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In full honesty, Sheet didn’t even want to come to this stupid reunion. If it weren’t for the fact that his phone was getting blasted with thousands of messages every hour of every day with his friends begging him to come, he probably wouldn’t have even woken up this early just to get ready. Okay, that’s a lie—kind of.
He probably, honestly, theoretically wouldn’t have come even if his friends had dragged his entire body all the way to the venue. He would’ve found a way—maybe escaping through the vents or by jumping out the nearest window. Either way, he would’ve done anything to get out of this.
So, you may be asking, “Sheet, why did you come then?”
Simple: he was told that Euro won’t be there.
Not that he has a problem with Euro, of course. It’s just—it’s a bit awkward to see the guy after what, ten years? He hasn't been updated on anything about the man since graduation. His friends try to bring it up, but Sheet really couldn’t be bothered less. He has his own priorities, his own responsibilities. He doesn’t have time to learn about whatever the hell Euro’s been up to.
He’ll admit that he is a bit… curious, per se. But that doesn’t mean he’ll indulge in his own curiosity. That’s just weird. Who does that for a person they barely speak to? Lots of people, probably—but not Sheet. He still has to keep his pride intact, you know? Besides, why should he do so when Euro hasn’t bothered to contact him all these years either? He hasn’t gotten a single message, a simple phone call, or even a stupid letter.
He’s not disappointed. Not at all. In fact, he doesn’t care at all whether or not Euro keeps in contact with him. Which exactly answers the question of why should Sheet reach out if the other doesn’t?
And that’s what Sheet does. He waits, and waits, and waits—but never initiates.
Until it reaches the point that eventually, Euro is completely gone from his life. The man is just a simple, nostalgic memory that will continue to haunt Sheet for the rest of his days. He doesn’t know what to feel about it. High school him would’ve felt relieved that finally, the stupid nepo baby was out of his hair.
Now? Sheet just feels a deep, dark pit of regret.
But it’s fine! Whatever, he’ll get over it. In like, five? Ten more years? Give or take, considering that it’s been ten years already and he’s still thinking about it. But that doesn’t mean he’s affected by it! No, not at all. He’s cool, so cool with this. Like, coolest of all cool that you could stick him in a freezer and the rest of the ice cubes would think, “woah! this guy is cool as hell!”
Sheet straightens the collar of his button-up shirt and takes a deep breath, staring at the grand door in front of him. He contemplates for a long moment, wondering whether or not he should even enter the ballroom. He can still leave, really. He can just… walk right out of the hotel, get back in his car, and drive all the way back to his house. He considers it for a moment, briefly wondering if his friends actually paid off the security guards with strict orders to ‘make sure Sheet doesn’t escape.’
They didn’t, probably. Although, he wouldn’t be surprised if they did.
Taking another deep breath, he finally musters up the courage and wraps his hand around the heavy metallic door handle. Slowly, he pushes the door open, expecting to see bright lights, familiar faces, and tables stacked with food.
Instead, the first thing he sees is the one man that he wanted to avoid seeing at all costs tonight.
The man’s eyes snap up toward the door, and immediately, his gaze lands directly on Sheet. His eyes widen, and he almost drops the wine glass in his hand before whispering: “Sheet?”
Sheet freezes, his fingers still tightly wrapped around the handle as he feels everyone’s heads turn to look at him. The room fills with mixed reactions—some of their old classmates look genuinely excited to see him again, while others immediately focus on the strange, high tension happening between the two of them right at the entrance.
Sheet can feel his heart racing, his newly ironed suit suddenly feeling suffocatingly hot and tight, with his grip starting to slip off the handle. And so, he does the first thing that comes to his mind:
He runs.
He runs, and runs, and runs—and he isn’t exactly sure where he’s running, but he continues to run anyway. His mind and heavy uneven breathing patterns are telling him to stop, but his legs won’t listen. All of his senses are basically yelling ‘danger, danger!’ as he tries to escape.
He doesn’t understand how, or why he’s here, but he suddenly finds himself on the rooftop of the hotel.
Once his mind finally processes his surroundings, his body comes to an abrupt halt. His legs practically give out from under him, sending Sheet crashing down to his knees. He takes long, desperate gasps of air, trying to compose himself—but he cannot fucking breathe.
