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Mix is not scared of ghosts. Absolutely not. No way. He’s a functioning, capable human being that’s totally in control of his emotions and fears. Ghosts? Yeah, no. He’s not scared.
Or at least, that’s what he’s told himself for years. It’s what he’s repeated to Earth every single time Earth tries to scare him with another one of his stupid pranks. He’s lived alone before, slept in unfamiliar places, and filmed in eerie locations late at night. He’s fine, dandy. Thank you very much.
But Earth has gone too far this time.
At first, it was just a harmless joke. Earth would mumble something under his breath and then, when Mix asked what he said, he’d shake his head and act like he hadn’t spoken at all. Mix caught on quickly. He knew Earth was messing with him.
Then Earth took it further.
Mix would hear a whisper when Earth wasn’t even in the room. A quiet “Mix” when he was brushing his teeth, only for Earth to be on the other side of the house. A soft, eerie laugh in the hallway when Earth was supposed to be asleep.
Earth denied everything.
Mix knew it was Earth. Knew it. But the logical part of his brain—the part that told him it was just a prank, that Earth was probably using a recording or some other sneaky trick—was at war with the part of his brain that was raised on Thai ghost stories, the bad ones. The part that still got nervous around spirit houses and temples at night.
And now? Now he can’t sleep.
Mix lies in bed, staring at the ceiling, his ears straining for any sound. His blanket feels suffocatingly warm, but when he kicks it off, the air feels too cold against his skin. Every small creak of the house, every rustle of leaves outside, makes his heart pound.
It’s fine , he tells himself. Earth is just playing a prank.
But what if he’s not?
Mix groans and sits up, running a hand through his hair. It’s past two in the morning, and he knows he’s being ridiculous. But the thought of closing his eyes and hearing another whisper—one that he can’t explain away—makes his skin crawl.
Screw this.
Grabbing his pillow and blanket, Mix throws them over his shoulder and pads barefoot out of his room. The hallway is dark, the shadows long and unfamiliar. He doesn’t look too closely. He doesn’t want to see anything that isn’t there.
He quietly pushes open the guestroom door. Or, well, Earth’s room. It hasn’t been a guestroom in a long time, not when Earth practically lives here. Mix stopped thinking of it as a separate space months ago, even if Earth still has his own house.
Inside, Earth is curled up under his blanket, breathing evenly in sleep. Mix hesitates for a moment. This is stupid. He should just go back to his room.
Another faint creak echoes from the hallway.
Mix clenches his jaw, mutters a curse under his breath, and marches forward.
Carefully, he lifts the blanket and slides under it, his pillow tucked against his chest. The bed dips slightly, and Earth shifts, murmuring in his sleep before settling again.
Mix exhales slowly. Okay. This is better. The warmth of Earth’s body beside him, the familiar scent of his shampoo—these things ground him. This feels better, safe .
He closes his eyes.
Then Earth’s voice, groggy and amused, cuts through the silence.
“You scared?”
Mix’s eyes snap open. “Shut up.”
Earth laughs, shifting so he’s facing Mix. In the dim light, his eyes shine with amusement. “You’re totally scared.”
“I just didn’t feel like sleeping alone,” Mix lies, stubbornly keeping his face turned away. “It’s cold.”
Earth hums, unconvinced. “Mm. Cold. Right.”
Mix refuses to engage. He keeps his breathing steady, pretending he’s already asleep. Maybe Earth will let it go. Maybe—
Earth leans in, his voice a teasing whisper. “Did you hear it again?”
Mix jerks back so fast he nearly falls off the bed. “ Earth! ”
Earth is laughing so hard he has to bury his face in his pillow to muffle the sound.
Mix glares at him. “You are the worst.”
“You should’ve seen your face,” Earth wheezes, eyes crinkling in delight. “I wish I’d recorded that.”
Mix punches his arm. “You’re evil.”
Earth grins, rubbing his arm but otherwise unbothered. “You make it too easy. I didn’t think you’d actually come running to me in the middle of the night.”
“I didn’t run.”
“Oh, right. You bravely walked over with your little pillow and blanket.”
