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.