His lungs feel like they're about to explode at any moment as he forces oxygen into his chest. He regrets, once again, every single decision that led him here tonight. Suddenly, a wave of pure, unadulterated frustration takes over his entire body.
“Fuck!” he shouts with everything he has. He still can’t stand, but he takes it out on the floor, continuously slamming his fists against the concrete beneath him as his mind replays Euro's face over and over again. “Oh my fucking god…” Sheet cries out.
He can feel himself wanting to cry. Is he crying? He’s not crying. But he can feel his eyes starting to sting, tears threatening to drop down his face. He closes his eyes and takes one last deep breath, doing everything in his body to prevent himself from crying, and that’s when he finally manages to clear his mind. Unfortunately, he’s still awfully angry.
His friends said that Euro wasn’t going to be there! That it’ll be a regular reunion party with drinking and eating, and then they’ll go home. For fuck’s sakes, Sheet didn’t even think that the party would last up until twelve in the morning. But now he’s here, on the roof, at ten o’ clock at night, stuck like a pathetic idiot since he abused his legs until they reached past their limit.
He can feel himself wanting to cry again. But he won’t, because it’s pathetic to cry over a man—especially a man named Euro. He wants to hit himself, because that was fucking humiliating! Sheet is a grown man. He has a stable, high-paying job, he supports his family, he lives in a house that is bigger than what a single person should live on by himself—and yet, he still cries over a man that he once liked ten fucking years ago.
Except, he’s not even sure if those feelings ever went away.
He lets out one final scream to empty his chest, breathing a sigh of relief as his heart finally starts to slow its frantic pace.
Ding!
A loud chime echoes from behind him. Sheet snaps his head around and stares in utter disbelief as a pair of metal doors slide open. There’s a person standing inside.
It’s Euro.
Before Sheet's brain can even begin to process how unbelievable this whole situation is right now, his mouth moves on pure survival instinct.
“There was a fucking elevator?”
“Well, yeah. It’s a hotel,” Euro states, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. And it probably is, but Sheet really isn’t in the right state of mind to argue.
Euro steps out onto the concrete, the rooftop breeze catching his clothes as he walks toward him. He’s holding a bottle of wine in one hand, and two empty wine glasses dangling from his fingers in the other.
Sheet immediately turns his head back, focusing intently on admiring the city view—definitely not because he wants to ignore Euro and his entire existence. Nope, not at all. Unfortunately for him, the man in question takes a seat beside him, setting down the bottle and glasses right between them in the center.
Great, him and Euro on a rooftop. Doesn’t that bring back memories?
The two of them sit in silence, and Sheet can’t tell if it’s supposed to be a comfortable silence rather than a suffocating, awkward one. Perhaps it’s only Sheet who feels like his skin is crawling while Euro feels completely comfortable. That’s a little rude, isn't it?
Euro breaks the silence between them. “How are you?” He asks, his voice slightly breathless.
Sheet doesn’t turn to look at the boy, his eyes firmly fixed on the view of glowing buildings and blinking lights in front of them. “I’m—“ Alright? A liar? Miserable? Completely missing you? “I’m doing fine.”
Euro hums. “Good,” he mutters. And he isn’t exactly sure why, but that simple response is what makes him crack, slowly turning his head to look at Euro who is looking at the view in front of them, mimicking Sheet’s earlier position.
And Sheet immediately feels his heart breaking. It’s dramatic, but seeing Euro up close for the first time in ten years makes him furious at how unfair the universe is. Why does Euro get to look like a cinematic masterpiece under the moonlight while Sheet is sitting here with a ruined suit and bloodshot eyes? One look at him—just one look at the slope of his nose and the quiet way he breathes—and Sheet is violently reminded that he never stood a chance at moving on.
And he hates that looking at Euro again serves as a constant reminder of what could’ve been—what they never were. The amount of time between them, gone to waste because Sheet was a total coward. And the worst part is that he can’t even blame himself for thinking that way, because it’s the truth. No matter how many times he tries to think it over, or deny it, or try to reason with his inner mind—he will never live up to Euro’s league.
Because even until now, time has only worked in Euro’s favor. The boy from high school is entirely gone, replaced by a man with a sharper jawline, expensive cologne that easily cuts through the rooftop air, and an effortless elegance that Sheet could never replicate. He looks successful, he looks mature. He looks like someone who didn't spend the last ten years crying over the ghost of his past.
