Turning Care into Control
Warich opened his eyes the next morning, this time cuddling with Klao’s pillow in their bed. He didn’t really remember going to sleep the night before. He looked over at Klao’s empty side of the bed and ran his hand over it, wishing for the warmth that was once there.
His phone chose that moment to ring. Sharp, sudden.
He jolted upright, heart pounding, hand scrambling to grab his phone off the nightstand and unplug it so he could sit up. He didn’t even check the screen before answering.
“Klao?!”
Silence. Then… “Uh, no. It’s Gun.”
Warich closed his eyes and leaned back against the headboard, dragging a hand down his face. “Hi. Sorry.”
Gun’s voice softened. “Hey, didn’t mean to wake you.”
“It’s fine.”
A pause, then Gun asked, “You okay?”
Warich almost laughed bitterly. “Is that a serious question?”
“Yotha told me what happened the other day,” Gun said. “He said Klao asked us to make sure you got home safe. That’s not… nothing.”
“Well, he’s not answering,” Warich muttered. “I don’t even know where he is.”
“He probably just needs some time.”
“You all keep telling me that!” Warich snapped. Then more quietly, “I’m sorry. What if he doesn’t come back?”
There was a pause on Gun’s end. No quick answers or bullshitting around. “Then you figure out who you are without him,” Gun said. “And if you ever get the chance to try again, don’t waste it.”
They hung up not long after.
💔
Later that night, Warich found himself sitting in his car outside Newton’s bar, where they used to hang out together frequently. He didn’t get out. He just sat there, engine off, staring at the neon lights blinking outside.
He remembered one of the times they had been here. Klao had gone outside halfway through the night, saying he needed some air. Warich followed him out after several minutes had passed by. Found him by the alley, cigarette in hand, the glow lighting up the curve of his cheekbone.
“Seriously?” Warich had said, voice clipped. “You told me you were cutting back on that shit.”
Klao didn’t even flinch, just exhaled slowly. “I didn’t want a lecture. Can’t you just give me some space?”
“Space to kill yourself slowly?”
“Warich.” That tone of Klao’s. Tired. Familiar. “I hate it when you do this.”
“When I care?”
“When you make me feel like I’m always doing something wrong. I know I can be a fuck up, but sometimes you go too far.”
That had hit harder than Warich meant it to. They didn’t talk for the rest of the night.
💔
Now, in the car, Warich grabbed the steering wheel tightly.
I wanted you to live longer.
I wanted to keep you.
But all I did was push.
He didn’t go inside the bar. He just sat there for another ten minutes, his phone dark. Thinking about cigarettes and silence and all the ways he had thought he was protecting Klao, when all he’d done was tried to control him.
When he finally got home, the apartment was still dim, still empty. He kicked off his shoes at the door like always.
But something was different. It took him a second to realize what.
The space by the door where Klao always lined up his shoes next to Warich’s was empty. Gone.
Warich’s chest locked up and he dropped his keys. He rushed down the hallway, heart racing, already knowing what he’d find once he got there, but needed to see anyway.
Klao’s closet door was half-open and his side was empty. The button-up shirts he wore to work. His favorite hoodie with the cigarette burn on the sleeve. The suit jacket Warich always teased him for… all gone. No trace, no note. Just empty hangers and an awful silence.
This wasn’t a break.
This wasn’t Klao wanting space.
Klao had left. And this time he’d taken everything that still belonged to him.