Mix scowls, but his ears are burning. He doesn’t respond.
Earth watches him for a moment, then his expression softens. “Hey.” His voice is quieter now, more gentle. “You really couldn’t sleep?”
Mix sighs, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s stupid.”
“It’s not,” Earth says easily. “I went too far, huh?”
Mix shifts uncomfortably. He doesn’t want to admit it, but… yeah. Maybe.
Earth nudges him. “I’ll stop.”
Mix blinks at him, surprised. “Really?”
Earth shrugs. “I didn’t think I was actually scaring you that much. I was just messing around.” He pauses, then smirks. “But if it means you’ll keep sleeping in here, maybe I won’t stop.”
Mix groans and pulls the blanket over his head. “I hate you.”
Earth laughs, tugging the blanket down just enough to see Mix’s face. “You love me.”
Mix peeks out from under the blanket, watching Earth’s teasing expression shift into something softer. Something fond. His chest tightens.
“Go to sleep,” Mix mutters, rolling over so his back is to Earth.
He can feel Earth still watching him, but after a moment, the bed shifts as Earth settles down. The warmth of his body is comforting, his steady breathing a quiet reassurance.
Mix finally closes his eyes.
And this time, he sleeps.
Hours later, Mix wakes up warm. Too warm.
At first, he thinks it’s just the blanket, but then he registers the solid weight pressed against his back, the slow rise and fall of someone else’s breathing.
Earth.
Mix blinks, still groggy, as he tries to process the situation. At some point in the night, Earth must have moved closer—so close that they’re practically tangled together now. One of Earth’s arms is draped over Mix’s waist, heavy and unmovable, while his face is tucked somewhere near Mix’s shoulder.
Mix doesn’t move.
He should. He should shift away, create some distance before Earth wakes up and teases him about it. But the warmth is comforting, and there’s something grounding about the steady rhythm of Earth’s breathing.
So he stays still.
Outside, the faint sounds of morning are starting—the distant hum of a passing car, the soft chirping of birds—but inside this room, it’s quiet. Peaceful.
Mix lets his eyes close again. Just for a few more minutes.
He’s almost drifted back to sleep when Earth shifts slightly, murmuring something incoherent against Mix’s shoulder. His grip tightens for a brief second before he relaxes again.
Mix’s stomach does something stupid and fluttery.
This is fine , he tells himself. It’s not a big deal. It’s just Earth. They’ve been close before. They’ve slept next to each other plenty of times—on set, during late-night shoots, after long trips.
But this feels different.
Maybe it’s because they aren’t on a hard couch in a shared waiting room, or squeezed into a hotel bed with other cast members just a room away. Maybe it’s because this is home , and there’s nothing stopping them from staying like this a little longer.
Maybe it’s because Mix wants to stay like this.
His face heats up at the thought.
No. He’s reading too much into it. It’s just body heat. Earth is naturally affectionate, if you manage to climb the thick concrete walls he’s built around himself over the years—he’s always been the type to casually drape himself over Mix like it’s nothing. And Mix is just… still half-asleep. That’s all.
Earth sighs softly, shifting again. This time, his nose brushes against the back of Mix’s neck.
Mix jerks away instinctively, rolling onto his back so fast that Earth makes a confused noise, blinking awake.
“Mm?” Earth’s voice is raspy with sleep. His eyes are barely open, unfocused. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” Mix clears his throat, willing his face to cool down. “You were—uh. You were kind of crushing me.”
Earth frowns, still clearly half-asleep. “No, I wasn’t.”
“You were,” Mix insists, but he sounds less sure of himself now.
Earth stares at him for a long moment, then a slow smirk spreads across his face.
“You liked it, didn’t you?”
Mix shoves him. “Shut up .”
Earth bursts into laughter, voice still rough with sleep. He stretches lazily, completely unbothered by the way Mix is glaring at him.
“Admit it,” Earth says, grinning. “You liked cuddling with me.”
“I did not —”
Earth flops back down dramatically. “It’s okay, Mix. If you wanted to sleep with me, you could’ve just said so.”