Euro seems to notice him staring, turning to look back at Sheet. And this time, Sheet has a closer look of his face, close enough that he notices the tiny details now. The slight, tired shadows under Euro's eyes, the way he holds himself just a bit tighter against the cold wind, and the fact that he's still wearing that familiar, stupidly expensive silver ring on his thumb. He isn’t as untouchable as he remembers him to be. He actually looks—human. As human as the rest of them. He looks real, close enough that Sheet wants to reach out and touch him gently, carefully in order to not break him.
But he doesn’t. The boy clenches his fists to prevent himself from leaning in. Instead, he grabs the bottle between them, removing the cork with his teeth, and takes a huge chug directly.
Euro stares at him, completely baffled before closing his eyes and letting out a breathless laugh. Sheet feels pride in making the other happy. Honestly, he can probably sleep properly now that he knows that he made Euro of all people laugh.
But in high school, he wouldn’t have considered that as an achievement, but rather an everyday occurrence instead.
“You do know that I brought wine glasses for a reason, yeah?” Euro says with a small smile on his face. Sheet can’t get over how pretty his smile looks.
“It’s easier this way.” Sheet replies, offering the bottle to Euro. “You want?”
Euro stares at him for a moment, and Sheet can’t even read him anymore like he used to. The man glances at the bottle for a second and takes it away from Sheet’s grasp, taking a small sip of the wine.
“This tastes like shit.” Euro groans, placing the bottle down on the floor.
Sheet snorts. “Of course, since you’re so used to drinking expensive, one-of-a-kind types of wines.” Sheet won’t even bother to dwell on the fact that the wine they just drank probably costs his entire mortgage.
Euro looks at him, completely deadpan and offended that Sheet can’t help but let out an amused giggle.
“So,” Euro starts. “What are you doing up here?” And suddenly, the atmosphere around them turns tense.
‘I don’t know, probably because I ran away the moment I saw you and just blindly sprinted to the highest point possible’ is what Sheet would’ve said, but he doesn’t. Instead, he says, “Just needed some fresh air before I faced everyone.”
“I’m pretty sure everyone already saw you.”
Sheet smiles, letting out a breathless laugh of disbelief. “Okay, better question: how exactly did you find me?”
It’s like his mouth has a mind of its own tonight.
Euro raises a brow, looking entirely unbothered. “It’s very simple to ask the guards if they’ve seen a grown man frantically running across the entire hotel.”
Sheet winces, internally cringing at his own actions. “Right…”
There’s a moment of silence between them once more. Less awkward compared to earlier, but there's still some hidden tension between them that they don’t dare to talk about, or more like Sheet is the one who doesn’t dare to pass the boundary.
“Can I ask a question then?” Euro mutters.
Sheet hesitates before eventually nodding.
“Why did you run?”
Sheet can feel his heart racing again. A million other questions go through his mind as he tries to process the question. Why? Why did he run? Sheet can feel a bitter, hysterical laugh bubbling up in his throat. Because which time was Euro asking? Earlier today, or ten years ago?
He wants to lie, say that he doesn’t know. That he isn’t exactly sure why, just like what he answers every time someone asks him. Because he’s a liar, a big ‘ol liar who does nothing but lie to himself. But he can’t this time, not with Euro.
He’s confident that he realized this ten years ago as well.
The wind brushes against his hair as the cool breeze makes Sheet feel sleepy. He has one eye open, with the other blocking out the sun that shine against his face.
“You’re actually, genuinely insane.” Sheet says, barking out a loud laugh at Euro, who is looking at him like he’s the insane one.
Euro scoffs. “Well, sorry for being so confident about it!” His tone is angry, but the huge smile on his face says otherwise.
The two of them sit on the concrete of the school’s rooftop. Technically, they aren’t allowed to be here, but with Euro’s influence and Sheet having the keys as Council President? They’re basically free to do whatever they want. Sheet wasn’t one to usually indulge in Euro’s tactics, but the boy practically forced him to take a break, so here they are.
He has an aching suspicion that Euro only did this to get out of tutoring, but he’ll let him off the hook this time.
