Archive of Our Own

Niran could say, with utmost confidence, that he had learned a lot of things about Pete.

Not that he would, no matter who was asking. Admitting it would be confessing that he had been observing rather closely, which was both embarrassing and quite frankly incriminating. Plus, there was something pleasing about knowing things no one else did—to silently know him better than most.

Now that their souls were bound, it was impossible not to know him better than anyone. He was unsure if he would ever fully get used to being connected to someone to such a degree. Always finding each other. Needing each other. Feeling and knowing Pete better than he knew himself—like they've become one being whose brain loves its heart the most.

Niran had already made more impulsive decisions for Pete than he would ever allow himself. He liked to be prepared for things, to think them through instead of charging ahead and hoping for the best. Pete was his opposite in that way. He supposed that's another thing that completed them, too.

He had known Pete long enough to be prepared for just about anything.

Except for his complete lack of self control when it came to free drinks.

Don't get him wrong, he very much liked to pay every time they went out. There was a strange sense of deep comfort every time he could do something for Pete. And, well, there was his inherent inability to say no to Pete at all. One look from those eyes—hopeful in a way that was totally unfair—and it was over before it ever even began.

But, as he half carried half dragged him through the front door of their home, he really wished he hadn't let himself get so weak. He should've stopped Pete after his third drink. Instead, he let him have about three more until he was barely able to stand by himself. He fell asleep on the drive home and, upon waking up, declared he would not be moving a single one of his limbs ever again.

Niran had no choice but to open the passenger door and pull him out like a rag doll. He wasn't nearly strong enough to carry a conscious grown man, much less one that's actively falling asleep in his arms.

He did it anyway. Only because it was Pete.

With great effort, they made it towards the couch, where Niran—with all the gentleness he could muster—unceremoniously threw him onto the cushions. He heaved a heavy sigh when he straightened back up, watching the way Pete's brows furrowed as he pulled a disgruntled face.

"Sit up," Niran said in a tone that shouldn't have left any room to argue. He knew it wouldn't be that easy.

Pete let out a small whine, curling into himself. His voice was barely audible when he replied, "too tired…."

Niran pressed his lips into a thin line before he leaned back down, grabbing him by the arm and forcing him to sit up. Pete, for his part, tried to fight him off. Unfortunately he had already lost all proper function of his limbs and therefore only managed to meekly hit his arm.

"You're so annoying," Pete complained with slurred words. "Always bossing me around."

Niran ignored the whining, walking into the kitchen to grab a bottle of water out of the fridge. Upon his return, he luckily found Pete in the same position he left him in, except his head had fallen back against the pillows. He sat down next to him, unscrewing the bottle.

"You're going to thank me tomorrow." He held it out. "Now drink at least half of this."

Pete only turned his head, opening his eyes to quietly stare at Niran in that strange way of his; like he was studying him.

He let his eyes wander over his face as though he had all the time in the world to memorize every single detail. His eyes were heavy lidded, eyelashes fluttering against his flushed cheeks. Every drag of his gaze seemed to light more and more inches of his skin on fire until his face was an open flame.

There was something he carried there in the light brown of his eyes—something Niran had never been able to place. Something close to admiration or awe, maybe. Definitely something he did not wish to think about for it had a way of turning his insides into mush.

"Are you listening?" he spoke up again, trying to quell his wandering thoughts and willing his face to return to normal. His stomach began to flutter uselessly.

"You know, if you didn't have that face," Pete started, ignoring his words completely. He propped his hand up on a pillow to point at the face in question. "I would've never gotten in that car with you."

A pause. A slight smile curved the corner of Pete's lips, like the memory amused him.

"What?" Niran asked, frowning.

Pete licked his lips, letting his arm flop back down beside him. "I guess I am fucking easy. But don't think I would let anyone boss me around the way you do. I mean, at first it was just cause you're exactly my type. I was like, damn, fuck it. I'll get in this hot guy's car after seeing the weirdest shit I've ever seen in my life." He shrugged like it's the most normal thing he's ever said.

For one second, or perhaps an eternity, everything stopped. Niran's brain desperately tried to process the words he had just heard, but it was failing miserably. He couldn't even register the way his grip loosened on the bottle, threatening to let it fall and spill onto the carpet.

Two things popped into in his brain at once; one, Pete is, apparently, into men. Two, he thinks Niran is hot.

There were no words that came out of his mouth in response, jaw slack and eyes wide. Which seemed perfectly fine to Pete, seeing as he went on to say even more.

"But… that was back then. I didn't know you. Now it's like, way beyond that." He swung his arm in a wide arc and it landed heavily on the pillows next to him. "Now it's more like… I let you boss me around cause you're you, and I like it cause it's you. But no one but you gets to do it." He shrugged again, unconcerned about whether or not his words were making any sort of sense.

Niran was then pinned under that gaze once more; warm and fond and all the things that made him want to hide in his own skin and never come back out. The fluttering in his stomach spread to the expanse of his chest, rose in his throat like it was trying to crawl out of him. A feeling so intense it made him sick.

That look had always left him breathless whenever it was directed at him. Always made his ears go hot and his brain turn into the most useless muscle in his body. He wasn't good at hiding such things, and he hated how Pete always knew. How he would see the embarrassment written all over his face and smile like he had accomplished something great.

Suddenly, as if heaven and earth decided his time had finally come, Pete shifted closer. He reached out to place his hand on Niran's thigh, grip weak but very much there. The warmth from his palm seeped through the fabric of his jeans.

Niran audibly gulped.

Pete was barely able to keep his eyes open, his cheek pressed against the pillow under his head. Still, he kept going, seemingly on a one man mission to completely fry Niran's brain. For once, he might actually succeed.

"You know, just between you and me… if I was trying to find a guy, he'd have to be exactly like you," Pete whispered like he was sharing a secret. "Do you get what I'm saying?"

Niran still didn't answer. He couldn't. His brain was caught somewhere between Pete is into guys and I'm his type and he thinks I'm hot.

Pete looked at him for a moment longer before he let out an annoyed groan. He tried to shake him, grip on his thigh strengthening, but it really only resulted in Pete rocking back and forth.

"Can you stop being so fucking dense all the damn time and say something?" He whined.

It was then that his demeanor shifted. He stopped, swallowing heavily. His face went blank, eyes fixating on a single far away spot like he was trying his hardest to focus. Slowly shifting himself upright, he looked like he was about to—

"Shit," Niran exclaimed, snapping out of his trance.

He placed the bottle onto the coffee table before he quickly ran back into the kitchen, grabbing the first thing he saw; the pot he'd washed a couple of hours ago and still hadn't put away. Which seemed like the right move, because just as he made it back and placed it onto Pete's lap, the throwing up began.

A sigh escaped him again, mind now solely focused on trying to get Pete to feel at least a little better.

He waited, allowing Pete to get it all out. At least now he won't have to worry about it in the morning. When he was done spitting and breathing heavily into the pot, grip tight on one of the handles, Niran grabbed the bottle again.

"Okay now?" He asked, voice soft despite it all. After getting a weak nod in response, he continued, "good. Drink, now."

Then he shoved the bottle into his chest. The earlier fondness and warmth that had been written all over Pete's was gone—only exhaustion was left in their wake. Too tired to argue, he grabbed the bottle and drank it all in one big go. Some of it spilled down the edges of his mouth, dripping onto his shirt. Niran frowned.

"Slow down, you'll choke." He reached out, gently taking Pete’s chin in his hand to tilt his head forward. His thumb automatically began wiping the water off his skin to prevent it from dripping onto his shirt.

Pete was completely pliant under his touch, eyes closed as he started drinking again, slower this time. Only when the bottle was nearly empty did he stop, letting Niran take it out of his hands before he fell back against the cushions. A hiccup left him, then another. Then silence.

Niran knew that was it; he was too far gone to do anything else. He busied himself by disposing of the bottle, emptying the pot and cleaning it again even though he knew it would have to be replaced. It wasn't even particularly disgusting, though it would be if it were anyone else. He was more worried about Pete than the messes he made.

It didn't take much more than a couple of minutes, but Pete was already asleep by the time he was done. His legs were dangling off the edge, shoes still on his feet. Niran carefully took them off as well as lifting his legs onto the cushions. He watched as Pete shifted, curling in on himself with a soft sigh. Grabbing the blanket thrown over the back, he unfolded it and gently laid it down until Pete was covered.