Mix groans and throws a pillow at him.
Earth laughs harder, but when he looks at Mix again, there’s something in his expression that’s too soft. Too fond.
Mix swallows.
This is getting dangerous.
Because the truth is, he did like it.
He liked waking up to Earth’s warmth, liked how easy it felt to stay close. And a stupid, reckless part of him wonders what would happen if he didn’t roll away next time.
Would Earth let him stay?
Would he pull Mix even closer?
Mix shakes the thought away.
He’s not ready for that answer yet.
But the truth is… Mix doesn’t leave right away.
He should get up, grab his pillow and blanket, and pretend none of this ever happened. But he doesn’t. Instead, he stays sitting on the bed, his fingers idly twisting the edge of the blanket while Earth stretches beside him.
The teasing is over, at least for now.
Earth yawns, then turns his head to look at Mix, his expression softer now. “You okay?”
Mix exhales slowly, avoiding Earth’s gaze. “Yeah.”
“Liar.”
Mix scowls, but there’s no real bite to it. He knows Earth can see right through him.
Earth shifts, propping himself up on one elbow. His voice is quieter when he speaks again. “I really did go too far with the pranks, huh?”
Mix hesitates, then shrugs. “I mean… yeah. A little.”
Earth sighs. “Sorry.”
Mix glances at him, surprised. “You’re actually apologizing?”
“Don’t get used to it,” Earth mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “I was just messing around. I didn’t think you’d actually—” He stops himself, then huffs out a laugh. “Well. I guess I didn’t think.”
Mix studies him for a moment, then looks away. “It wasn’t just the pranks,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper.
Earth tilts his head. “Then what was it?”
Mix hesitates. He doesn’t want to say it. But if he doesn’t, Earth is just going to keep looking at him like that—with concern, with curiosity, with something else that Mix doesn’t quite know how to name.
So he forces the words out. “I didn’t like being alone.”
The silence stretches between them.
It’s embarrassing to admit. He’s 26. He has his own house, his own space, his own life. He shouldn’t need anyone to help him sleep.
But last night, when the house was too quiet, and his thoughts were too loud, and he kept waiting to hear something that shouldn’t be there—he just needed to be near someone.
And the first person he thought of was Earth.
Earth is watching him now, his expression unreadable. Then, after a moment, he sighs and lies back down, staring at the ceiling. “You’re an idiot.”
Mix blinks. “Excuse me?”
Earth turns his head to look at him again, and this time, there’s something exasperated—but fond —in his eyes. “You could’ve just told me that instead of sneaking in here like a scared little kid.”
Mix bristles. “I was not sneaking.”
“You were totally sneaking.”
Mix huffs and crosses his arms. “Fine. Next time, I’ll just suffer alone.”
Earth rolls his eyes. “That’s not what I meant.”
Mix doesn’t respond. He’s still feeling too vulnerable, too exposed.
After a beat, Earth sighs again and shifts closer. His voice is softer when he speaks this time. “You know, you could just sleep in here if you wanted to.”
Mix stiffens. “What?”
Earth shrugs, like it’s the most casual thing in the world. “If you don’t like being alone, then don’t be. Stay here.”
Mix opens his mouth, then closes it again. His heart is doing something weird and unsteady in his chest.
“That’s—” He swallows. “That’s a bad idea.”
Earth raises an eyebrow. “Why?”
“Because—” Mix gestures vaguely between them. “Because us .”
Earth’s expression doesn’t change. “What about us?”
Mix looks at him incredulously. “Are you serious ?”
Earth just waits.
Mix groans and runs a hand through his hair. “Earth. We already—” He stops, frustrated. “You know how we are. How this is .”
Earth watches him for a long moment. Then, quietly, he says, “Maybe I don’t.”
Mix falters. “What?”
Earth shifts, turning fully onto his side to face Mix. “You always act like you know exactly what’s going on between us,” he says. “Like you’ve already decided what this is. What it can’t be.”
Mix doesn’t say anything.
Earth exhales slowly. “But if you really knew, you wouldn’t be sitting here looking so confused right now.”