“No, no, it’s just—I’ve been so tense lately, you know? I mean, graduation is around the corner and I don't— I don’t exactly know what I want to be?” Sheet admits, letting out a deep sigh from his chest. He turns to look at Euro. “You’ll probably take over the family business right after college, right?”
Euro shrugs. “Probably, if they let me. You can always work for me, if you want.”
“You’re already my boss at the cafe. I’m so sick of seeing your stupid face all the time.” Sheet playfully rolls his eyes.
“I’m serious though. You can like—work for the company, just until you can get up on your feet.”
“N-no? I mean, I appreciate the offer, but you can’t expect me to rely on you all the time, Eu.”
“I’m not offering to let you rely on me, I'm just saying that you’ll always have me to fall back on.” Euro tells him, his eyes full of trust that it makes Sheet want to take up the offer on the spot. But he knows better than to fall for Euro’s charm.
Sheet lets out a breathless laugh. “Okay, I'll consider it.” And that manages to make Euro smile once again. Sheet places his face against his arms, resting them on his knees.
“You don’t have to be afraid of relying on me, Sheet.” Euro mutters. “I’m willing to give you everything—anything that you want. I’ll do it for you in a heartbeat, even if it means giving up my life for you.”
Sheet looks up at him with wide eyes, completely speechless. He forces a laugh. “What, like running away together?”
He says it as a joke, but Euro’s eyes are completely serious. Sheet’s smile drops.
“No—no.”
“I’m sorry, Sheet, but I can't do this anymore—“
“Eu, please, stop.”
“I have loved you since I've known you, Sheet. I couldn’t help it—“
“Eu, please.”
“And—and I tried to show you but you wouldn’t let me—“
“No!” Sheet starts to stand on his feet, but Euro quickly follows suit.
“Which is fine! But I must make you hear now, and give me an answer—because I cannot go on like this anymore!” Euro cries out, following Sheet as the boy tries to walk away.
“Please—please don’t, Euro.” But the boy doesn’t listen. Instead, Euro grabs his wrist to make him listen.
“I gave up billiards, I gave up everything you didn’t like—“ Sheet can feel his breath hitch. “I’m happy I did, it’s fine! And I waited, and I never complained because i—“ Euro takes a moment to catch his breath. Licking his upper lip to form his next words. “Because I figured you love me, Sheet.”
Sheet lets out a shaky breath, tears welling in the corners of his eyes as his vision blurs. He can feel his hands shaking, wanting to reach out and completely cover Euro’s mouth to shut him up because he doesn’t want to hear any of it. He doesn’t know where to start. He doesn’t know how to tell Euro that he does love him, but he just—he can’t.
Euro rushes to fill the heavy silence between them. “And I realize now that I’m not half good enough, and that I'll never be this great man for you—”
“No, no!” Sheet cuts him off, immediately stepping toward Euro and placing his hands firmly on his shoulders. “You are a great, wonderful boy, Euro. And I have no doubt you’ll be an amazing man someday, and…” Sheet bites the inner corner of his lip. “And that’s exactly why I can't be with you.”
Euro stares at him, his eyes clouded with a confusion so deep it’s like he thinks his own ears are deceiving him. “What?”
“You!” Sheet groans. “You deserve a person who can be with you no matter what happens. Someone who is willing to sacrifice everything for you, just as much as you’re willing to do for them. Someone who will place you as their top priority every single time, and I’m—I’m not that person, Eu.”
“But I’m not expecting you to drop everything for me, Sheet. I’ll forever be happy just being with you—”
“You don’t understand, Euro! I’ll never be enough for you. I can never fit into your world, with your high society friends or your fancy dinner parties. You deserve someone who understands you in every single way, and I will never be that person.”
“Why can’t you see that none of that matters to me, Sheet? I just want you—only you. Isn’t that enough?” Euro begs, his voice cracking.
“No. No, it’s not, Euro. You don’t get it, and you never will. And that’s fine, but you can’t win this.” Sheet sighs, his chest aching from how violently his heart is pounding against his ribs. “This is a battle I have to fight on my own, along with all the future battles I have to face. I just—I can’t let this get in the way. I can’t drag you down with me.”
Euro goes quiet. For a fraction of a second, Sheet thinks he’s finally succeeded in convincing him to let go. But then the boy mutters, “Do you love me?”
Sheet feels his entire composure cracking. “What?”
