Chapter Text
They’re heading back to Shin’s house. The rain hasn’t stopped. It falls in a soft, steady curtain that blurs the streetlights into pale halos as the bike glides through the night.
Saint’s voice from earlier “I love you too, ai Shin”, keeps returning to Shin without warning, and he keeps smiling before he realizes he’s doing it.
Saint raises his voice over the rain.
“Ai Shin! You still have rice at home, right?”
Shin leans a little closer to hear him. “Why?”
Saint hums, tired but light. “I can make something quick. Just don’t want to think too hard tonight.”
Shin hits the back of Saint’s helmet lightly, familiar. “You worked late again.”
“Mm. Dad and I finished everything late.”
Shin taps the side of Saint’s helmet lightly again,
“You could’ve slept more this morning.”
Saint groans dramatically. “Oi!! Stop hitting me. And I wanted to come to school with you.”
Shin raises a brow. “You never look this excited when you actually reach school.”
Saint laughs. “School is boring. Going with you is fun.”
Shin flicks the helmet again. “You have strange definitions of fun.”
Saint laughs louder, voice bright even through the rain.
“And yet you still keep me.”
Shin lets a quiet breath escape, neither agreement nor denial, just fond.
Their laughter fades. The drizzle softens into the sound of quiet needles against their helmets. A familiar silence settles over them.
Shin shifts slightly, steadying himself on the bike. Something stirs low in his stomach. Just a gentle flutter that wakes each time Saint’s rain-soaked voice circles back to him: 'I love you too, ai Shin'
He exhales slowly, confused but strangely calm, letting the road and the night carry him.
As they continue down the road, the familiar turns of his neighborhood appear one by one - the old bus stop, the children’s park washed clean by rain. Shin has seen them a hundred times from this seat, following Saint’s steady driving, but tonight everything feels gentler.
An old couple walks under a single umbrella on the sidewalk, their shadows stretching into the wet road. Shin notices it, the quiet closeness, the shared movement, the way two figures merge into one shape. The image settles somewhere quiet in him as he focuses back on the hum of the bike and the silver rain.
They pull up in front of Shin’s gate. Rain drips from their jackets as they lock the bike and leave their helmets under the porch. When they step inside, Saint greets Shin’s mother with a cheerful smile, brushing water from his sleeves.
“Freshen up, kids,” she says, “I’ll make dinner real quick.”
“P’Saint!” Chingching squeals from the living room and runs toward him with tiny arms wide open, stopping just short of a hug.
Saint laughs softly, “Hey. Not yet, I’m soaked. I’ll hug you after I change, Or you might catch a cold, Okay na?”
Chingching nods solemnly.
Shin raises an eyebrow. “Oi, Chingching! Your brother is home too, you know. And you’re going to Saint first?”
Chingching plants her fists on her hips with dramatic seriousness. “P’Saint is my brother too, P’Shin!”
Saint grins, Shin rolls his eyes, and their mother lets out a quiet laugh as she disappears into the kitchen.
They head upstairs to Shin’s room, their clothes still damp and their hair dripping in thin lines down their necks. Shin reaches into his shelf and pulls out a clean towel, tossing it to Saint before disappearing toward the bathroom.
“Here. Dry yourself a little before you shower.”
Saint catches the towel with a tired nod, rubbing it through his hair, then down his arms and the front of his shirt. He breathes out, weary in that soft way the night rain always leaves him, and sits on the edge of Shin’s bed, still wiping stray droplets from his sleeves.
The sound of running water begins on the other side of the wall, Shin’s shower steady and familiar. Saint leans back sitting on the edge, resting his palms behind him, eyelids heavy, shoulders slowly relaxing into the quiet of the room. He dries his hair once more and lets the towel fall loosely across his lap.
The room is warm, the rain muted beyond the window, and the day’s exhaustion settles over him like a blanket. Saint closes his eyes for a moment, just to rest them, and his breathing eases into the rhythm of the shower and the rain outside. Within minutes, sleep pulls at him gently, and he slips into it without resistance, head tilted slightly, towel still in his hands, looking peaceful and entirely at home.
Shin steps into the room, towel still in his hands, and stops mid-movement.
