Scene: Inside Their Room

The lights are soft. The ocean whispers through the cracked balcony door. A pair of slippers are kicked half under the bed from earlier, and their duffel bags sit slouched near the closet. Hong doesn’t take anything in — his head is still on Nut’s shoulder.

Nut leads him to the bed and sits him down gently.

“Stay,” Hong says, reaching for his hand immediately.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Nut replies, crouching to untie Hong’s shoes. “Let me get you out of these before you fall asleep in them again.”

“I only did that once,” Hong protests, barely able to sit upright.

“Twice,” Nut corrects, amused.

He gets Hong’s shoes off and helps him lie back, tugging the covers down and then up over him. Hong lets himself melt into the pillows, limbs sprawling, one hand still searching for Nut’s.

Nut climbs in next to him, fully clothed still, turning on his side so they’re facing each other.

“You smell like wine and sun,” Nut murmurs, brushing Hong’s hair from his eyes.

“You smell like home,” Hong replies, eyes fluttering open for just a second before he reaches out and cups Nut’s cheek with an uncoordinated hand.

Nut leans into it, his eyes soft. “You’re drunk.”

“I know.” A pause. “But I still mean it.”

“I know.”

There’s silence for a while. Hong’s breathing slows, evening out, and Nut thinks he might have drifted off — but then, Hong mumbles:

“You didn’t kiss me tonight.”

Nut blinks. “I thought you were falling asleep.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want to be kissed.”

Nut smiles. He leans in and presses a soft, lingering kiss to Hong’s lips — warm, slow, careful. When he pulls back, Hong lets out a quiet sigh of contentment.

“Better,” he whispers.

Nut lies there, watching him until his breathing deepens, until the weight of the day settles into peace. He kisses his forehead once more, then wraps an arm around his waist and closes his eyes.

Outside, the ocean keeps singing.

And inside, they rest — entwined, safe, and entirely each other’s.

Scene: Late Night – Tui’s Hotel Room

The door clicks shut behind him.

Tui stands there for a moment in the dark, hand still on the doorknob. The silence is heavy — not empty, exactly, but full in a different way. Outside, he can still hear the faint hum of the ocean, steady and distant through the glass.

He exhales and turns on a single lamp by the bed. A small pool of light spills out, warm and amber, not quite reaching the far corners of the room. The space feels too big for one person. The sheets are smooth, untouched. The air too still.

He walks to the window and opens it just a little wider. The breeze slips in — cool, smelling of salt and night — and lifts the edge of the curtain. Tui leans against the frame, resting his forehead against the glass, eyes drifting to the moonlit beach below.

He can almost hear the laughter again — Diamond’s bright voice, Hong’s slurred affection, Nut’s low chuckle. The clink of glasses, William quietly pulling Est away, Lego sitting calmly at the edge of it all.

And himself — silent, watching, not quite part of the picture.

He pulls away from the window and walks over to the bed, sitting on the edge. His shoulders drop as he unties his shoes, then peels off his hoodie and folds it neatly, placing it on the chair. He moves slowly, carefully, as if rushing would make the quiet more unbearable.

Once he’s in bed, he lies back and stares at the ceiling.

His phone glows softly on the nightstand. He picks it up, scrolls for a moment — through old messages, unread ones, names he knows he won’t tap on. He lingers for a second on one thread — his thumb hovering — then locks the screen and places the phone face down.

The room is so still.

He closes his eyes and tries to sleep, but his mind doesn't settle. Not yet.

Instead, he turns onto his side, pulling the blanket up to his chin, hugging a pillow closer. The soft sounds of the sea drift through the open window — steady, familiar, and impossibly far.

And in that quiet space, where no one can see him and nothing is expected, Tui finally lets the loneliness rise like a tide. Not dramatic. Not overwhelming. Just… there.

He breathes in. Breathes out.

And waits for morning.

Scene: Morning – Beachside Hotel

The light filters in slow and golden, curling around curtains and slipping through the cracks in balcony doors. The soft hum of waves rises in the background, steady and calming.

Nut and Hong

Nut is already awake, lying on his side, watching Hong sleep. The morning sun catches on the edge of Hong’s lashes, his face relaxed in the way it only is in deep rest. His head is tucked close to Nut’s chest, one leg thrown over his hips.

Nut doesn’t move — he just listens to the quiet rhythm of Hong’s breathing, feeling the small puffs of warmth against his collarbone. He brushes his fingers gently through Hong’s hair, eyes soft, chest full.

He could stay like this forever.

And then, with a quiet groan, Hong stirs.

“Mmm… is it still vacation?” he mumbles, eyes barely open.

Nut smiles. “Yeah. One more day.”

Hong hums sleepily and burrows closer. “Then don’t move yet.”

“Wasn’t planning to.”

Lego and Diamond

Lego wakes to the sound of laughter — soft, private. He blinks and turns his head to find Diamond sitting cross-legged on the bed, scrolling through his phone and sipping from a bottle of water.

“You slept through the sunrise,” Diamond says, glancing over.

“I was busy resting my soul,” Lego murmurs, voice gravelly with sleep.

Diamond snorts and leans over to press a kiss to his temple. “I ordered coffee.”

Lego hums approvingly and reaches up, pulling Diamond gently down into his arms. “Five more minutes like this?”

Diamond smiles. “Ten.”

Their bodies press close, warm and easy. The kind of intimacy that doesn’t need words — just gravity pulling them back together again.

Est and William

The room is still dim, curtains drawn tight. William stirs first, rolling onto his back and blinking at the ceiling. His arm is still wrapped around Est, who lies against his chest, one hand loosely fisted in the fabric of William’s shirt.

For a second, William just stares at the ceiling, the weight of last night hanging in the quiet. And then — he looks down.

Est is still asleep, but his brow is smooth, lips parted slightly. Peaceful.

William exhales slowly. He brushes his fingers down Est’s spine, memorizing the shape of him all over again. The shark tattoo. The warmth of skin. The quiet promise of being here.

He closes his eyes and presses his lips to Est’s hair.

“We’re okay,” he whispers.

Tui

Tui is already awake, standing barefoot on his balcony with a cup of coffee in hand. His eyes are fixed on the horizon, where the ocean meets the sky in a hazy, endless line.

His room is still and pristine. He never really slept — just drifted in and out, thoughts turning too loudly in his head.

But here, in the morning light, something feels a little softer. Maybe it’s the silence. Maybe it’s the distance from everything else. Maybe it’s just being alone, without pretending.

He sips his coffee slowly. Doesn’t rush.

And when a bird cuts across the sky, fast and light, Tui finds himself smiling just a little — sad, maybe. But real.

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