“Do you love me?” Euro repeats, stepping closer. “I just need to know. Just say the word, and I'll let you go.”
“I don’t see why this matters—”
“Sheet.”
He pauses, the weight of the silence pressing down on his shoulders like lead. He forces himself to think about it deeply, calculating the cost of his next words.
“No,” he decides. His voice is steady, betraying absolutely nothing of the heavy lie puncturing his chest. “I don’t.”
Euro looks up, staring Sheet directly in the eye. Sheet can feel his sharp, pinning glare trying to break him—but Sheet forces himself to be stronger than that. He’s gone through too much to break now. He can handle Euro.
But for a mere fraction of a second, Sheet's gaze flickers with a wave of doubt. And that tiny slip is all it takes to make Euro snap.
“Lie,” Euro mutters.
Sheet’s brows furrow, the knot in his stomach tightening by the second. “I’m not lying.”
”Oh, yes you are,” Euro scoffs, a bitter, breathless laugh escaping him. “You are a liar, Pacharat.”
“Oh, so now you’re mad?”
“Yes, I am! Because I can’t believe that after all this time, you still have the audacity to lie straight to my face.”
“You wanted an answer, Euro! I gave you one, didn’t I?”
Euro lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Wow, fine. Lie all you want. But no matter how many battles you face, Sheet, the only fight you’ll never win is the lie against yourself.”
With that, Euro turns his back, walking away and leaving Sheet completely alone on the rooftop with the fracturing voices in his mind.
Yeah. Even after ten years, that memory still stings like hell. Like a thousand wasps coming together to sting your body until you can’t even lift a finger anymore. That’s exactly how Sheet feels about it.
Euro continues to look at him expectantly, and that quiet pressure gives Sheet the final push he needs.
“I was terrified,” he mutters, his voice barely cutting through the rooftop breeze. “Seeing you just made my brain short-circuit. I don't know... you’ve always been able to get my heart racing, like massive adrenaline rush. So it scared me, seeing you again like that. Admittedly, I've always been a little terrified of you, even before we officially met.” Sheet lets out a self-deprecating chuckle.
Still, he isn’t exactly sure which time Euro actually meant—earlier tonight or ten years ago. But judging from Euro's reaction—a simple, slow nod of his head—Sheet assumes he got the answer right. Hopefully.
Euro doesn't look away. Instead, his gaze drops down to his hands, his thumb slowly tracing the edge of that familiar silver ring.
A soft breath escapes Euro's lips—not a groan of frustration, but a quiet, fond huff.
“You’re still an idiot, President,” Euro says softly, turning his head back to look at him. “Ten years later, and you still sprint away from your problems like a guilty high schooler.”
Sheet opens his mouth to bark out a sharp, defensive retort, but the words die in his throat when he sees the tiny, familiar curve of Euro’s lips. It’s the exact same one Euro used to give him when Sheet would overcomplicate a simple math problem during tutoring.
“I don't sprint,” Sheet mutters under his breath, looking down at his shoes. “It was a fast walk.”
“You didn’t even bother to close the door,” Euro counters, his voice filled with amusement. He grabs the bottle of wine between them, and instead of drinking it, Euro picks up the two empty glasses. “But at least you're finally being honest with me.”
Sheet’s brows furrow at the movement, his mind entirely forgetting that those wine glasses were even there in the first place. Euro hands one glass to Sheet, his fingers brushing against Sheet's cold knuckles.
“Drink,” Euro commands quietly.
Sheet takes the glass automatically, his mind still failing to keep up with any of this, still trying to process what Euro is trying to do, but he obeys anyway. He watches as Euro takes a soft sip from his own glass before setting it down. When Euro looks back up, the playful charm is entirely gone. His eyes are serious, just like they were ten years ago.
“If I’m the one who makes your heart race,” Euro starts, his voice steady and low, “then why did you tell me you didn't love me?”
Sheet freezes, the wine glass stopping halfway to his lips.
“That’s not what I meant.” He pauses, realizing that there’s no point in trying to change the conversation. Euro knows exactly what he meant. “Euro, that was a decade ago—”
“I’m not asking about the time that passed, Sheet,” Euro cuts him off, leaning in just a fraction closer, close enough that Sheet can smell his expensive cologne. Is that Versace?
Stop. Not the time.