Then, because he couldn't help himself, he sat down on the floor. Leaned against the table, he had a perfect view of Pete's face. Sweat clung to his forehead and still flushed cheeks, shining under the dim light around them. His lips were pushed out in a small pout, face pressed against the pillow underneath his head. His breathing was coming out slow and even.

"Pete?" Niran whispered, just to check if he was fully asleep.

There was no response, not even a slight shift. He let out a quiet huff, reaching out to carefully move Pete's bangs out of his face. His fingers lingered at his hairline, tracing down his temple before he quickly retracted them.

For a minute he let himself stay there, watching the peaceful face in front of him. One minute of quiet—of allowing himself to look at Pete in a way he would never dare when they were both awake. It would be too obvious. He would get teased until his face was hot and his skin was tingling, and then they would go back to acting like it didn't matter at all. Teetering the edge of something neither of them wanted to plunge into.

Forget it. It doesn't mean anything.

Now, after the bomb that was casually dropped into his lap and blew up right in his face, it sounded like the dumbest thing they have ever said.

He suddenly became acutely aware of how hot his ears were getting. His brain was finally processing the words that had been said to him, the warmth on his thigh remaining like a brand. Averting his gaze down onto his lap, he felt oddly exposed. Like Pete could wake up any moment, read him like a book, and start his usual charade.

Or worse; drunkenly confess something equally life altering, then pass out again as if he never had a single thing to worry about in his life.

A quiet but heavy sigh escaped him as he rubbed his hands over his face. The fluttering in his chest reigned like a never ending flame, unwelcome as it was familiar in its torment. No longer having anything to distract himself with, the overthinking suddenly began.

How the hell was he supposed to face Pete after this, if he will remember any of this at all? Should he bring it up or should he act like it didn't mean anything? But what if it did mean something and then he'll hurt Pete by pretending he didn't care. He did care. He cared so much it very frequently made him both sick and uncharacteristically insane. But what if he didn't remember at all? What if bringing it up was only going to make things weird because Pete was drunk, not thinking straight and clearly not aware of his own words at all.

And—this was by far the most unbearable one—what if he found out Pete meant all of it? Every single word. That his own feelings, so present yet so deeply buried within his heart that he could almost convince himself they have the ability to fade, now stand at risk of being thrown right back into his face by the only person he would ever care to hear it from.

But then again, hadn't he always known? Hadn't he simply thrown a blind eye to the very thing nestled between the both of them, telling himself that he was content in his hunger?

There was a nearly soundless thud as Niran's forehead hit the cushion in front of him. A suffering sigh left him, again, before he turned his head enough to continue looking at the sleeping menace keen on torturing him at all times.

"You're driving me crazy," he whispered, even though Pete couldn't hear him. "What the hell am I supposed to do now, jerk?"

Despite the mental spiral already opening up like a whirlpool in his head, his brain told him to simply sleep it off and worry about it tomorrow. Which, of course, was always easier said than done—especially when it came to your best friend admitting that he thinks you're hot. And that you've always been his type. And that he's into men. Men exactly like you.

It was fine. He was fine. Sane and normal. Fully capable of getting ready for bed, sleeping soundly and facing all of this the next morning like an adult. He was a logical person, after all. How difficult could it be?

Niran had completely and utterly overestimated himself. His mind was in total disarray the entire night; his body finding rest impossible. He tossed and turned on the bed, quietly missing the soft breathing and mumbled words that had always unintentionally lulled him to sleep. It didn't help that when his eyes finally drooped shut and his chest began to rise in a calm rhythm, he awoke with a racing heart after feeling the warmth of a hand on his thigh and slurred words being whispered into his ear.

Birds sang outside, sunlight filtering in through the gap in the blinds, casting a yellow line across the dark floor. Morning quiet filled the space as he lay there, staring at the empty spot on the bed beside him and feeling the thump, thump, thump still in his chest.

Back when Pete first brought up the idea of getting him a proper bed to sleep on, he'd assumed it would mean a separate one. He had quickly realized how foolish that was. But there was rarely any room for him to argue when Pete looked at him with those eyes and asked, "what, you don't wanna sleep in the same bed as me?"

Was there a difference, when they already share everything?

Eventually he got up, making the bed and opening the blinds the rest of the way. Warmth from the sun kissed his skin, announcing the nice day to come. There was a slight sting in his eyes at the light. It traveled up his forehead and stayed there, persistent and annoying. He wasn't sure how much sleep he had actually gotten, but it clearly wasn't enough.

By the time he was making breakfast it was nearly noon. Pete had still been asleep when he came downstairs, hair a mess and one arm dangling off the couch. Fondness and anxiety bloomed in his chest simultaneously at the sight, his mind involuntarily remembering the previous night very clearly.

Perhaps that was also what made him burn the first omelette, mind anywhere but in the present. He cursed under his breath as he moved it out of the pan, folding it on his plate.

Halfway through his endeavor with the second, familiar footsteps approached from behind. They were dragging along the floor, accompanied by what can only be described as the sounds of a tortured soul.

Niran turned just in time to see Pete walk up to the fridge. He opened it, grabbed a bottle of water and chugged it without a single word. His hair was standing up in every direction possible, pressed flat on his right side. Red lines ran down his cheek and arm; imprints of the pillow he'd been hugging all night. His face had misery written all over it.

"You're up," Niran stated somewhat stupidly. His stomach was doing idiotic things again.

Pete hummed, though it sounded more like a pained whine. "I wish I wasn't." He leaned against the fridge with closed eyes. “Something smells really good.”

"I’m making breakfast."

A small smile curved his lips at that. "Must be hard. What's the occasion?"

"You being very hungover," he replied simply. "How are you feeling?"

"Like shit. I think my head is gonna kill me."

A grin stretched the corner of his mouth, some of the tension in him easing. "This wouldn’t be happening if you listened to me."

"Yeah, yeah." Pete waved his hand in the air as if he could physically make the blatant I told you so disappear. When he cracked his eyes open, he fell quiet, scanning Niran's face with a frown. "What the hell happened to you?" He suddenly asked.

Niran blinked. "What?"

"I mean," he began, moving away from the fridge. He pointed at Niran's face. "Why do you look like shit? Did you sleep at all?"

He looked at Pete for a moment before turning around to focus on the egg in the pan, although it very much still wasn't ready and definitely didn't need supervision.

"I slept enough," he lied.

"Ah, I get it." His heart skipped stupidly at the teasing tilt in Pete's voice. "Couldn't sleep without me, huh?"

Sharp as a nail no matter what state he was in. Sober, drunk, hungover—the ability to bother him never left. It didn't help that, in a way, he wasn't wrong. Sleeping in complete silence felt wrong these days. Niran could've played it off easily. He could've even played along. But with his newfound knowledge he suddenly couldn't say anything at all, cheeks and ears burning traitorously.

His silence seemed to bother Pete, who suddenly moved closer, leaning against the counter next to him. When Niran peeked out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Pete wasn't looking at him. His hands were fidgeting with the bottle still in his hand.

"Did…" Pete paused. "Did I… do anything last night?"

His stomach dropped. Part of him had hoped he could continue to ignore it. To let it quietly eat at him until it drove him mad.

"Like what?" He asked after swallowing hard, voice even but hesitant even to his own ears.

"Like—I don't know." Pete shrugged with a huff. "Something dumb."

"You don't… remember?"

There was a slight pause before Pete replied, "I remember bits and pieces. You driving me home, for example."

"But nothing after that?"

Pete side eyed him before quickly averting his gaze. He shifted where he stood, swallowing once. Niran watched the way his throat bobbed with the action. Then, Pete simply shook his head.

He doesn't remember.

He blinked at Pete—who was now inspecting the bottle like it was remotely interesting—before he turned to stare down at the sizzling egg. It offered no guidance, only a pleasant smell that made his stomach sting in hunger. Still, he looked at it like it held all the answers in the world.

Niran had never really known what he wanted. Once he became Wu—and the inevitable downfall he brought onto himself—there was no other dream to chase. He existed idly, reliving nearly the exact day every day, desperately trying to convince himself that it was enough. Things were different once he met Pete. Suddenly, he was wanted. Needed. It wasn't a feeling he was familiar with. He supposed Pete had that effect, coming into your life and changing you fundamentally. To make you want things you've never wanted before.

Above it all, Niran wanted one thing the most. So much so that it clawed at him like an itch he couldn't reach. It would bite, caress and beckon him, but he never acted on it the way it wanted him to. He had never been brave enough for that. Now, as the opportunity presented itself plain as day, he found himself rooted to the spot like a deer in headlights.