Mix swallows hard. He is confused. He has been for a long time.
Earth has always been his person . The one he runs to without thinking, the one he feels safest with.
But lately, it’s been harder to ignore the way his stomach flips when Earth teases him. The way his heart clenches when Earth looks at him a certain way. The way he feels too much whenever they’re alone like this.
And now, Earth is looking at him like he’s waiting for something.
Like he’s hoping for something.
Mix wets his lips. “Earth—”
Earth smiles a little, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t overthink it, Mix.”
Mix hesitates.
Then, quietly, he says, “That’s all I ever do.”
Earth looks at him for a long time. Then, without another word, he reaches out and pulls Mix down beside him, tucking him under the blanket again.
Mix stiffens. “What are you—”
“Sleep,” Earth says simply. “We’ll figure out the rest later.”
Mix opens his mouth to argue, but Earth just tugs him closer. Not too close. Just close enough.
He doesn’t know how long he lies there, staring at the ceiling, his heart hammering too loudly in his ears.
Earth’s warmth is right beside him, steady and familiar, but now that Mix is aware of it— too aware of it—his body refuses to relax.
‘We’ll figure out the rest later,‘ Earth had said.
Like it was that simple.
But it isn’t. It never has been.
Because what is there to figure out, really? They’ve been orbiting each other like this for years—too close to be just friends, too hesitant to be something more.
And Mix has always been the one keeping that distance.
So why does it feel like the line between them has blurred even further?
He shifts slightly, trying to ignore the way Earth’s presence makes his skin feel too warm, too tight. He turns his head just enough to steal a glance at him.
Earth’s eyes are closed, his breathing deep and even, like he’s already fallen back asleep.
Mix exhales, finally letting himself relax a little.
Maybe he’s overthinking. Maybe Earth really didn’t mean anything by it. Maybe this is just Earth being Earth—casual and affectionate, like always.
Mix has spent years trying to convince himself that Earth’s touch never meant more than what it was. That it wasn’t dangerous, that it wasn’t tempting .
But then Earth shifts closer—just slightly, barely brushing against Mix’s arm—and suddenly, all of Mix’s careful reasoning falls apart.
Because it is dangerous.
And it is tempting.
And fuck , he’s in trouble.
Mix must have drifted off at some point because when he opens his eyes again, the room is bathed in soft morning light.
And Earth is already awake.
He’s lying on his side, scrolling through his phone, looking completely unbothered. Like it’s normal for them to wake up like this, together, in the same bed.
Like Mix isn’t having a full-blown existential crisis over it.
“Morning,” Earth says casually, not even looking up.
Mix swallows. “Morning.” His voice comes out scratchy, sleep-heavy. He clears his throat, forcing himself to sit up.
Earth finally glances at him, his expression unreadable. “Sleep okay?”
Mix hesitates. Then, begrudgingly, he nods. “Yeah.”
And he did.
Better than he has in weeks, if he’s being honest.
Earth hums, his lips twitching like he wants to say something, but he just turns back to his phone instead.
For some reason, that annoys Mix.
“You’re not going to make fun of me?” he asks before he can stop himself.
Earth smirks, still not looking at him. “Do you want me to?”
“No,” Mix says quickly.
Earth chuckles. “Then I won’t.”
Mix narrows his eyes at him, suspicious. “Why not?”
Earth finally looks up, and his smirk softens into something softer, calming. “Because I meant what I said last night.”
Mix blinks. “Which part?”
Earth shrugs. “All of it.”
Mix swallows. He doesn’t know what to do with that answer, so he just swings his legs over the side of the bed and stands up, stretching.
He needs to leave this room. He needs to put some distance between them before he does something stupid .
But just as he’s about to grab his pillow and blanket, Earth’s voice stops him.
“Hey, Mix?”
Mix freezes, but he doesn’t turn around. “…Yeah?”
A pause. Then—
“You can stay again, if you want.”
Mix’s stomach flips.
He should say no. He should walk out of this room and pretend none of this ever happened.
But instead, he finds himself gripping his pillow just a little tighter.
He doesn’t say anything.
But he also doesn’t say no.