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The faint hum of the city echoed through the apartment’s cracked windows, the noises of distant traffic and murmured voices falling in waves. Inside, the room was dim, lit only by the orange glow of the setting sun filtering through the curtains. It was quiet—almost too quiet—except for the soft clicking of a clock on the wall.
Doppio sat on the worn couch, his knees pulled up to his chest, his eyes flicking nervously between the objects scattered around the small living room. His fingers twitched involuntarily, tapping against his knee in rapid, restless patterns. He wanted to get up, to do something, but a strange heaviness anchored him to the spot, a weight he couldn't shake.
Ver, standing by the small kitchenette with his back turned, was busy with some task—preparing something. Doppio's gaze lingered on him, every movement Ver made pulling him deeper into the strange calmness that seemed to exist only when the two were together.
"Ver," Doppio murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Can I... can I ask you something?"
Ver didn't immediately turn around, but Doppio saw his hand pause, as if waiting for him to speak.
"What is it, Doppi?" Ver's voice was low, steady. There was always an underlying warmth in it that Doppio couldn't help but gravitate toward, something he rarely felt from anyone else.
Doppio shifted uncomfortably, his fingers continuing their nervous tap against his knee. He hated this feeling—the feeling of being vulnerable, of needing someone so completely, so helplessly. But he had grown used to it. Ver was the only one who made him feel... stable.
“I... I need you to stay. Just... for a little longer,” Doppio said, his words stumbling out like a confession he wasn’t entirely ready to face. "I don’t... I don’t want to be alone, Ver."
For a moment, there was silence. Then, slowly, Ver turned around, his expression unreadable as he regarded Doppio with those dark, thoughtful eyes. There was an unspoken understanding between them—something Doppio had never fully articulated but that Ver always seemed to understand.
He walked over to the couch and sat beside him, the weight of his presence grounding Doppio, though the younger man’s nerves still buzzed beneath his skin.
"You’re not alone, Doppi," Ver said softly, his voice somehow both firm and gentle, "I’m here."
Doppio felt his chest tighten, a strange mix of relief and something else that he didn’t quite know how to explain. The dependency he had developed on Ver was something he hadn’t fully processed, but it was there—clear as day. Ver was the anchor to his stormy mind, the calming force when Doppio’s thoughts would spiral into chaos. It was like he couldn't quite function without him, like something in him snapped when Ver wasn’t around to hold him steady.
“I know,” Doppio whispered, his voice barely audible, almost as if saying it out loud would make it too real. “But... I need you more than you know. When you’re not here... it feels like I can’t breathe right.”
Ver didn’t answer immediately, but pulled Doppio into a hug and the contact was enough to silence the constant chatter in Doppio's mind. The overwhelming sense of dependency he had on Ver made him feel weak, fragile in a way he wasn’t used to. But somehow, with Ver’s presence, it didn’t feel so bad.
“I won’t leave you,” Ver replied, his words soft yet resolute. "Not if you need me."
Doppio’s gaze flicked to Ver, his lips parting slightly, as though there were more to say, more to confess, but the words got stuck in his throat. The feelings were always tangled up in knots—his fear of losing Ver, the need to have him close, the almost painful longing for something more, though he didn’t know how to ask for it.
He had never been good at needing others. He was always the one who tried to be strong, to manage on his own. But with Ver, it was different. It was like he couldn’t help himself. He needed Ver’s calm, his steady hand, his silent reassurance that everything would be okay—even when everything felt like it was falling apart.
“I don’t want to be a burden,” Doppio admitted, his voice quiet, almost fragile. “I don’t want to make you feel like you have to take care of me all the time.”
Ver’s gaze softened, his fingers tightening ever so slightly on Doppio's shoulder in a way that conveyed both reassurance and affection. “You’re not a burden, Doppi,” he said, his voice warm with a sincerity that made Doppio’s heart flutter in an unfamiliar way. “You’re not a burden. Not to me, not to anyone.”
The words hung in the air, and Doppio felt his chest tighten, a strange, comforting warmth spreading through him. He had always been afraid of needing someone too much—afraid of suffocating them, of making them resent his weakness. But Ver never seemed to mind. Ver never seemed to pull away.
He didn’t know how to handle that. It made him feel both safe and exposed, like a raw nerve that couldn’t quite heal but was willing to live in the moment anyway.
“Why?” Doppio asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Why don’t you mind? I’m... I’m not normal, Ver. I’m... different.”
Ver chuckled softly, the sound warm and light. “You think I’m normal?” he teased, his fingers brushing the side of Doppio’s arm in a gesture that was almost absent but spoke volumes. “Everyone’s a little different, Doppi. I don’t mind your differences. I don’t mind being here for you. You don’t have to be anything else.”
Doppio’s eyes flicked to Ver’s face, catching the earnestness in his gaze. The sincerity in his words melted the last remnants of the walls Doppio had built around himself. It was a feeling that was both overwhelming and liberating at the same time.
He took a shaky breath, his heart pounding. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Ver.”
Ver’s expression softened, his hand moving to gently cup Doppio’s chin, lifting it so that their eyes met. “Then don’t worry about that,” he said, his voice gentle. “I’m not going anywhere. Not as long as you need me.”
The words wrapped around Doppio like a protective blanket, and for the first time in a long while, he allowed himself to lean into the comfort of the moment. Ver’s presence, steady and sure, was a lifeline in a world that often felt too uncertain.
It wasn’t love—not yet, at least—but it was something deeper, something fragile and pure. A bond that Doppio had never expected to form but one that, in this moment, he couldn’t imagine living without.
End.