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(…Finally asleep.)
Sensing the calmness settling over the presence beside him, Gil lets out a quiet breath.
It must be well past midnight.
Lizel has finally closed his book and decided to sleep.
“……”
He hadn’t been paying much attention anyway, so there’s no reason to fully wake up.
Just as Gil lets the sound of Lizel’s steady breathing lull him back toward sleep—
The air trembles, just slightly.
(…?)
An odd sound.
Unnatural breathing.
(…Is he crying?)
No—
it sounds more like he’s laughing.
A faint, breathy laugh reaches Gil’s ears.
Suspicious, he rises without a sound. Since he’s awake anyway, he may as well check on Lizel.
He steps closer—and then hears it.
“…fufu.”
A smile slips out, mingled with his breathing.
When Gil peers down at him, Lizel looks utterly content, his expression blissfully at ease.
(…He looks happy.)
Happy—despite everything about this place being full of uncertainty and inconvenience.
(He did say this was a “vacation,” after all.)
Lizel’s cautious wariness had lasted only a few days.
He’s the kind of man who understands ten things without needing to be told one.
From fragments of words and subtle nuances in attitude, he must have found something worth feeling at ease about.
“….”
A strange sensation draws Gil’s gaze to his right hand.
His fingers are tangled in Lizel’s soft hair, lifting a single lock.
“……”
Wanting to think about nothing at all, Gil lets the strands slip through his fingers.
The motion—almost like brushing it smooth—is entirely unconscious.
He should just return to his own bed.
Lie down. Close his eyes. Sleep.
He knows that.
And yet, he can’t move.
He can’t control his own body.
This sensation—this loss of command—is new.
With a thin sigh standing in for a tongue click, half in resignation, Gil lets the back of his fingers brush against Lizel’s lips.
Then—
Lizel’s lips move, faintly, stroking against his finger.
“……”
Just for a moment, Gil thinks he hears his name, breathed rather than spoken.
Lizel’s peaceful face softens into a satisfied smile.
As though everything has been forgiven.
That sudden, unguarded permission hits him hard.
Gil finds himself staring, dazed.
He wasn’t sure how long he stayed like that—he wanted to believe it was only a few seconds—but eventually, he managed to regain control and pull his fingers away from Lizel.
As he did, a strange impulse welled up inside him, and as if to cover it up, he pressed his lips briefly to the top of Lizel’s head.
Only then did he return to his own bed.
And yet—ultimately.
The lingering sensation on his fingers is unbearable—
something he wants to forget immediately, and yet never forget at all.
He barely sleeps.
By the time the window begins to pale with dawn, he gives up and reaches for the book on the side table.
He finishes three short chapters before movement at the edge of his vision catches his eye.
Lizel is waking, blinking blearily.
That deeply satisfied smile from before—
was it unconscious?
Or not?
Once the thought forms, Gil can’t stop watching him.
“…Good morning,” Lizel murmurs.
“….”
He opens his eyes only halfway, softening his gaze in what might be the bare minimum of consideration.
He doesn’t even try to lift his head.
The sheer lack of guard—the softness of it—makes Gil laugh before he can stop himself.
“You were laughing in your sleep,” he says, half to cover it, stepping closer to Lizel’s bed.
“…Really?”
“That’s kind of embarrassing,” Lizel says, his expression easy as Gil tilts his face up slightly.
“Gil?”
He follows the motion without hesitation.
No wariness. No rejection. No dislike.
Lizel probably doesn’t realize it himself, but for someone so intelligent, he can be remarkably oblivious.
Whatever he was given in his sleep—
Gil decides to take it as permission.
“I waited until you woke up,” he mutters. “So don’t complain.”
The movement, the air between them—there’s more than enough for Lizel to understand, even half-asleep.
And if he truly disliked it, he would have reacted instantly.
Gil edges closer, testing for resistance.
Nothing.
In the end, almost recklessly, he presses his lips to Lizel’s.
“……”
He pulls away reluctantly, watching for the reaction that must come.
“…fufu.”
After blinking a few times, Lizel smiles—deeply, contentedly.
The same smile as before.
“What?” Gil asks.
“I don’t remember very well,” Lizel says, eyes melting softly.
“But I think I was having a pleasant dream.”
That’s his answer.
To his first words of the morning.
Not a single comment about the kiss he was just given.
Gil lets his displeasure show.
Lizel’s gaze loosens further, turning sweet—so sweet it makes Gil pause, momentarily entranced.
And then it clicks.
Whatever dream Lizel had enjoyed—
Gil wasn’t in it.
That realization irritates him more than it should.
Jealous of a dream…
He nearly sighs at himself, then shifts the blame elsewhere.
How awake is Lizel, really?
Even if he were fully conscious, waiting for words from someone who has no intention of offering them would be pointless.
He wasn’t rejected.
That’s good enough.
“Your reactions are way too mild,” Gil mutters.
He turns back to his book, choosing to give up cleanly.
And hopes—
that the quiet complaint slipping from his lips never reaches Lizel’s ears.