Saint is asleep on the edge of the bed, shoulders relaxed, head dipped forward, the towel resting loosely in his fingers. His wet hair curls slightly at the ends, and the steady rhythm of his breathing fills the room more than the rain outside does.
A soft warmth rises in Shin’s chest. There’s something quietly comforting about seeing Saint asleep here, in his room, with no hesitation or distance, the kind of closeness that has always belonged to them without either of them noticing.
For a moment, Shin simply watches him, letting the peacefulness settle. But Saint is still damp, and if he sleeps like this, he’ll wake up cold and miserable, maybe even sick by morning.
Shin steps closer and rests a hand on Saint’s shoulder, giving it a gentle shake.
“Saint. Wake up for a bit.”
Saint stirs with a soft groan, blinking himself back into the room. His eyes are hazy, unfocused. “Mm? What time is it?”
“You still need to shower,” Shin says quietly. “You’re soaked. You’ll get sick.”
Saint rubs his eyes, a little pouty from sleep, then nods. “I forgot.”
Shin almost smiles at how soft and boyish Saint looks right now, still half asleep and clutching the towel. “Go. Before you fall asleep again.”
Saint gets to his feet reluctantly. He shuffles a little toward the bathroom, rubbing at his face.
Shin sets a few things on his desk without thinking, letting the warmth in his chest rest wherever it wants to.
Saint steps out of the bathroom, hair damp, towel hanging over one shoulder, wearing one of Shin’s shirts. On Shin the shirt hangs loose; on Saint it fits closer across the shoulders and arms, just enough to show the difference.
Shin looks up from the sweater in his hands. The sight makes him pause, not long, just a soft interruption in his rhythm, Saint rubbing water from his hair, sleeves pushed up, moving easily around the room.
Something unfamiliar stirs in Shin’s chest. He presses the crease flat and keeps folding.
“You done?” Shin asks.
“Barely,” Saint sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I almost fell asleep in there.”
Shin lets out a small snort. “Try not to drown next time.”
Saint nudges Shin’s shoulder as he passes. “Wow, Shin. You don’t even care if I drown.”
Shin rolls his eyes, but a faint smile pulls at his mouth anyway. He sets the folded sweater aside and stands.
Saint heads toward the stairs, humming under his breath. Shin follows a step behind.
The smell of food and the soft clatter of dishes drift up from the kitchen, and the house feels full.
Dinner is ready by the time they sit down. Steam rises from hot rice and simple dishes.
As Shin reaches for his spoon, Saint takes a clove of garlic and begins peeling it without looking up. He places it on Shin’s plate. Shin adds a bit of stir-fried vegetables he knows Saint likes. Saint doesn’t react, and Shin doesn’t comment. The habit has lived between them longer than either of them remembers.
They eat slowly, letting the sound of rain fill whatever silence remains. Chingching leans heavily against Shin halfway through the meal, fighting sleep with tiny, stubborn blinks.
“She’s done,” Saint mutters softly.
Shin nods and lifts her up, her head dropping onto his shoulder the moment he stands. Saint trails behind as Shin carries her down the hallway, switching on the light and helping tuck her blanket near her chin where she always reaches for it.
Chingching mumbles something like “goodnight” without opening her eyes.
“Sleep well,” Saint whispers, even though she’s already gone.
They leave the door half-closed and head upstairs. The house settles, the kitchen quiet, footsteps softened, windows shimmering with silver.
Back in Shin’s room, Saint sits cross-legged on the bed, towel draped loosely over his shoulders as he dries the last of his hair. Shin lies on his stomach at the edge of the bed, flipping through a thin stack of old worksheets he finds under a pile of notebooks, not reading, just touching familiar paper.
Saint leans over a little, pointing at a messy doodle Shin drew in the corner of one page.
“You still draw like this? It looks like a chicken.”
Shin flicks Saint’s forehead.
“It’s a tree.”
Saint squints at it. “Where are the leaves?”
Shin sighs. “Use your imagination.”
Saint laughs softly. “My imagination still says it’s a chicken.”
Shin flicks him again,"You're judging art?”
Saint rubs his forehead dramatically. “Violence. In my own home.”
“You’re in my room,” Shin mutters.