Niran didn't know what to do with his own feelings. If he was honest, maybe he would say that it scared him. That he had never felt or experienced anything like this and didn't want to lose it—that he knew he was bound to ruin it—because if he did, he wouldn't know what to do with himself.

Treading foreign ground with shaky steps will never get you far.

Swallowing past the sudden lump in his throat, he opened his mouth to reply, "you nearly threw up on the carpet."

"Oh," Pete replied, voice curt. "Really?"

Niran hummed with a slight nod, feeling a pit open in his chest. "You wouldn't have made it to the bathroom in time, so I just grabbed the pot next to the sink," he said. "Cleaned it right after, but I'll still buy you a new one."

"Okay… thanks." Pete's voice was distant. It hadn't sounded like that for a very long time.

Quiet filled the space, now awkward and heavy. If Niran would have looked, he might have seen the dejection in Pete's eyes. If he had pulled himself out of his own mind, he would've noticed that the churning in his stomach was shared. Maybe it would have made a difference. Instead, he looked anywhere but.

Pete cleared his throat, interrupting the silence. "I need a shower," he announced.

Then, without another word, he walked out of the room, leaving nothing but the half empty bottle of water behind. Niran turned to watch him, staring at the space even after he had already gone. Sighing to himself, he grabbed the pan and put the omelette on Pete's plate, folding it just like his own. There were no burnt patches this time.

He didn't move until both meals stopped steaming.

Pete acted strange for the rest of the day.

After his shower, with new clothes and still slightly damp hair, he came back to eat. Niran had waited for him out of habit, seeing as they always ate together. Except the unease that lingered didn't dissipate, and Pete didn't look him in the eyes. Niran risked multiple glances, but Pete's gaze was glued to his plate. It was the perfect time for him to continuously whine about how much he was suffering as if he had anyone but himself to blame.

Instead, he said nothing. And, for the first time ever, they shared a meal in complete silence.

When Pete finished up, he went to rinse the plate and leave it in the sink. Niran watched uselessly, eyes trailing after him when he walked up the stairs ahead of him. He couldn't even finish his own food, stomach tied in a knot so tight it might not allow anything to stay down, much less make it past his mouth.

He had half a mind to follow Pete, ask if he was feeling bad because of his hangover. But when he was about to climb the steps to the second floor, Pete came walking down fully dressed, bandana tied around his neck and gloves in hand.

Niran paused on the landing when their eyes met, quickly averting his gaze. For a second, neither of them said anything. He found his throat momentarily closed.

"You're, uh," Niran began, unsure where to look. "Planning on going out?"

There was a slight pause before Pete replied, finally stepping down the rest of the way. "Yeah. Gonna drive around, clear my head." His voice was curt as he passed him.

He frowned, worry tugging at his chest. "Are you sure you should be driving?"

"I'm hungover, not wasted," Pete replied, walking to the door to put his shoes on. "I know what I'm doing."

"You couldn't even walk by yourself last night."

"I'm walking just fine right now."

He let out a slightly irritated huff, taking a step closer. "Pete—"

"Stop fussing," Pete interrupted, turning around enough to look at him. The irritation he was suddenly met with stopped him dead in his tracks. It curled hot and heavy around his own heart. "I just need to clear my damn head. Am I not allowed to do that?"

"I didn't say that. I'm just—"

"Then leave me the hell alone," he interrupted again, reaching over to grab his keys before he opened the door and left, not looking back even once.

Niran stood there in the silence that followed, distantly hearing the revving of an engine and the drive off after. Unfamiliar anger clung to his insides like thorns, dissolving into something much deeper; a hole carving itself into his middle.

It felt like loss.

He carried it around for the rest of the day. The house suddenly felt too big and too empty as he waited for Pete to return, staring at his phone every now and then like he would actually get a single message from anyone.

He made attempts to distract himself; watching a movie, meditating, reading one of the mangas Pete had stacked on the floor next to the bed. It was desperate, and very much futile. His spiraling thoughts made it impossible to focus.

Niran quietly began wondering if Pete could feel him, too.

The ache in his chest soon dulled into a throb; an emptiness that made you feel nothing. The sun was slowly dipping down the horizon, casting orange and purple hues in the sky. Niran listened to the tick, tick, tick of the clock on the wall, staring at nothing in particular. By the time the light fully dissolved into blue darkness outside, he knew he had been waiting much too long already. But there was nothing he could do even if he wanted to. Pete asked for space and Niran would give him that. Whatever he needed, he would give.

So, he ate dinner alone. He took a shower, changed his clothes, and climbed into bed alone. But sleep didn't come. The ceiling stared back at him, bare and wordless, before he turned to his side with closed eyes and pretended he wasn't wide awake. The quiet stretched endlessly, only occupied by his own breathing.

Until he heard footsteps approach beyond the closed bedroom door. He would recognize the sound of them anywhere. His heart involuntarily skipped a beat, but he didn't move an inch when said door slowly opened.

Pete quietly stepped inside. Niran listened to him change, the opening and closing of the closet, before he felt the dip of the mattress beside him.

Pete settled underneath his blanket and, for a moment, neither of them said a thing.

Then, quietly, Pete said, "I'm sorry for earlier. I was just…" He trailed off, shifting slightly before a sigh escaped him. "Whatever. I'll get over it. We don't have to talk about it again, okay?"

Niran opened his eyes, staring at his clothes still hanging from the rack they had provisionally placed against the wall and never actually upgraded.

"Okay," he answered.

There was no response, but he heard Pete's shaky inhale of breath and his attempt to quiet it. He felt the pang in his chest; the sudden ache twisting his heart like a fist. It wasn't his own, though it broke him all the same.

And instead of turning around and reaching out, Niran stared at his clothes until Pete's breathing eventually evened out and exhaustion claimed him, too.

Things went back to normal. Sort of.

They didn't talk about what happened, though it continued to hang in the air like a foul odor you could only pretend to ignore.

Pete began acting like himself again, at least most of the time. He joked, grinned, bothered—but, for some reason, he dropped the teasing. The kind that always caused heat to crawl up Niran's spine. Even when he most expected it, it rarely came. Instead, what lie in its wake was a smile that sometimes didn't quite reach Pete's eyes.

There was a persistent, quiet sadness that he carried around with him now. Almost hidden behind snarky words if Niran didn't know better, didn't feel it claw at his insides, too.

The dull, throbbing ache returned every now and then. Occasionally without explanation, other times right after he does things that used to be so normal; getting Pete a drink he knew he wanted, or recording an episode of his current favorite show because he was too busy to watch it. Even something as simple as plugging his phone in whenever he fell asleep brought it back.

Pete used to just accept it, smile in a way Niran would never admit he really liked. Maybe that's part of why he kept doing it.

There was none of that now. Pete wouldn't even really meet his eyes, muttering a quiet thanks if he felt like acknowledging it at all before turning away. The same knot kept tying itself tighter in both of them. And, worst of all, it felt like Pete was slowly pulling away. Eating meals by himself, texting Niran only when necessary instead of whenever he wanted—it was subtle, at first. A shift so small it was barely noticeable.

The first time he truly began noticing the shift was on a Thursday night. They were both seated at a table in one of the Chinese restaurants Pete had grown so fond of. The lights were dim enough for it to be cozy, and the corner they had tugged themselves into smelled faintly of something herbal. People were pleasantly chatting around them.

It wasn't filled to the brim that day. These places rarely were when they go out—Niran made sure of that. He hated crowded spaces.

Pete, who was sat in front of him, slurped down his noodles with the kind of ferociousness one might only expect from a starved animal.

He let out an overly pleased sound and, with a full mouth, he muffled out, “this is so damn good."

Niran shook his head fondly. "Has anyone ever told you you eat like a toddler?”

“Shut up," he kept muffling, barely chewing before stuffing a dumpling in there as well. "School’s been on my ass. I barely ate anything today. I thought I was gonna die.”

“Should I be worried about your self neglect getting us both killed?”

“If, after everything, we die because of this, I’ll come back and haunt the place.” He finally swallowed enough for his words to sound coherent again. He pointed his chopsticks at Niran. "And you’ll join me.”

He raised an eyebrow. "Why should I?”

“Cause I’ll get bored,” Pete said like it was obvious. "What, you're above haunting a place with me?"

Niran pretended to think. "I don't know… what's in it for me?”

“My amazing company."

He deadpanned.

