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There’s only one bed.
Florian has just arrived at Blueberry Academy. Everything was smooth sailing until Director Cyrano told him his dorm is still under preparation.
Drayton had offered for Florian to sleep with him until Kieran, lips pressed tightly, interjected before the exchange student could say yes.
It caught Florian off guard, that’s for sure. To put it lightly, Kieran has changed, and it’s evident. He’s no longer the boy that hid behind Carmine when they first met, and it scares Florian.
He doesn’t know what to do, how to make amends between them after the events in Kitakami. He wished they could carry on as if nothing ever came between, but the cold expression Kieran gave him earlier in the day already speaks of the impossible. They couldn’t go back to being the friends they were, not like this. Florian knows. He knows the damage he’s done.
Now he stands awkwardly, with his suitcase and bag, peering inside Kieran’s dorm.
There’s only one bed. He reminds himself again.
No couches in sight. A few posters on the wooden walls all on battle strategies, boxes of potions, heals and some ability capsules crowd his desk. His gaze trails upwards and Florian sees something nostalgic. It’s the mask Kieran wore to the festival that night. Guilt stabs him in the chest like relentless knives, and he regrets lying to Kieran about the whole ordeal. Florian wonders if he really should be here, if Kieran even wants to see him after all of that happened. He sighs, and closes his eyes. There are still many things he needs to work out, but perhaps, if he puts the blame where it belongs, he can repair what’s left of their friendship.
He sees Kieran in the corner of the room, busying himself with a red marker and the poor strategising posters on the wall.
Florian takes a step into the dorm, the threshold of this shared space suddenly feeling like a chasm between the past and whatever fragmented future awaited them. The air is thick with tension, and the familiar scent of Kieran—like apples blossoms in Kitakami’s orchards—makes Florian’s heart ache with memories he’s desperate to reclaim. Kieran, oblivious to his presence, flips through a stack of papers, a deep frown creasing as he scribbles fiercely on the posters. His brow furrows in concentration, the red marker dancing across the surface, creating chaotic loops and sharp angles; a stark contrast to the boy Florian once knew who, despite his insecurities, always approached challenges with a hopeful spirit.
The boy looks up when Florian knocks gently on the doorframe, but he quickly averts his attention.
“Sorry, I didn’t hear you come in,” he says softly. The words hang between them, suspended like a delicate thread, taut and fragile. Florian stands just inside the doorframe, like a physical barrier that mirrors the emotional distance now stretching between them. He wants to step forward, to bridge that gap, yet he feels as though he’s intruding upon a sacred space, a sanctuary where only his presence is unwelcome. A strange mixture of nostalgia and anxiety churns in his stomach, and he swallows, feeling the weight of unsaid apologies and unhealed wounds pressing down on his chest.
He inhales deeply, and memories rush back, each one fleeting, whispering of sunlit days spent wandering through hills, laughter echoing through the air like a sweet melody. Yet now, the notes have been drowned in a discordant symphony of regret and unresolved tension.
Florian feels as though he’s caught in a dream where he doesn’t belong, where shadows dance mockingly around him, reminding him of the distance that has grown like an abyss since the events of Kitakami. Kieran’s back is still turned, the soft fabric of his shirt outlining the sharp lines of his shoulders, now more defined, more resolute than Florian remembers. The boy he once knew, full of uncertainty and kindness, has been replaced by a figure he no longer recognises.
He’s too far away to properly read Kieran’s expression, but he’s not sure if he likes the way he sounds. It makes him feel like he’s intruding, unwanted. Like he shouldn’t be here.
They both stand there awkwardly, neither of them knowing how to or want to break the silence. Neither of them know how to fix the problems flooding between them, and so they remain frozen like statues that have been cursed by Medusa. Finally, Kieran speaks.
“You wanna sit down?” His voice sounds distant, strained, and Florian feels his insides twist uncomfortably. He wheels his suitcase in and closes the door, before deciding to sit on the floor. He was not about to intrude on the only bed in this room. Kieran looks down at him, dumbfounded, and a blush slowly creeps onto his face.
“You can sit on my bed… y’know.” He clears his throat awkwardly, and Florian notices the colour rising higher on Kieran’s cheeks, “Since we have to share a room anyway.”
Florian lets out an embarrassed laugh. “I can take the floor.”
"I'll sleep on the floor. You can take my bed."
Kieran’s tone sounds resolute, and Florian finds it difficult to argue back. He bites his lips and nods, before managing a small ‘thank you’ that seems all too quiet in the room. Slowly, he unzips his suitcase and takes out his pyjamas, while Kieran is moving to take out blankets from the closet.
“Can I use the shower?”
“...It’s all yours.”
Kieran's voice is softer now, the tension in his shoulders easing ever so slightly. He hands over a set of towels, their fabric warm and inviting against Florian’s fingers. It’s a simple gesture, but one that evokes a rush of warmth in Florian’s chest, mingling with the sharp emotion of longing that’s become all too familiar.
“Thanks,” Florian replies, managing a small smile as he takes them. His gaze flickers to Kieran, who stands with his back to him, unfolding the blankets. The silence that envelops the room seems to thicken, wrapping around them like a cocoon, isolating them from the outside world. For a moment, Florian wonders if this was all a mistake; if walking back into Kieran’s life would only add to the weight of unresolved issues that hang between.
