Work Text:
He tries to forget. Tries to distract himself with games, with anime, with music videos he doesn’t finish. But every quiet moment is haunted by that split-second decision: turning toward that guy on the couch. Saying “easy” with a smile.
He’d been joking. Teasing, even. He hadn’t really thought about kissing that stranger — not seriously. It was just a dumb dare at a dumb party.
But the second Per had stood up, voice cutting through the noise with that cracked “No,” something had shifted.
And then the kiss.
Too fast. Too desperate. Too real.
Tar hadn’t kissed him back. Not because he didn’t want to, not really, but because he hadn’t seen it coming. And because if he had let himself react in the moment, he would’ve been honest.
And honesty, when your best friend is looking at you like he’s about to break apart, is terrifying.
...
He replays it constantly. Not the kiss itself, but the aftermath. Per’s eyes, wide and shining, mouth parted like he wanted to say something else but didn’t have the words. The way he turned and bolted out the door like the house was on fire.
And Tar hadn’t moved.
Not until the cold hit him.
Not until it was too late.
...
Now, a week into break, Tar lies sideways on his bed, curled into a hoodie that doesn’t belong to him. It smells like fabric softener and faint cologne — and it smells like Per.
He never gave it back after that one sleepover when Per forgot to pack a change of clothes. He never planned to keep it. But now, he can’t bring himself to toss it aside.
Maybe it’s pathetic.
But it’s the only part of Per that hasn’t disappeared.
...
His mom keeps asking why he doesn’t want to hang out with his friends. Why he’s been quiet. Why he spends more time on the roof than in front of the TV.
He shrugs it off every time.
But he knows why.
He misses Per. Desperately. Angrily. Confusedly.
He misses the way Per would kick his foot under the lunch table for attention. How he’d get dramatic about the dumbest things, flopping into chairs and calling Tar “heartless” when he refused to lend him a charger. How they’d FaceTime at 2am just to talk about nothing.
And now, there’s just... silence.
...
Tar doesn’t know if the kiss meant I like you or I was drunk and stupid and possessive. He doesn’t know if he wants it to mean the first one or if he’s scared of what that would change.
But he knows this: it did mean something.
Because the moment Per kissed him, Tar’s heart didn’t scream no.
It whispered finally.
And that’s the part he can’t stop thinking about.
Not the party.
Not the kiss.
But the terrifying, electrifying thought that maybe, just maybe...
He’d wanted it, too.
But now Per is gone.
And Tar is left in a room full of sunlight, clutching an old hoodie, wondering how long it takes for someone to come back.
And whether they ever will.