Pete clicked his tongue, frowning. “Asshole. I know you'd miss me."

Right after he said it something in his expression shifted—a quiet panic behind his eyes. He stared for a second longer before quickly stuffing his face again, saying nothing else.

Niran watched, heat blooming in his chest. He didn't acknowledge it either, quietly eating his own food.

They sat like that for a while, not speaking another word. It wasn't awkward per se, but it wasn't entirely comfortable either. Something lingered in the air between them, strung too tight. Niran was cleaning his hands with a napkin and Pete was downing half of his glass of water—not beer this time, he noticed—setting it down with a clink and a satisfied exhale.

He saw it then; the small drop of sauce clinging to the side of Pete’s mouth, dark and obvious. Without thinking, he reached over and wiped it away for him, crumbling the napkin in his hands and placing it down on the table.

It wasn't until he looked up and saw the expression on Pete’s face that he took a pause. Though it wasn't the flush or the wide eyes that did it—it was the quiet ache he found in them. Confusion mixed with something else, something he couldn't quite place. He just knew he didn't like seeing it. Not on him.

Pete lowered his eyes down to his nearly empty bowl, letting out a huff. “I can wipe my own mouth."

After that, it kept happening in little increments. Niran would reach out to touch him and Pete, instead of taking it in stride as he always did—or flush in that pleased way of his—froze and averted his eyes.

Until it finally all came crumbling down.

Niran was making himself tea in the kitchen, pouring boiling water into the mug and watching the steam curl into the air until it reached his nose. The scent was a pleasant sting in his nostrils, following behind him like a trail as he walked.

Pete had been sitting at the dining table, laptop propped up in front of him. The white light of the screen illuminated his focused face. A frown creased his brow, head propped up on his hand. His lips were pushed out in a slight pout—the one he always subconsciously did whenever he was deep in thought—and his bangs were falling into his eyes, going completely unnoticed.

They're getting too long again, Niran thought.

Casually he walked closer, reaching out with his free hand to tuck said bangs behind Pete's ear.

Pete startled, moving away from Niran's fingers to look at him with wide eyes. "What are you doing?"

Niran stood there a little dumbly, hand still hovering in the air before he let it fall back to his side.

"I was just going to ask if you want some tea," he replied. "You've been at this for a while."

Eyes blinked at him. He watched the way Pete's throat bobbed when he swallowed, the way his brows creased in a frown so familiar it could very well be etched into his own face.

"You didn't have to touch me to ask."

"Your bangs were obscuring half of your face. Looks like they're getting pretty long again, you should just clip them back," he replied, voice calm. A small grin suddenly pulled at the corners of his lips when he added, "or let me cut them. I do a pretty good job with mine."

His grin didn't get returned. Pete didn't scoff in that fond way of his, didn't quip back with how he'd rather not look like his mother still cut his hair.

Instead, he just sat there, conflict so evident in the way he searched Niran's face. The ache was there again, a shallow pool threatening to cave in on itself.

"You're…" He pressed his lips together, letting out a sigh before shifting his focus back onto the screen. "Stop doing that."

"Doing what?"

"Touching me, Niran." He side eyed him, half a glare half something else. "All the time. It's—It's too much."

"Oh," Niran said in response, like a bystander watching a simmering flame turn into a forest fire and not doing anything to stop it. "Right."

They didn't talk again that day. He went to bed with a familiar, sickeningly comforting emptiness looming behind him—once again watching everything fall apart, once again just sitting idly by.

In the morning, he found Pete asleep in the same spot he had left him in, head buried in between his arms. The laptop in front of him was still open, screen black. He didn't wake him, simply leaving a plate of food on the table before he hurried out to take care of another job. Halfway through the drive, the moment he knew Pete had woken up, it was there again; that feeling of loss—accompanied by something softer, too—sitting painfully in the depth of his chest.

It was so viscous in its attack that his eyes stung.

After that, Pete stopped reaching out as well.

No more arms slung across the back of the couch, dangerously close to draping over Niran's neck until his hands wandered and he began playing with the tag of his shirt (Niran let him, every time).

No longer did he crowd his space on the bed with his legs just to be extra annoying, nor did he sneak up on him to pinch his side as if it was the only way to get his attention, terribly concealed grin always plastered on his face.

Niran was beginning to miss it. Things he used to pretend annoyed him even though there was nothing Pete could do that would ever make him angry. At least they meant Pete was there. Close, always so close; hips bumping in the kitchen, legs draped over each others laps whenever they watched a movie, reaching over in the car for no reason at all.

They still talked. Conversations that were always a little awkward. Pete joked sometimes, avoided his eyes whenever Niran actually laughed. Their laundry was still washed together on principle. Pete still bought Niran things like shampoo and toothpaste when he would offhandedly mention that he was running out, replacing them without a word. He was still extra quiet at night when he thought Niran was already sleeping.

Other than that they might as well have been back to square one, all the way back when he first moved in. Never more distant as they exist in the same space together every day.

Niran noticed when Pete stopped wearing his shirts. They suddenly reappeared on his clothing rack like they'd never been taken off in the first place, gone from where he knew Pete had kept them in his own closet like they belonged to him.

They did, was the thing. Niran had accepted that long ago—had never stopped him from taking any of them even when Pete came walking past him in a shirt he knew he had slept in. Not once did they mention it, which he was grateful for. His stomach always flipped six different ways whenever he'd find Pete sleeping in his clothes like it comforted him more than anything.

Or maybe he had been reading into it and he was only doing it because he, quite frankly, barely had any sense of personal boundaries.

And sometimes, in the privacy of his own mind, he wondered what it would be like to wear Pete's clothes. To wear his scent like a secret only they were privy to, have it wrap around him in his sleep like it was the owner himself. To bury his face into the collar and, a little shamefully, imagine it was Pete's neck instead.

Then, he had always wondered if those were the reasons Pete kept doing it. If he felt the same want, only he was brave enough to quench it. But that sounded awfully hopeful and a little unrealistic. After all, he was bad at keeping up with his laundry.

Either way, Niran had to admit that it made him feel warm, even if his wishful thinking was nothing but a meek fantasy. He liked seeing Pete in his clothes. Sometimes it felt like Pete knew he liked it, too; that glimmer in his eyes every time he caught Niran staring a second too long. The self satisfied smile he would try to hide.

All of that was dissolving in front of his eyes. He stared at the dark blue shirt in front of him, eyes scanning the printed 1987 over and over like it was going to change. It used to be one of his favorites, the one he always sort of gravitated towards. Simple and comfortable. Pete had taken it early on and Niran had barely worn it since.

Only yesterday night he saw him wearing it, walking into the bedroom with a towel over his head, rubbing his wet hair dry like one would with a dog. Niran was sitting against the headboard of the bed, legs crossed, phone in hand. He had only meant to take a glance, but upon seeing the shirt, he froze. Because ever since their talk in the kitchen, Pete had only worn his own shirts. It felt deliberate, going out of his way to avoid all of Niran's clothes that he forgot where still mingled with his.

Seeing him go back to it stirred something in him. Heat bloomed across his chest in a way so reminiscent of the first time. Somehow, it felt like this meant something. That despite the distance, he was keeping him close. That maybe, just maybe, it wasn't as lost as he was beginning to fear it was.

And then Pete looked up, towel falling down his neck. Wet strands of hair framed his face effortlessly. A frown creased his brows.

"What?" he asked, following Niran's eyes and looking down at himself. A second passed, maybe two, before he clicked his tongue. "Shit, sorry. I just grabbed the first thing I saw."

Niran didn't say anything at first, watching him walk towards the closet as if he was going to change. It was the first time he'd ever openly acknowledged it.

"You know it's basically yours now, right?" He let out casually, voice even despite the buzzing underneath his skin. "I mean, you've been wearing it a lot more than me."

Pete paused, hand halfway to the handle. He didn't meet his eyes when he said, "it's yours."

He averted his eyes, focusing on the way Pete's right hand was clenched now, thumb brushing over his fingers.

"You can keep it, if you want," he tried to reassure, voice quieter. “We already share everything else, remember?"

When he lifted his eyes back up, he saw the frown between his eyebrows deepen. Pete was clenching his jaw, staring at the floor with an expression so tight he might as well have been told the worst news of his life. Niran immediately wanted to take it all back, uselessly open his mouth and babble something that wouldn't help at all.

But then Pete was looking at him, confusion etched into his expression. His eyes suddenly looked so devastatingly sad, a feeling that stabbed them both in the chest.

