The first thing Hong felt was warmth.

The sunlight slipped in gently through the pale curtains, casting golden streaks across the bed. The sheets were soft beneath him, tangled between bare legs and quiet breath. And beside him — still asleep, chest rising and falling in a peaceful rhythm — was Nut.

For a moment, Hong just looked at him.

Nut’s face was relaxed in sleep, the curve of his lips still slightly parted, his lashes resting softly against his skin. He looked beautiful. Unfairly so. And Hong’s chest tightened, not with affection, but with something quieter… heavier.

He shifted a little, careful not to wake him. His gaze traced the soft slope of Nut’s shoulder, the faint marks from the night before still lingering on his skin — proof of closeness, of tenderness, of a line they had crossed. A line he wasn’t sure how to redraw.

Last night had been everything and nothing all at once. It had felt natural. Desperate, even. Like something that had been waiting in silence for too long. But now, in the light of morning, Hong couldn’t help but ask himself why.

Why had he let it happen?

Not because he didn’t care. He did. Maybe too much. But that was the problem. What if this changed everything? What if it had meant more to Nut than it had to him — or worse, the other way around?

He pulled the covers up slightly, suddenly cold despite the warmth in the room. His thoughts moved in quiet panic, threading between memories of Nut’s smile, his touch, the way he had whispered Hong’s name like it meant something more.

Maybe it had meant something more.

And maybe Hong had just made a beautiful mistake.

He looked at Nut again, lying there so peacefully, so trustingly. And all he could think was: What if I break him?

He turned his head away, closing his eyes, pretending to sleep again. But the peace was gone.

Only silence remained. Heavy. Full of everything they didn’t yet know how to say.

Nut stirred, blinking into the morning light, the sleep still heavy in his eyes. For a moment, everything felt soft, hazy — until he turned and saw Hong lying beside him, still, quiet, facing away.

He frowned.

“Wow,” Nut said, voice rough from sleep. “You’re still here? I thought you’d run off dramatically before sunrise.”

Hong didn’t move. His shoulders tensed, just slightly.

Nut sat up halfway, propped on his elbow, letting the sheet fall loosely around his waist. “Come on, say something. Or are you trying to ghost me while still in the same bed?”

Hong let out a breath — somewhere between a sigh and a laugh — but it didn’t reach his eyes when he finally turned to look at him.

“You talk too much in the morning,” he muttered, eyes unreadable.

Nut’s grin faltered. There was something wrong. He knew Hong too well. He could read the distance in his voice, the way he didn’t meet his gaze, how he kept the space between them intact, like the night before hadn’t happened. Like he regretted it.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to be weird about this,” Nut said, trying to keep his tone light, teasing. “I mean, yeah, you begged a little, but I didn’t mind.”

“I didn’t beg,” Hong replied sharply, eyes narrowing. “You’re not that irresistible.”

Nut smirked, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes either. He sat back, drawing the sheet around himself, suddenly colder than before.

“Right,” he said. “Just a mistake then.”

Hong didn’t answer.

And that silence — it cut deeper than any insult ever had.

They had always fought like this. Teased. Pushed. Danced on the line between hate and something messier. But last night had changed things. And now, in the aftermath, neither of them knew how to be themselves again without pretending that it hadn’t meant something.

Nut swallowed the lump rising in his throat and forced a grin. “Don’t worry. I won’t get clingy or cry on your shoulder or anything. You’re not that good.”

Hong looked at him then, really looked — something bitter and tender flickering in his eyes, like he wanted to speak but didn’t trust what would come out.

“Good,” he said quietly. “That makes two of us.”

But even as the words left his mouth, Hong hated them.

Because they were both lying. And they both knew it.

The sound of running water had stopped a few minutes ago, but Hong was still sitting on the edge of the bed, head down, hands loosely clasped between his knees. He hadn't moved much since Nut disappeared into the bathroom, but his thoughts were anything but still.

He was trying to forget the night before — trying to convince himself it hadn’t meant anything. That it was just heat, proximity, impulse.

But then Nut walked back in.

Steam rolled gently out behind him, clinging to his skin. His hair was damp and sticking to his forehead in soft strands, and a single white towel hung low around his waist, clinging to the curves of his hips in a way that made it impossible not to look.

