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When Ohm arises from his sleep, his eyes open blearily to the sight of distorted lights in between fingertips, a familiar voice humming quietly above him. He blinks once, twice, three times, adjusting to the light. Then, Ohm finally keeps his eyes closed for a few seconds, shutting them tight as flecks of colors burn the insides of his lids. It’s still too bright. He lifts a hand and covers them with his palm.
“Good nap?” he hears tenderly.
Ohm can recognize that voice all the way to his next lifetime. Nimble fingers start threading in his hair. Ohm adjusts himself, moving higher to lean his back over firm thighs and resting the back of his head over a soft, pillowy stomach. His cheek presses over the soft cotton of a shirt.
He sighs at the comfortableness. The warmth. At how exhausted he must be that he’s sleeping at the lift hidden beneath the stage in the middle of the day.
Ohm had just wanted to close his eyes for a moment, to hide away from their overly raucous friends who’d finally joined them in preparation. It’s ironic how the stage of all places was still the safest haven. The light crew had finished setting up for the afternoon. Ohm took one look at the empty seats, his heart swelling at the sight of it before finding a spot underneath the stage.
Ohm just wanted to slither away unnoticed. But Ohm should have known better. He should have expected it from the pair of eyes always trained on him across every room. He should have known that that person, without a fail, will know when he’s no longer in the same space.
It’s an unsaid gesture shared between them to always have each other in orbit, to know when the other is off-track. It’s one thing that they are both seemingly just as good at, if not mastered the art of.
But somehow, Ohm’s still caught off-guard. Ohm must have been so out of it that he didn’t realize being perched onto thighs rather than the floor in the middle of his nap, his hoodie pulled off and replaced with a gentle hand lulling him further to sleep.
When he moves his palm off his face, it’s instantly replaced with a shadow looming over him, covering the intensity of the stage light shining down on the two of them.
His eyes are too heavy to open, but the warm breath over his face tells him it’s more than just a palm simply shielding his view from the light.
“Yeah,” Ohm says quietly. “Thank you.”
They haven’t talked about the building tension lingering between the two of them. They don’t talk about the glimmering eyes under the studio room lights, the proudness swelling profoundly in their chests. The way their gazes soften as they sing side by the side, the lyrics etching themselves into their hearts. The sudden lumps in their throats as they sing, all I know is I love you, I just know that I love you, it's overwhelming and I don't know what to do.
The addicting familiarity of each other’s company has been so compelling, so good at triggering the bubbling feelings bursting at every seam of Ohm’s being.
They haven’t spent this much time consistently together in months; yet it seems to still be not enough. There’s a need to be alone, to simply be just them two. They were constantly surrounded by people.
And maybe it should always be that way. For them to be guarded and separated the moment the time spent together becomes just enough. For them not to have too much of the good that the bad gets extremely bad.
Panic rises within Ohm’s chest cavity. He thinks back to the times they’d fought, the triggers of spending too much time together. He’s been unconsciously avoiding that to happen, unknowingly leaving a trail of confusion, of reckless abandonment in his wake.
But Ohm does not know better that things are not great left unsaid, because when he speaks the words into existence, it never seems to go so well. Ohm thinks he keeps messing up his words when it comes to this—to whatever this is.
“We should get back," Ohm whispers hesitantly.
More warmth on his cheek. He can feel every slight huff, every meeting of their breaths together. His nose is warm all over, enveloped with a comforting touch he’s been craving.
“Or you can sleep in for a little bit longer.” A pause, a soft exhale. Ohm keeps his eyes closed. “I told them not to look for us.”
Ohm is careful to string his words together, but all he can muster out is a tired, “I don’t want to disappoint.”
He leaves you behind, but it echoes just as loud in the space beneath the stage.
Maybe that’s just one of Ohm’s flaws—the expectations of words to be voiced, yet the hesitation to do the same. So sometimes the security that he may be cared for just the same falters. Because Ohm isn’t the type of person who talks too much, but words verbally said always matter to him. So even though the simple gestures may bear more weight than three words left unsaid, sometimes Ohm fails to hear them loud and clear.
“I know,” may be the only words he gets, but the soft press of lips against his forehead is enough of a reply for now.
Maybe that just means, you’re doing so well.
Ohm isn't sure. They’re still learning. They stay there for a little bit longer in pleasant silence.
Later, Ohm is caught off-guard again when the same pair of lips interlock with his own as the same stage lift comes down. They will also be the same ones that will eventually say I love you, dumbass.
Maybe one day they’ll know how to love each other in a way that doesn’t hurt, and it’ll be enough for them to last a lifetime.