Saint grins. “Same thing.”
The room feels warm and unhurried, like the night has nowhere else to be.
Saint settles onto Shin’s bed the way he always has, stretching a little before sinking under the shared blanket. Shin lies beside him, staring up at the ceiling for a moment.
“You’re sleepy early today,” Shin murmurs.
Saint hums, eyes already half-closed. “Didn’t sleep much last night.”
“Late delivery?” Shin asks quietly.
Saint nods. “Dad and I closed the shop really late. He was too tired to finish counting everything alone, so I stayed with him.”
Shin nods, understanding without asking more. “You could’ve rested this morning.”
Saint smiles, gentle and drowsy. “Dad woke me up early to go to the market anyway. If I didn’t move, he’d poke my forehead until I opened my eyes.”
Shin lets out a small breath - equal parts amusement and sympathy. “He never changes.”
Saint rolls onto his side, blanket tucked under his chin. “Neither do you.”
Shin turns his head slightly toward him. “Me?”
“You wake up early no matter when you sleep,” Saint says, voice warm and teasing. “I’m jealous.”
Shin shrugs, eyes on the ceiling again. “It’s habit.”
Saint grins weakly. “I wish habits were that easy for me.”
Shin flicks his shoulder lightly. “Sleep.”
Saint chuckles softly. “Order accepted.”
After a moment, Shin asks, “Did you eat properly today?”
Saint hums. “Dad fed me twice before going to work. He keeps worrying I’ll collapse somewhere.”
“You might,” Shin mutters, but without irritation.
Saint smiles lazily. “If I do, I’ll collapse on your bed.”
“Don’t,” Shin says.
Saint peeks one eye open. “Why not? It’s comfortable.”
Shin shakes his head once, half amused. “You’re impossible.”
Saint grins, but slowly, sleep tugging at him. “You’ve known that since we were kids.”
Shin doesn’t deny it.
The silence now is gentle, familiar — the kind that doesn’t need filling. Saint’s breathing begins to slow, deeper and steadier with every minute, tiredness finally settling into his bones.
“Goodnight, Shin,” Saint murmurs, voice soft and sincere.
“Goodnight,” Shin replies, barely louder than a whisper.
The rain continues outside, constant and quiet, as if it has decided to stay awake for both of them.
Saint’s breathing settles into a steady rhythm, deeper with every minute. His face softens, shoulders loose under the blanket, sleep taking over without hesitation. Shin lies beside him on his back, eyes half-closed.
At some unknown hour, the rain deepens, heavier, then softer again. And Saint shifts in his sleep, slow and unthinking. First his hand brushes Shin’s arm, then his body inches closer across the mattress, as if searching for warmth without ever waking.
Shin stirs but doesn’t open his eyes. The mattress dips slightly when Saint settles against him, one arm sliding loosely around Shin’s waist, palm resting over fabric, gentle and relaxed.
It’s not tight. Not intentional. Just the kind of closeness that belongs to sleep, not daylight.
Saint breathes differently now, slow, secure, unguarded, his forehead resting on Shin’s shoulder, a small, instinctive closeness that arrives only when the body trusts the space it’s in.
Shin doesn’t tense or pull away. Still half-asleep, he only lets the warmth settle. It doesn’t feel strange. It feels familiar. In a way he has never examined.
Saint doesn’t hold him like this every night. Only sometimes.
Shin’s eyes flutter once, hazy and unfocused. He adjusts just enough to make room for the arm at his waist, . The rain outside keeps its pace, patient and steady, as if it has always known how their nights work.
Sleep pulls him back before morning has time to arrive.
Hours later, early morning begins to lighten the edges of the window. Shin wakes first, as he always does. Saint’s arm is still around him, loose and warm, breath fanning steadily against his shoulder.
For a moment, Shin stays still, eyes half-open, not fully separate from sleep yet.
Then gently, carefully, he lifts Saint’s arm and shifts an inch away, not far, just enough so that when Saint eventually wakes, he won’t know how close they had been.
Saint doesn’t stir.
The rain has faded to a quiet drizzle, soft enough to almost disappear.
Shin lies back on his side of the bed, calm and rested, like nothing unusual happened at all.