But I’m better in person

Scene: Diamond’s Living Room – 3:47 AM

Diamond and Lego are now completely naked. Diamond climbs on Lego and tries to insert his penis into Lego, Lego closes his eyes and presses his eyelids tightly. Diamond gently and slowly inserts his penis into Lego. Lego lets out a loud scream, opens his eyes and at that moment a teardrop falls onto Diamond's hand.

The city outside is a distant hush, like the world has lowered its voice to let this moment unfold.

The couch beneath them is soft, slightly sunken in from their closeness. The room smells faintly of the cologne Diamond wore earlier and the warm, lived-in scent of home. It's dim, the light from a nearby lamp casting a golden sheen over their skin.

Diamond is above Lego now, not pressing or crowding him — just there, steady, close, real. His hands cradle Lego's face as if afraid the moment might vanish if he moves too fast. Their foreheads touch. Their breath mingles.

"You're okay?" he whispers.

Lego nods. His voice is barely there. "I want this."

Diamond kisses him — soft, reverent, a thousand unspoken things in the press of his lips. He moves slowly, touching every inch of Lego like it matters. Like he matters.

And to Diamond, he does.

Lego trembles, not from fear, but from the weight of it — the gravity of being seen, touched, loved this openly. He's never done this before, but it doesn't feel like a first step into something unknown. It feels like coming home.

Diamond's hands move over Lego's body, learning the shape of him. He doesn't ask for more than Lego gives. He doesn't demand. He responds — to every sound, every sigh, every shiver — with quiet patience and devotion.

And when they come together, it's not about perfection. It's not about knowing everything or doing everything right. It's about choosing each other in this raw, open way. About being close enough to feel everything and still wanting more.

Lego clutches Diamond's arms, breath catching, chest rising fast. Their rhythm is slow, uncertain at first — but they adjust, moving together, following instinct and tenderness and every little look between them. There's laughter, soft gasps, mouths finding each other again and again.

Diamond never looks away.

And Lego never wants him to.

There's a moment — somewhere in the middle — when Lego says his name, just once. And Diamond kisses his forehead, his lips, his throat.

"I've got you," he whispers.

Lego closes his eyes. "I know."

The tension builds gently, waves lapping closer and closer to the shore. Their fingers lace together. Their bodies fit. Their hearts feel full.

And in that moment, they both understand something unspoken: love isn't always loud. Sometimes it's this — soft touches, trembling breaths, the quiet promise that you're exactly where you belong.

Scene: Diamond’s Living Room – 4։24 AM

The night deepens.

Outside, the city has fallen into silence. Streetlights flicker across empty roads. Inside, the glow of the lamp has dimmed, but the warmth between them hasn’t.

Lego lies tucked against Diamond’s chest on the couch, their bodies tangled under a soft throw blanket someone had tossed there days ago. The room smells like skin and a hint of cigarette smoke from Diamond’s jacket on the floor. His hand rests on Lego’s bare back, moving in slow, steady circles. Neither of them speaks.

They don’t need to.

Lego listens to Diamond’s heartbeat. It’s strong. Grounding. A steady rhythm that feels like home.

His fingers trace the seam of Diamond’s collarbone, lazily. Thoughtlessly. Like he’s memorizing the lines of someone he already knows by heart.

“Are you tired?” Diamond murmurs into Lego’s hair, voice rasped and gentle.

“No,” Lego whispers. “I just… don’t want this to end.”

Diamond shifts, just enough to kiss the crown of his head. “It won’t.”

Lego closes his eyes tighter. He’s not used to promises. But something about the way Diamond says it — soft, low, without needing to prove anything — makes him believe.

There’s a long pause before Lego speaks again.

“I thought maybe… we wouldn’t ever get here,” he admits. “Not because I didn’t want it. But because I didn’t know if you did.”

Diamond exhales slowly, his breath warm across Lego’s temple.

“I did,” he says. “I do. You have no idea how much I wanted this. How long I’ve been trying to get it right.”

Lego lifts his head slightly, enough to see Diamond’s face in the pale blue light bleeding through the window. Diamond looks soft. Unarmored. His eyes a little tired, a little glassy, but full of something honest.

“You’re a terrible texter,” Lego says, teasing, lips curving into the faintest grin.

Diamond chuckles under his breath. “Yeah. But I’m better in person.”

“You are,” Lego agrees, lowering his head again.

They fall quiet for a while, drifting in and out of that warm place between sleep and not-sleep. Diamond’s hand stays steady on Lego’s back, as if it’s the only thing tethering him to the world. Lego breathes slow, deeper, more sure.

At some point, Diamond shifts again, adjusting the blanket around them. He kisses Lego’s shoulder, his temple, the side of his mouth — just barely.

“Lego,” he whispers. “You don’t know what you’ve done to me.”

Lego stirs but doesn’t answer. His arm curls tighter around Diamond’s waist.

The window glows faintly now.

Dawn, still distant, but inevitable.

Diamond brushes Lego’s hair back and watches the first shy streaks of light touch the edges of the city. He doesn’t want to move. Doesn’t want to break this spell.

And maybe he doesn’t have to.

Because Lego, eyes still closed, whispers sleepily, “Don’t let go.”

“I won’t,” Diamond replies, pulling him closer. “Not now. Not ever.”

And with that, the night gives in to morning — quietly, gently — with two hearts folded into each other on a couch that now holds a memory they’ll both return to, again and again.