And Hong looked.

He glanced up for just a second — but it was enough. Enough to make something twist in his chest, warm and helpless and dangerous.

Nut didn’t say anything at first. He was casually drying his hair with another towel, water still glistening on his collarbone, trailing down his chest, catching light on his skin. Completely comfortable. Unbothered. Like he didn’t even notice what he was doing to Hong.

Or maybe he did.

“Enjoying the view?” Nut asked without looking, voice low and teasing as he moved toward the closet. “I charge extra for staring.”

Hong rolled his eyes and turned his head, but the heat crawling up his neck betrayed him.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he muttered.

“Too late,” Nut said with a grin, tossing the towel over his shoulder. “You’ve seen me naked already. What’s left to hide?”

Hong didn’t answer. He couldn’t. Because this — this lazy, post-shower version of Nut — was the kind of beauty that didn’t even try. And that’s what made it worse. Or better. He wasn’t sure anymore.

He stole another glance when Nut turned to grab a shirt, the towel shifting just slightly, revealing the sharp lines of his back, the droplets still clinging to his skin.

And that’s when it hit him.

He was already in too deep.

Because Hong didn’t just want to look. He wanted to stay. He wanted to memorize every version of Nut — the infuriating one, the funny one, the fragile one. And now this quiet, wet-haired version who moved around like he owned the room and Hong’s heart.

But he stayed silent, swallowing everything he couldn’t say.

Because love, in this room, still wore the mask of teasing and distance. And Hong wasn’t ready to take it off.

Not yet.

The door clicked softly as it opened.

Lego stepped into the apartment, kicking off his shoes, expecting the usual noise — Nut’s voice bouncing off the walls, the sound of a video game, music too loud for a Sunday morning.

But instead, there was silence. Thick. Heavy. Suspicious.

He frowned, eyes scanning the living room, then turned toward the bedroom door that was cracked open.

Inside, the light was dim, curtains drawn halfway. The air felt… off. Not empty, but not quite full either. That’s when he saw Hong.

Sitting on the bed, motionless.

His back was against the headboard, arms wrapped loosely around his knees. His silver hair was slightly disheveled, like he hadn’t slept well — or at all. And his eyes — red-rimmed, distant, like someone had reached inside him and twisted something vital.

Lego stepped in slowly. “Hey… you look like shit.”

Hong didn’t move.

Lego’s eyes caught something on the floor. A familiar black shirt, half-crumpled near the edge of the bed. Nut’s. He recognized it immediately.

His gaze snapped back to Hong. “Wait… is Nut here?”

Hong blinked, like he was pulling himself back into his body. “No. He left a few minutes ago.”

Lego sat down on the edge of the bed, cautious. “Did something happen?”

A long pause.

Then Hong spoke — quietly. Like it hurt to say it.

“I slept with him.”

Lego’s eyes widened slightly, but he didn’t say anything yet.

Hong continued, staring at nothing. “Last night. It just… happened. I don’t even know how. One second we were arguing, laughing, throwing pillows at each other like idiots. And then…”

He closed his eyes.

“And then I kissed him. Or he kissed me. I don’t know. It doesn’t matter.”

Lego leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “And you regret it?”

Hong’s jaw clenched. “Yes. No. I don’t know. It’s Nut. He’s everything I hate. He talks too much. He never takes anything seriously. He makes fun of me every five seconds and — ”

His voice cracked. “And I think I love him.”

Lego was quiet.

Hong let out a shaky breath, like he’d been holding it in all night. “He looked at me this morning like nothing had changed. Like he could laugh it off. And I— I don’t know how to do that. I don’t know how to pretend I didn’t fall apart in his hands.”

He ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated. “I should’ve never let it happen. I’ve ruined everything.”

Lego looked at him, more gently this time. “You didn’t ruin anything. Maybe you just uncovered it.”

Hong scoffed bitterly. “What, my emotional instability?”

“No,” Lego said. “Your truth.”

Silence settled between them again.

And then Lego added quietly, “You’re not the only one scared of loving someone who makes you crazy. But maybe he’s scared too.”

Hong didn’t answer. His eyes drifted again to the black shirt on the floor, and for a second, he looked like he might cry again — but this time not out of regret.

Out of hope. And fear. The kind that love always leaves behind.