you need to go home and sleep."

Net’s shoulders, which had been hiked up to his ears since the moment of the crash, finally dropped. A small, genuine smile tugled at the corners of his mouth—the kind of smile his friends rarely saw unless he was deep into a hobby or a success at work. But this was different. This was a smile of pure comfort.

"I guess I do," Net admitted. He turned to his friends, his expression turning casual, as if he hadn't just been a prickly bear ten minutes ago. "How did he find out?"

"Latte answered your phone, Auan," Mark teased, emphasizing the nickname.

Net flushed a deep crimson. "I told you not to touch my phone."

"If he hadn't, I’d still be sitting at that table wondering if you’d stood me up," JJ joked, nudging Net’s shoulder gently.

Net turned back to JJ, his gaze softening in a way that made the onlookers feel like they were intruding on something private. "I wouldn't stand you up. You know that."

"I know," JJ replied.

The two of them began to talk, their voices dropping to a lower, more intimate volume. Net started explaining the mechanics of the accident, using his hands to describe the slide, and JJ listened with rapt attention, nodding at the right moments, occasionally reaching out to steady Net when he leaned too far on his bruised side.

Within minutes, they were laughing. Net told a joke about the nurse’s reaction to his stubbornness, and JJ’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he doubled over in a quiet chuckle. Net joined him, his laughter free and unguarded, his head tilting back as he let the stress of the day go.

Standing a few feet away, Net’s family and friends watched in silence.

Mark nudged Latte, gesturing toward the pair. "Look at him," he whispered. "He’s not even checking his watch. He’s not thinking about the bike or the police report. He’s just... there."

"He’s lighter," Latte agreed, his voice filled with a quiet sort of awe. "I’ve known Net since we were kids. He’s always been the one taking care of everyone, always the one who has to be the strongest. With JJ... he looks like he’s allowed to just be Net."

They watched as JJ reached out and gently adjusted the collar of Net’s shirt, which had been rumpled during the exam. Net didn't pull away or stiffen. Instead, he leaned into the touch almost imperceptibly, his eyes fixed on JJ with a level of trust that was loud in its silence.

"We should probably let them go," Mark suggested, though he didn't move. He wanted to savor the sight of his brother looking truly happy for a few more seconds. "JJ seems like he’s got it handled."

"Yeah," Latte said, smiling. "I think Net’s in better hands than ours right now."

JJ turned back to the group, sensing their eyes on them. "Is it okay if I take him home? I have my car outside. I’ll make sure he gets inside and has something to eat."

"Please," Mark said, waving them off. "Take him. He’s been a nightmare for us, but he seems to behave for you."

Net rolled his eyes, but there was no heat in it. "I’m right here, you know."

"We know," Latte chimed in. "Go on. We’ll deal with the bike recovery tomorrow. Just focus on not falling over."

As JJ led Net toward the exit, his hand resting lightly on the small of Net’s back, the group stayed behind, watching them go. They saw the way Net leaned slightly toward JJ as they walked, the way their conversation never seemed to hit a lull, and the way the heavy, serious man they knew seemed to transform into someone younger, brighter, and infinitely more relaxed.

Outside, the night air was cool. Net took a deep breath, feeling the lingering sting of his scrapes, but the pain felt distant now.

"Your friends are nice," JJ said as they reached his car. "And your brother. I was worried they’d think I was some stranger harassing you."

Net stopped by the passenger door, looking over the roof of the car at JJ. The streetlights cast soft shadows across JJ’s face, highlighting the kindness that had drawn Net to him in the first place.

"They’ve wanted to meet you for a long time," Net said softly.

JJ paused, his hand on the driver’s side door. "Really? Why?"

Net smiled, a real, wide smile that reached his eyes. "Because they noticed I was different when I started talking to you. They said I seemed... less like I was carrying the world on my shoulders."

JJ’s expression softened, a look of profound tenderness crossing his features. "You don't have to carry it when you're with me, Net. I thought you knew that."

"I’m learning," Net admitted.

As they pulled away from the clinic, leaving the worry and the sterile lights behind, Net leaned his head back against the headrest. For the first time in years, he didn't feel the need to plan the next hour, the next day, or the next crisis. He just watched the city lights blur past, listening to the quiet hum of the radio and the steady, comforting presence of the man beside him. He was safe, he was seen, and for once, he was perfectly content to just let someone else lead the way.