“I’m asking about the lie. Because you and I both know you were lying then,” Euro says, tilting his head slightly. “Are you still lying now?”
And like a dam that’s been cracking inch by inch since the start of this conversation, Sheet caves.
Suddenly, his body completely sags. The emotional tension that had been keeping him rigid vanishes, leaving nothing but the tired, bitter truth. Sheet lets out a long, shuddering exhale that trembles against the cold night air. He can’t bring himself to look Euro in the eyes anymore, so he focuses on the silver ring on the man’s thumb instead.
“Fine,” Sheet chokes out. “Yes, I was lying. I’ve been lying to myself every single day for the last ten years, Euro. Are you happy now?” He lets out a strained, breathless laugh, a heavy wave of relief washing over him just from finally releasing the words he’s kept bottled up for an entire decade. “You were right. It’s the only fight I never won.”
He sets his wine glass down on the concrete, finally forcing his eyes up to meet Euro's. “I thought I was—I loved you so much that it made me stupid, Euro. I loved you so much that I wanted to give you the world, but I knew that I couldn't. You could, and I felt like I could never live up to that.
“So I lied. It was the only way I knew how to let you go, and it has haunted me every single fucking day since. I’m so tired of pretending I don’t look for you in every crowd. I’m tired of pretending my chest doesn’t cave in every time someone accidentally mentions your name,” Sheet admits, his voice cracking under the weight of it. He lets out a weak chuckle, tears welling up and blurring his vision.
“And you know the worst part? I don’t even regret it. Not a single bit. Because if it meant letting you go by making you hate me, it was better than leading you on while knowing I could never give you a clear answer.” Sheet takes a shaky breath, his defenses completely shattered. ”Not until I knew that I was worthy of having you.”
Euro stays completely silent, and Sheet can’t even read what is happening behind his eyes anymore. It’s like they’re completely shielded from the rest of the world. He suddenly feels completely humiliated now, because he just laid himself bare to Euro, which is the last thing he thought he would ever do tonight. But he did, and now it’s killing him to wait for an answer.
“I would’ve waited for you.” Euro finally mutters.
Sheet scoffs. “Not that I doubt you, Euro, but there’s no way you wouldn’t have grown tired of me at some point.”
“Let me finish,” he interrupts, and Sheet completely shuts his mouth. “I would’ve waited for you, no matter how long it took. I don’t care if it meant you not talking to me for years, or prioritizing your career over me, or even acting like I didn't exist. I would’ve waited, because I did.” The mask Euro wears finally drops, and Sheet can see how hurt the man looks, but there’s also a flicker of relief in his eyes.
“I’ve been waiting for years, Sheet. Even when I thought that I would never see you again. Even when you never reached out, or throughout all the years that we cut off contact—I was still waiting.”
Sheet is left speechless. He doesn’t know what to do or say right now, and he doesn’t force himself to do so. Instead, he lets it all out—his frustrations, his pining, his exhaustion. All released by the tears in his eyes that he cannot contain anymore, a quiet, broken sob escaping his lips. He closes his eyes, bracing himself for the cold air, but it never comes.
Instead, he feels a warm body leaning against his, Euro shuffling closer to him. Then, a pair of soft hands reach out. Euro’s fingers gently cup Sheet's face, forcing him to stay anchored.
“Hey, it’s fine. You’re fine, yeah?” Euro mutters, his thumb slowly wiping away the tears on Sheet’s cheek. “You don’t have to run away from me anymore. I’ll be here, waiting for you.”
Sheet lets out a breathless chuckle, his lips trembling. He opens his eyes through a blurry haze, blinking once, twice. His breath hitches once his vision clears, realizing that their faces are barely inches away. Slowly, Euro leans in and places his forehead against Sheet’s.
“Euro, I like you.” Sheet admits, still dazed from his earlier breakdown. “I like you so much.”
Euro smiles. “I know.”
I know now, is left unsaid.
Sheet leans down, opting to rest his head down on Euro’s shoulder. He buries his face into his neck, breathing a sigh of relief from having said the words that he’s wanted to say for years.
Euro doesn't mutter a single word. He just holds him tight, his hand resting flat against the back of Sheet's head, letting his breathing tell Sheet everything his lips couldn't: I'm here. I'm not letting go this time.