Niran wanted so desperately to make it all go away.

"I really don't understand you," Pete said, voice a mere shaky whisper. "I don't understand what you want. You keep doing this and I can't—" he cut himself off, averting his gaze.

For a second, just a split second, his expression completely broke. Niran could feel it rush through his own body like the blood in his veins, though he couldn't describe the ache if he tried—only that his heart was shattering like glass within him. His chest seized with anxiety that was much closer to fear than he'd ever like it to be.

Pete sighed, squeezing his eyes shut before he pressed the base of his palms into them. He ran his hands through his hair, letting it fall back messier than before. His gaze was on the floor again.

Seconds passed. Maybe even minutes. Neither of them spoke—Niran was much too afraid to. Eventually, Pete shook his head, glanced back at him once, then left the room without another word. He didn't sleep in bed again that night.

He must've given the shirt back in the morning. Niran didn't see him wearing it when he walked downstairs for breakfast. The fabric felt soft beneath his fingers as he took it off the hanger, holding it as if it were something precious.

Did he still wear it to sleep?

He swallowed heavily. Guilt and shame rose up in his throat like bile at the thought, even as he brought it closer, pressing his face into the soft cotton in his hands. He inhaled once—slow and deep, as if to savor—filling his nose with the familiarity that lingered.

It smelled like Pete's shampoo still, strongest at the collar where his wet hair had reached; something almost sweet, a hint of almond and honey. The scent of their laundry detergent faintly clung to it, but above it all was something so unmistakably Pete. Warmth and comfort wrapped in every breath he took.

His chest seized mercilessly. He shut his eyes so hard that colors began swimming behind his eyelids.

It was the closest he had been to him in weeks.

He must have made for a sorry sight, standing in the near dark of their room with his face buried into his shirt, grip so tight it could have ripped at the seams. He didn't care. Even if Pete were to have walked into the room and caught him, he wouldn't have let go.

An unknown amount of time passed before he pulled back, looking at the creases his hands had left. Smoothing them out as best as he could, he pulled it over his head before he climbed into bed. He curled up, angling his head so it was as close to his chest as possible. The scent was faint from this distance, but it was enough.

For the first time, he wore Pete to bed.

Except it didn't feel good. It didn't feel good at all.

Thailand was melting. Truly, without a doubt, melting.

Hot, humid air attacked him when he stepped out of his car, sweat already pooling between his shoulder blades. His steps were loud against the path leading up to the house of his clients, stone lined with blooming flowers.

After he rang the bell, a woman in her forties with dyed ginger hair and a deep teal dress opened the door, smiling kindly. She ushered him inside, leading him into another room.

The dark brown walls were lined with expensive looking paintings—at least, he would assume they are, he knew nothing about art—and other decorations that were a bit ostentatious. Overall, the place felt quite crowded, much smaller inside than one might believe.

Still, it felt lived in. Warmth bled through it all, just the type rich people would find comfort in.

They stepped into what quickly turned out to be a living room. His eyes scanned it subconsciously, noticing the cat tree next to the window and the wedding pictures hung above the TV. Another woman sat on the couch, her dark hair tied back into a sleek bun. She promptly sat up and smiled when upon their entrance.

Niran greeted her politely but declined when she asked if he wanted anything to drink.

“Do we have to do anything?” She asked when she sat back down, her wife sitting down beside her.

Niran was already unpacking everything, setting it up on the rug in front of them.

“No, this will be very quick,” he explained. “All I will need is two strands of hair from both of you.”

He remembered a time where he used to find soul binds more than a little ridiculous. Not many people have come to him to perform them. But when it did happen, he always made extra sure they knew what they were getting themselves into. After all, sharing your fate with another person was, in many ways, foolish. Especially when it was done for love, as it does not guarantee that you will stay together forever.

Those thoughts had disappeared long ago. And, as he tied the hair to each doll—two bears this time—he couldn’t help but think of the thread tying itself around his left wrist and, in association, Pete.

Pete, who was celebrating the birthday of one his college friends, the joy of it a weak flicker in Niran’s chest. Who hadn’t really looked at him when he announced it before leaving, saying he might be out for a while. No smile, no look back. Not even a see you later. It had tied his stomach in knots the entire drive.

He tried to ignore it, finishing up the ritual. The two women had started holding hands, intertwined like puzzle pieces. Matching silver rings were adorning their ring fingers. Something about it kept him looking longer than he meant to.

It only took seconds, really, before he was already done. There was a slight gasp from one of them before they both looked down at their wrists in pure fascination.

“A thread binds you now,” he spoke up. “One that only you can see.”

A moment passed, one that he used to begin packing up again, allowing them a little bit of privacy. He kept his eyes on the objective at hand, only hearing whispers and catching slight movement in his peripheral. Once he was done, dolls still in hand, he stood and slung his bag back over his shoulder.

The woman with the slick bun stood with him, reaching over to take a hold of his free hand. She clasped it in both of hers, though they were surprisingly cold. Slight tears were visible in her eyes. However, it was the amount of warmth and gratitude in them that made him pause.

“Thank you,” she said, chuckling. “Thank you so much.”

He gave her a soft smile in return. “There’s no need. You may keep these as well.”

Then, he handed her the dolls. She held them like they were much too precious, giving him a last smile before she turned to sit back down. They must have trusted him to find his own way back out.

For some reason he couldn’t understand, he glanced over his shoulder at the door, watching them whisper amongst themselves. His stomach fluttered at the look they gave each other; so full of undeniable love. Something about it was strangely familiar.

He swallowed and continued walking.

By the time he got home the sun was already starting to set, some of the heat of the day passing into a pleasant evening warmth. The house was as empty as he expected. He spent the rest of his time before bed eating the leftovers from yesterday and meditating in their room. Although he wanted to, he knew Pete wouldn’t want him to wait until he returned.

With the way things are now, he would merely look at him like every action Niran took pained him.

Before the clock hit midnight, he was already asleep.

The call came somewhere around two in the morning. He startled awake at the sound of his ringtone, blindly reaching for his phone on the nightstand. He nearly threw it to the ground before he got a proper hold of it.

With a sigh, he picked up, falling back against the mattress. His voice was raspy when he asked, “hello?”

“Uh, hi.” An unknown voice said on the other line. “You’re Niran, right? Pete asked me to call you.”

That woke him up faster than a bucket of water. He lifted himself into a sitting position. “Pete? Is he okay?”

“Well,” the guy stifled a chuckle. “Define okay.”

“What?” Niran frowned.

“Okay listen, he’s drunk off his ass. And I mean he can barely hold himself upright. We might have gone a little overboard,” he continued, voice a little slurred here and there. “Now we wanna go home, but none of us know where he lives and he didn’t wanna tell us. Just said we should call you and you’d come pick him up.”

Something swelled in his chest next to the quiet worry that rose up. He was already out of bed, walking down the hall without bothering to change out of his sleeping clothes.

“I’ll come,” he said, putting on a pair of slippers. “Can you send me the address?”

“You got it, man. We’ll keep him company ‘til you’re here.”

The drive there was short. He parked his car in front of a small bar, the lights inside mostly shut off. An older woman was standing by the entrance, eyes fixated on her phone as she finished the cigarette in her hand.

Letting his eyes wander to the barren patio, he recognized Pete there immediately; sitting at one of the tables, head tugged away in his arms. Two other guys sat with him, looking up when Niran approached. They both looked a little drunk themselves.

“Oh, you’re here,” one of them said, standing up and stretching with a loud groan. “Good. You gonna get him in your car by yourself?”

“Yes,” Niran replied simply.

“Alright then.” He looked a little amused. “He’s all yours.”

Then, as they were leaving, he clapped him on the shoulder in passing. Niran didn’t turn around to wonder why, letting his feet take him closer to the still passed out body at the table. He let out a little sigh at the sight, reaching out to place his hand on his back.

“Pete?” He asked softly, shaking him a little. “You have to get up, okay? I need to take you home.”

Pete made a disgruntled noise, opening his eyes and blinking up at him. He watched as the recognition slowly appeared in his eyes. It took a couple of seconds before he spoke.

“Niran?” His voice was a mere raspy whisper. “What’re you doing here?”

He smiled just a little at the sight in front of him; the familiar flush on his cheeks, the tired blinking. His brain allowed itself the small liberty of memorizing it and storing it somewhere safe. Somewhere just for himself.

“You told your friends to call me.”