The bathroom door closes behind him with a soft click, and the sound echoes in his mind like a finality he’s not quite ready to accept. He takes a deep breath, and the scent of Kieran’s shampoo lingers in the air; like black currants and clean linen. It’s comforting, and yet it amplifies the ache in his heart.
He’d give anything for a chance to change the past.
After he finishes showering, Florian wraps a spare towel around his waist, taking care not to slip. He’s grateful to be rid of the sticky mess that was his uniform, and instead changes into an oversized tee and grey sweatpants. As he steps out of the bedroom, Florian spots Kieran sitting on the edge of his bed, his head buried deep in the pillows like his mind is equally in deep thoughts.
“I can take the floor, you know…” Florian attempts to joke, but his voice comes out sounding unsure. He’s uncertain whether it’s a good idea to intrude any further on Kieran’s privacy. Kieran, being caught red-handed, blushes furiously before he tries to argue.
“I-it’s not what it looks like…!” Kieran’s voice stammers out, a panicked flurry of words that hang in the air. His face is a tempest of emotions—shock, embarrassment, and an unmistakable flicker of something deeper. He pulls back from the pillow, wide, canary eyes darting towards Florian before he stands up hastily, taking his own pyjamas and heading to the bathroom with a click of the lock.
Florian traces his hand over the pillow. Kieran’s scent is heavy, almost overwhelming as he lays on top of the bed. He’s missed this, missed Kieran, regardless of what happened in the past. It’s both rewarding and embarrassing, to sleep in the bed of the boy he likes, but Florian ignores the latter anyway. It’s only for one night, and tomorrow he’ll be gone.
After what seems like eternity, Kieran finishes showering and gets into the makeshift bed on the floor. They both lay in complete darkness, waiting for sleep to claim them. But, there are a thousand unsaid things lingering in the air, and neither of them seem to be able to fall into a slumber. The air is suddenly humid, even though all the rooms are fully air-conditioned. He seems to be finding every fault within this confinement. Florian just has a problem with being in Kieran’s room… it’s too close.
They’re too close.
He could hear Kieran’s breathing, although the other had his back turned. His hair, no longer tied up, soft, dark loose strands that spread over the pillow. His figure is small under the blankets, and he looks like the Kieran that Florian knows again. Their proximity is a gap that can’t be bridged, and Florian’s eyes lid in melancholy.
If only he could reach out, to just touch him, look him in the eyes and confess that he can no longer stand their friendship being a bond severed, that he needs a way to escape from the heaven and nightmare that is their past.
Kieran shifts around, and their gaze meets. He quickly turns away, overwhelmed by embarrassment or something else, Florian couldn’t quite tell.
“Kieran…” He starts, quietly. Kieran jolts at the sound of his name.
“H-huh?” He turns to face Florian again, this time confused. Florian’s hand protrudes from under the blanket and reaches out to the boy next to him on the floor.
“What?”
He sounds exasperated now. Like he’s unsure whether Florian is just playing with his feelings and tricking him into a prank. Yet, when he sees Florian’s pleading gaze, he can’t bring himself to say no. After great hesitation, his own arm slowly reaches into the air.
Their hands touch.
His fingers are cold, Florian thinks, before flinging himself into Kieran’s outstretched arm and into his embrace.
“W-wowzers!” Kieran exclaims as Florian knocks the wind out of him, but his grip tightens in their intertwined hands, and Florian allows himself to be held by Kieran. The warmth that radiates off the latter soothes him, and even the floor doesn’t seem so hard under their tightly pressed bodies. “What are you doing…!”
Kieran looks immensely embarrassed, his face now fully red from how close they are, yet when he tries to let go of Florian’s hand and wrestle out of this position, the other resists. The Galarian snakes an arm around Kieran’s waist before pinning him down onto the floor.
The blanket slips from his shoulder. Florian’s eyes are sparkling, ignited by an emotion of yearning that is too strong to be withheld, and Kieran finds himself captivated in the hazel hues.
“Will you let me?” Florian asks, his voice with an urgency that Kieran can’t quite place. He’s torn between pretending that the past no longer exists as well as punching Florian right in the face, but the boy of his dreams is on top of him, asking for permission as if Kieran is the one in control. He could say no, but he can’t find himself to.
A strange sensation builds in his chest before he promptly wraps an arm and takes Florian by the neck, pressing his lips onto his own. The kiss is intense, Kieran is biting him, drawing blood, but Florian leans into it all the same. He’s surrounded by Kieran’s scent, touching his body, kissing him. As their lips part, both of them are panting heavily; Florian can hardly feel the sting in his lip from where Kieran bit it. He’s lost in his senses, lost in the warmth of Kieran’s skin beneath his palm. He wants nothing more than to pull Kieran closer, to hold onto him and never let go. Florian could see the hesitation in Kieran’s eyes, and something else that burns brighter than that.
The moonlight filters through the window, casting a soft, silvery glow across the room. It dances gently upon the floor, illuminating the contours of their tangled bodies, and it feels almost dreamlike. Florian’s breath hitches as he catches a glimpse of Kieran’s face.
In the soft light, he sees the faint traces of tears glistening in the corners of Kieran’s eyes—before he’s pulled into another kiss.