“Really?” Pete suddenly narrowed his eyes. “This isn’t that thread stuff again? Where you just know where to find me.”

“No,” he raised an eyebrow. “You wanted me to pick you up. I was sleeping before they called me.”

“Oh.”

“Get up, come on.” He moved his hand to grab onto Pete’s arm, helping him up.

And when he suddenly wobbled on his feet, Niran reached out and wrapped his arm around his waist. Because the last thing he needed was him face planting onto the sidewalk.

He let out a sigh. “Put your arm around me. The car’s right there.”

Pete surprisingly didn’t complain, placing his arm around Niran’s shoulders and letting himself be guided towards the car. He fell into the passenger seat with zero grace and Niran, knowing Pete wouldn’t do it himself, reached over to buckle him in. Then he rounded the car and got into the drivers seat.

“Don’t fall asleep until we’re home,” he said, looking over at Pete whose head had fallen against the window. “I’ll leave you in the car if you do.”

Pete let out a grunt that might or might not have been an okay, crossing his arms over his chest.

Niran shook his head, starting the car and driving off.

Luckily, Pete had actually listened. Although the drive back was quiet and his eyes were closed the entire way to the point where Niran had assumed he’d dozed off anyway, he shifted once they were parked, blinking into the darkness. He reached down to fumble with the seatbelt, eventually unbuckling it. Then he stumbled out of the car, closing the door with a loud thud.

Niran walked close purely out of instinct, only reaching out when Pete nearly tripped in the dark. They entered the house like that—arms slung around each other as he dragged him inside. A deep sense of deja vu hit him.

“Take off your shoes,” he said, already taking off the slippers that weren’t even his.

Pete groaned, trying to slip out of his sneakers with all the motor skills of a toddler. When that didn’t get him far, he simply tried shaking them off. Niran watched this in mild fascination for a whole ten seconds before he sighed and crouched down.

“Hold still.”

He easily slipped the shoes off Pete’s feet for him, setting them aside. He glanced up briefly, catching those heavy lidded eyes on him, before he straightened up once more. His arm found Pete’s waist automatically, walking with him towards the couch almost the same way they had all those weeks ago.

He wasn’t even sure if he needed the support. The couch wasn’t far from the entry way and it wasn’t like there were many hazards in the way.

He did it anyway. And, for a reason even stranger, Pete let him. It almost felt normal. Like things were the way they always had been, just for that night.

“You seriously drink too much,” Niran complained, slipping between the coffee table and the couch. “I almost thought you’d finally gained some self control.”

Pete huffed—the breath so close it tickled his ear—before he fell onto the cushions.

“It’s your fault,” he slurred in response, shifting where he sat.

Not knowing what that meant, Niran said nothing else. He walked into kitchen to grab a bottle of water, sitting down beside Pete once he came back. They were so close their knees knocked together.

Pete wasn’t looking at him. He stared at the doors leading to the backyard where the interior reflected off the glass like a mirror. Niran wasn’t sure what he saw there. If he even saw anything at all.

“You know,” Pete started, voice quiet. “I was thinking ‘bout you the whole time. Some… weird feeling in my chest that I knew was you. And I only drank ‘cause I thought it would make it go away. But… it didn’t. I just kept thinking ‘bout you more and more.”

Niran stared, feeling the condensation from the bottle run down his palm and onto his wrist.

“I don’t even remember telling them to call you,” he huffed a laugh with absolutely no humor behind it. “But I guess I did, ‘cause you showed up. You always show up, acting like—like it’s no big deal. Then you take me home and…and it’s so—” His voice broke. “Fuck.”

He clumsily raised his hands, rubbing his palms into his eyes. His breaths came out labored. “It means nothing to you, does it?” He asked in a mere whisper.

Niran blinked. “What?”

Pete dropped his hands, turning his head to meet his gaze. His eyes were glossy with unshed tears, down turned lips trembling in the faintest way. He hadn’t seen that expression in a long time. It struck him like a sudden punch to the gut.

“Everything. All the things you do. Like—like letting me wear your clothes. Or taking care of me like this. Like you want to. Like it isn't even a big deal. You’re even still wearing it. All day.” He grabbed onto his left hand, fingers finding the jade ring. “You refuse to take it off. Even when you're showering.”

He looked back up. “And sometimes, when you think I’m asleep, I know you reach over the bed to touch my hair. Or my head. Or—or you tuck me in tighter. I never said anything, ‘cause it made me so damn happy." His brows furrowed deeper, face contorting like he was trying to keep it in but failing miserably. “Does—does none of that matter to you? Was it all just me?”

Niran opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He felt stuck. Idiotically stuck.

“Please just tell me,” Pete pleaded in a whisper.

“I—” His mouth hung open, opening and closing. “I’m sorry."

Pete suddenly grabbed him by the shirt with both hands, yanking with such strength he was pretty sure he heard the seams rip. The bottle fell out of his grip and landed on the rug with a dull thud.

"I don't want your fucking apology!" He yelled, shaking him. "I want you to tell me why.”

That was when it happened. Pete’s face crumbled. He broke right in front of his eyes, previously unshed tears falling over his cheeks like nothing in the world could ever make them stop.

“Why don't you love me, Niran?” His voice was barely a whisper, raspy and devastated. “Why do you keep doing all these things if you don’t…"

He curled up, forehead connecting with Niran’s chest. Heavy, audible sobs were wrecking through his entire, trembling body. His hands still clung to his shirt as if it was the only thing keeping him anchored.

“You said it was—it was the best thing,” he sobbed, stumbling over his own words. “But you are to me, Niran. You are to me. You always are to me.”

For a moment, as he felt the tears seep in through the fabric of his shirt and touch the skin of his chest, he froze. Completely and utterly froze. Pete was crying in his arms, shaking with the gravity of it, and there was so much grief and desperation suddenly pooling in both of their chests—a pain so visceral it stung. Before he knew it, his own vision blurred. Everything became nothing but blobs of color.

Oh, how foolish he had been. What useless weeks they had spent, agonizing over something caused by his own stupidity—something that, if he had just been honest, would have never happened in the first place.

It seemed that, despite vowing to himself that he would never do it again, he had hurt Pete for the third time. Someone like him might never be able to avoid the casual ruin he brought to others.

Carefully, he raised his arms, wrapping them around the broken body clinging to him. Pete didn’t flinch nor did he freeze—he simply cried and cried as Niran embraced him, bringing one of his hands up to rest against the back of Pete’s head. His hair smelled like sweat and cigarettes, but he didn’t care. He pressed his cheek against the top of it and held him there, feeling his own hot tears slide down his cheeks to land on the strands.

“I’m sorry," he replied uselessly, because it was all he felt.

Pete didn't answer. He simply cried and hiccuped and clung, babbling nonsensical pleas that were barely words at all. The fact that he hadn't pushed him away yet meant more than either of them could say.

It felt as though they stayed like that for an eternity. Eventually the cries began to cease until only sniffling and the heavy breathing remained. Niran pulled back enough to look at him, his hand sliding to cup his tear stained, flushed cheek. His thumb began caressing the skin. Pete looked exhausted.

"I didn't mean to make you believe that,” Niran whispered. He didn't get an answer. Pete wasn't even meeting his eyes. "Do you want to go to bed?”

"Are you going to stay?” Pete's voice was barely above a raspy whisper.

“Do you want me to?"

A pause.

Pete nodded.

"Okay. Then I’ll stay.”

He reached over to grab a couple of tissues, wiping away the tears and snot still on Pete’s face with overt tenderness. Pete simply let him, sniffling every couple of seconds. A tremor still ran through his body like the ripples in a pond. His eyes were red and swollen—but even so, he was the most beautiful person Niran had ever known.

He wished he’d told him that from the start, back when the thought first presented itself in his head. Pete with a smile that was all teeth, laughing about something incredibly ridiculous. Niran couldn’t even remember what it was, not that he had even cared. He could only focus on the curve of Pete's smile, and the deep lines at the edge of his squinted eyes. As his laughter dissolved into smaller chuckles, his hand instinctively reached out to find him. In that very moment, he thought; I would do anything to see you like this every single day of my life. Do you know you're everything? 

Would it have changed anything? Would Pete have smiled even more and pulled him in?

Niran didn’t know what outcome it would have had, yet the desire to go back didn’t leave. Even as they slowly got up and ascended the stairs, he wished he could have said anything to make up for all the times he hadn’t. But Pete was still drunk—he could see it in the sway of his body, in the overwhelming exhaustion evident in his face.

In the morning then. In the morning, he would make everything right. He would not run again.

When they made it into the dark bedroom, Niran turned on the lamp on the nightstand. Pete was already taking off his pants, easily stepping out of them before he got into bed, leaving them forgotten on the floor. Niran only changed his shirt—seeing as the one he was wearing was covered in tears, snot and drool—before he climbed under his own covers.

The pillow that used to divide their sides was gone. He didn't remember doing that. Maybe he accidentally pushed it off in his sleep, or it simply fell. It didn't really matter. Pete was in front of him, curled under his blanket, eyes downcast but not closed.

Niran reached over before he could think better of it, cupping Pete’s cheek with his hand. A sigh escaped Pete as he leaned into it, fully closing his eyes. His eyes furrowed like it pained him—and when he looked at Niran in the dim light, he could see it there, too.

“I won't pretend nothing happened," Niran whispered. “Not again. You don't mean nothing to me, Pete. You never did."

Pete simply looked at him in silence, taking in shaky breaths.

“Okay," he whispered back before he closed his eyes once more.

For a long time Niran lay there, simply watching. His fingers were drawing patterns on Pete’s warm skin, scratching the scalp by his temple down to the nape of his neck. Rinse and repeat.

Even after Pete’s breathing evened out and his lips parted with soft breaths, he watched until he couldn't anymore.

When he awoke in the morning, it was to a beam of sunlight right to the eyes courtesy of the blinds he had once again forgotten to shut all the way. He reflexively squinted, letting out a sigh as he turned the other way. Unfortunately the damage had been done—he couldn’t fall back asleep no matter how hard he tried. A little begrudgingly, he opened his eyes again, only to come face to face with the still sleeping figure beside him.

Pete was laying on his side with his hands curled underneath his cheek, his bottom lip pushed a little to the side because of it. Soft, almost inaudible breaths were making his chest rise and fall. He was close. Much closer than he usually would be. Their knees were nearly touching through their blankets, and Niran could see the tiny red dots sprouting around his eyes from where he had squeezed them too tightly last night.

His chest suddenly filled with all too familiar guilt as remnants of the night echoed within his head. There was an ache with it, telling him to reach out and caress the skin as if it would make everything go away.

He didn’t. Instead, he allowed himself to stay for another minute. Then, he turned to grab his phone just to check the time, only to realize he forgot to charge it overnight. A huff escaped him before he quietly got out of bed, smoothing down his blanket and fluffing his pillow. He didn’t wake Pete before he left, making a beeline for the bathroom. If anyone needed well deserved sleep, it was him.

By the time he made it downstairs he noticed it was close to noon. The clock in the kitchen read 8:16 when he glanced up, but he knew it was always two hours behind. Neither of them ever bothered to adjust it, and he didn’t make an effort to do it then, either. He simply grabbed a bottle of water and made his way back up the stairs, stopping in the bathroom—again—to grab some painkillers as well as pills to help with heartburn.

Then, he quietly stepped into their bedroom, looking at a still sleeping Pete, now laying on his stomach with his arm reaching all the way over Niran’s side of the bed. His heart did a stupid little jump as he placed the pills and bottle on the nightstand, reaching over to quickly close the blinds before making his way back out.

And, just like the morning a couple of weeks prior, anxiety was coiling in his stomach while he busied himself making breakfast. The sun was peeking in through the windows, lighting up the counters and warming his hands, and somehow the feeling in his chest was both worse and better than it had been previously. Because Pete loved him. It wasn’t a drunken joke or a passing comment, it was the real thing.

It felt a little silly for it to only dawn on him then. He should’ve realized sooner how deep Pete’s affections for him were. It wasn’t as if he had thrown a blind eye to it—quite the opposite, actually. Maybe he simply didn’t allow himself to hope for more, because no one else had ever gotten so close. No one else had ever looked him in the eyes and smiled with all the happiness in the world at the mere prospect of spending forever with him. It wasn’t something he ever thought possible.

Even when Pete did nothing to warrant it, a tiny little voice in the back of Niran’s head still whispered that forever was too long of a time. Nothing, and no one, would ever stay that long. Not with him. Many times did he try to ignore it, but you can only pretend to feel indifferent to an ever worsening itch for so long.

Pete could still find better. Someone who doesn’t make him cry and beg to be loved back.

The toaster suddenly ejected his slightly browned toast with a thunk behind him, startling him out of any lingering thoughts. He turned to add spreads and toppings before he leaned back against the counter, biting into his sandwich without even sitting down. 

Just as he was biting into his second sandwich, familiar footsteps approached. Pete walked into the kitchen with new clothes and damp hair. He looked wrecked still, eyes tired and slightly swollen. He stopped only a couple of feet away, staring at anything but him. The distance wasn’t great by any means, yet it felt as though miles were separating them.

“You’re already up?” Niran put the sandwich back onto his plate, uselessly wiping his hands on his pants.

“Yeah,” Pete replied.

“How are you feeling?”

“Could be better.”

Niran swallowed, hesitating for a mere moment. “Do you… remember last night?”

“Yeah.” Pete glanced at him, shifting where he stood. He tried for a smile, but it faltered immediately. “I was really out of it that time.”

“Did you…” He shifted, licking his lips. “Did you mean what you said?”

He didn’t answer right away. “Does that bother you?”

Niran shook his head. “No. It doesn’t bother me at all.”

“You said you wouldn’t act like nothing happened,” Pete said, straight to the point.

He shifted again, rubbing the back of his neck. “I shouldn’t have acted like that in the first place.”

“Why didn’t you just say something?”

“I didn’t realize that—”

“Didn’t realize what?” Pete interrupted, frowning. “That I’m in love with you? Was me saying I’d date you not enough?”

Niran blinked at the sudden admission, heat flooding over his face. “You didn’t say that.”

“I did. I said if I was gonna find a guy, he’d have to be you.” He stepped closer. “And you still acted like I didn’t say any of that. I really… I really thought you feel the same. I mean, what else am I supposed to think with the way you act? Last night you caressed my damn face until I fell asleep. I don’t—I won’t understand unless you say something, Niran.”

There was a plea in Pete’s eyes, a question wishing to be granted an answer. Niran slowly lowered his gaze away from it. Anxiety coiled around his guts like a vice. There was no way, or reason, to ignore it any longer 

“I wasn’t… rejecting you,” he admitted. “You were drunk, and I wasn’t sure if you’d actually meant it. Then you said we don’t have to mention it again, so I didn’t. I know that was stupid. I guess I was just…” He sighed. “Scared.”

There was a pause. It went on for so long that his palms began sweating, though he kept his eyes on the tiles below his feet. Footsteps slowly began approaching him.

“You weren’t rejecting me?” Pete asked, voice quiet and much closer than it had been before. His feet walked into Niran’s view, and only then did he look up again to meet his eyes.

He looked hopeful.

“No, I wasn’t,” Niran answered, throat feeling dry. His heart was thrumming in his chest, threatening to break free. “You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, Pete. I’m sorry I didn’t say it earlier. I’m sorry I keep… hurting you.”

Pete blinked, licking his lips. His eyes looked a little wet. “You were being a bit of an asshole.”

“I know.”

“What were you so scared of? You can tell me, you know. You can always tell me anything.”

Niran hesitated. Quietly, he said, “I didn’t want to lose you if you hadn’t meant it. Or if taking it further was somehow going to… I don't know.”

He couldn't find the words to explain that he had almost been positive he would ruin it.

“You’re so dumb sometimes,” Pete frowned, though his voice sounded unbelievably glad. "You’re never getting rid of me, idiot. How often do I have to say it before it gets through your thick skull?”

“Probably forever,” he joked.

Pete smiled. “We have that long, huh?”

“If you don’t get us killed.”

“Jerk. I’ve done a good job so far.”

Pleasant silence fell over them then, lighter than it had been in weeks. Niran wasn’t sure if he should say or do anything else. He actively resisted the urge to reach out and touch, even when his body was buzzing with it.

Then, as if Pete read his mind, he was being pulled into a hug so tight it nearly made him wheeze. Pete was burying his face into the crook of his neck, arms wrapped around his shoulders. He could feel his heart beat fast against his own.

“I want you to say it,” Pete said in a near whisper. “Just this once.”

He blinked. “Say what?”

“That you love me.”

He swallowed, slowly lifting both his arms and wrapping them around Pete’s waist, holding him just as close. “I love you.” He leaned his head against Pete’s. “I have for a long time.”

A huff of air tickled his neck, and Pete’s voice sounded amused when he asked, “how long is a long time?”

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I think there was always something there. I just didn’t know what it was. I’ve never…”

“Never what?” Pete asked after a brief pause.

His ears began burning again. How much can a person possibly blush before their head explodes? “Never felt like this. For anyone. Except you.”

Pete slowly pulled far enough away to study his face, surprise etched into his features. Something in his eyes must give him the answer he was looking for, because Pete suddenly—and badly—held back a pleased smile.

Niran raised an eyebrow. “Don’t let it get to your head.”

“I’ll do whatever I want,” he retorted, hands coming up to cradle Niran’s jaw. Two thumbs began caressing his skin as Pete’s eyes wandered down. “Like, maybe, steal your first kiss…”

He froze, just for a mere second. His eyes, somewhat involuntarily, flew down to Pete’s lips before they looked away—only to look right back. Pete didn’t seem to notice this, inching closer until their breaths mingled between them. Only then did he look up to meet Niran’s gaze, a sweet plea in his.

“I've never really done this before either,” Pete whispered. His heart skipped a beat. “Before, I thought distancing myself would make it go away. But it only made me miss you, even when you were right next to me. I wanted to blame it on the soul bind, but I knew it wasn’t why you were always on my mind. And then I realized I wouldn’t get rid of you either.” He closed his eyes, pressing their foreheads together. “You’re not going to lose me, ‘cause I’m not going anywhere. So stop running already.”

“Okay,” Niran simply whispered back.

Then he closed the remaining gap and kissed Pete.

It was only a press of lips, yet something big sparked in his chest—not quite like fireworks, but a similar burst of warmth that enveloped them both. At that same instance, as Pete pressed back, he was overcome with such an intense surge of love that his knees might have given out if he hadn’t been pushed against the counter. And, in that very moment, he realized it was both his own feelings for Pete, and the feelings Pete had for him. It was both loving and being loved endlessly.

When Pete slowly parted his lips, Niran clumsily followed. He tilted his head, listening to the soft sigh that escaped between them. The taste of his own toothpaste filled his mouth—a taste usually so mundane, yet there he was, chasing it. Every kiss and every breath felt like everything they could never possibly say. It felt like saying I love you, over and over, until it was the only thing that mattered. His mind began wandering somewhere else; somewhere high above where there was nothing but them, right then, kissing in their open kitchen with only the sun to bear witness. The edge of the counter dug sharply against his lower back each time he was pushed back against it, but he didn’t care.

Who knew that he would ever wish to be stuck in such a scene forever, with Pete so tightly pressed against him that they might fuse into one single being. With his sharp, calloused hands still cradling his jaw. With their legs slotted together like puzzle pieces, pushing just to hear the effect it had. Every single one of his senses was filled with him; from the faint scent of almond sticking to his hair to his soft sounds tickling his ears. Maybe that was why he didn’t notice when his hands began roaming over the expanse of Pete’s clothed back, feeling the muscles flex and jump underneath his touch despite the fabric between.

And maybe that was why he didn’t say anything when Pete pulled away to kiss along the line of his jaw and down the length of his neck. Niran felt as though he was melting more and more with every touch, every soft press of lips. His body was ignited like a flame, heart beating uncontrollably. He felt kisses trailing up to his ear, as one of Pete’s hands came down to rest on the waistband of his pants, squeezing.

“I’ve thought about this so much,” Pete whispered against his skin. “So, so much.”

When his lips met the shell of his ear, a tingle ran through Niran’s entire being. A rather audible sigh escaped his lips, dangerously close to something else. At the same time, Pete’s stomach growled. Loudly.

Both of them paused. It was brief, however, as Pete quickly picked up where he left off.

Until his stomach growled a second time.

An irritated groan escaped him then, as his forehead fell onto Niran’s shoulder. “My stomach is betraying me.”

“I think it’s calling for help, actually,” he managed, slightly breathless. One of his hands was gripping the counter—when did that happen?—before he eased it. His chest was heaving and his legs felt embarrassingly jelly-like.

Pete pulled away to look at him, the heat in his eyes making something stir low in his stomach. His flushed face and reddened lips didn't quite help the matter, either—if anything, they just made it much more difficult to maintain eye contact.

“I wish I could just eat you,” Pete said shamelessly, before he eyed the bitten sandwich still next to him. Without another word, he grabbed it and took the biggest bite he could possibly manage.

Niran frowned with no actual heat, ignoring Pete’s words entirely to keep himself sane. “I didn’t make that for you.”

“But you would if I asked, right?” he asked, mouth still full. “Take pity on me, I’m hungover.”

“Oh right,” he said sarcastically. “You probably feel awful. You should finish that and lay back down while I go to work.”

“No, no.” Pete reached out to wrap his free arm around him. “You’re not going anywhere.”

“What if I have to?”

“Cancel everything, I don’t care.” He pouted. “I want to be with you today.”

There it was again, that pleading look. The one he most definitely knew worked perfectly in his favor. Niran wished he could’ve said he had already built a resistance around it, but unfortunately his brain was still very much mushed and Pete’s leg was still very much between his own.

He hummed softly, smile curving the corners of his lips. “Your lucky day. My schedule is free.”

Pete returned his smile, a lot more pleased, before he leaned in to press a peck on his lips. And then another. And another.

Niran pushed him away with a hand on his chest. “Eat.”

“I’m trying to.”

“Eat your sandwich, Pete.”

“Oh, so now you’re saying it’s mine?” He grinned, taking another bite. “What a lenient boyfriend you are.”

His smile dropped. “Boyfriend?"

"Yeah. Aren't you?” Pete raised an eyebrow. "We've basically been dating for the last couple of months.”

"What are you talking about? No we haven't.”

He sighed heavily. “We live together. We sleep in the same bed. You let me wear your clothes. You take me out for dinner multiple times a week and pay for it every time."

"Only because you don't have any money,” he interrupted, even though Pete was making some very valid points.

“We both know that's not the only reason you do it.” He pointed at his hand. "Also, you wear that ring like we’re already engaged. It’s the reason Ploy has been convinced we’re a couple for weeks."

Niran frowned, heat creeping back up his neck. “But we’re not—" he cut himself off.

“We’re not?" Pete looked back at him, grin already threatening to emerge again. “You just made out with me, Niran. Your hands were all over me.” As if to further prove his point, he pressed his leg up against him, much too amused when Niran tensed.

He used his foot to push Pete’s leg away, avoiding his eyes. Words failed him again, which only seemed to fuel Pete more. Niran truly wanted to wipe that smug look off his face. 

"Or is it that you don't like it?” Pete asked as he leaned in just so, keeping his voice quiet. "You wanna stay in buddy territory forever?”

“I didn't say that.”

"Good, ‘cause I’m tired of waiting.” He took yet another bite of his sandwich, chewing while talking. "You know how long I’ve been into you? I swear, if you started talking about courting me, I would've beat your ass right here."

Niran couldn't help but grin slightly. "I guess I should stop paying for your meals then. Couples share, right?"

Pete pursed his lips. "Does that mean I’ll finally get a split of your money?”

He pretended to think about it for once. "No.”

“Wow,” Pete said, not even particularly surprised. "It’s almost impressive how stingy you are."

Niran reached out and pinched Pete’s nose merely because he could, smiling at the sudden confusion furrowing his brows. "You know,” he started. "If you give me some space, I can make you another sandwich.”

Pete did so—which luckily gave Niran time to breathe and recollect himself—although he really didn't go very far. He watched Niran pull the ingredients out of the fridge, watched him put four more slices of bread into the toaster. When it was time to actually add everything together, Pete suddenly wrapped his arms around him from behind. A chin promptly landed on his shoulder.

“You should try it,” Pete said.

“Try what?” Niran replied as he laid down a piece of lettuce.

“Calling me your boyfriend.”

He froze. Although it was only for a split second, Pete noticed it. And, although Niran couldn’t see him, he knew the bastard was grinning. He felt a sudden kiss being pressed against his jaw.

"I’ve wanted this for so long,” Pete said, tone nothing but soft. "I thought I wouldn't get to have it anymore.”

Niran turned enough to look Pete in the eyes. Warmth met him there, despite the guilt that began churning in his stomach again. He shouldn't deserve something like this after what he put him through.

Still, he shared the sentiment. Nothing in his life had ever meant so much.

“You always had me," he responded.

Pete smiled brightly.

Then, he simply kissed him again.