Bangkok, 2:13 AM - A humid, stifling summer night

Faint jazz drifted from a speaker tucked into the bar's corner, every note breathing like it had a soul. The room sat in half-light - cool from the air conditioning, yet oddly suffocating with something unspoken, something everyone felt but no one could name.

Gawin sat quietly on the edge of the sofa, his fingers idly swirling the amber liquid in his glass. The golden whisky caught the soft glow of the lamp overhead. His white shirt hung open, revealing the slope of his neck and the sharp line of his collarbone. He wasn't drunk, but his eyes were distant - as if searching for an anchor at the end of an unbearably long day.

Joss was nearby. He didn't command attention - dressed in a simple black shirt, back straight, gaze steady. And yet, when his eyes flicked over, even just for a second, Gawin felt it deep - as though being seen right through. Cold. But not unfeeling.

Neither of them spoke. They didn't need to. The silence between them wasn't awkward - it simply made the world outside fade a few beats further away.

The 20th-floor room opened out over a sleeping city. The curtains fluttered in the artificial breeze, and the lights beyond cast long, quiet shadows on the floor. The bed stood untouched in the center - too white, too pristine, like something unfamiliar and desperately lonely.

Joss stepped in front of Gawin, fingers reaching for his collar, testing the fabric like it might fall apart.
"Are you cold?"

A pointless question. But his voice was warm - the only warmth in the room.

Gawin shook his head softly. "Not cold. Just... kind of empty."

There was no answer to that.

Joss leaned in, kissed him - not hurried, not careless. A kiss that asked a question. Gawin didn't respond right away, only closed his eyes. And in that split second, something inside him gave way - melting into a feeling too nameless to describe.

The kisses weren't rushed. Each touch felt like it was trying to trace some fracture deep beneath the skin. Joss's hands moved from Gawin's neck to his collarbone, then lower - steady, gentle. When he undressed him, there was no urgency, only a quiet reverence, like every piece of clothing deserved to be understood before it was let go.

Gawin let out a soft breath as his back met the cool sheets. But he didn't pull away. Instead, his eyes held Joss's - as if trying to say something words had long given up on.

Joss's body came down over his, firm, warm, filling every empty space - but never overwhelming. His movements were slow, deliberate, deep - not from hesitation, but from the kind of respect that asks for nothing in return. It didn't feel like any moment Gawin had ever lived through. Not because of skill - but because, in that fleeting space of time, he felt truly seen.

Gawin arched his neck, breath caught, his hands gripping Joss's back. A small resistance - not to push him away, but to hold him close. As if afraid this moment would vanish the second it felt real.

The rhythm rose with their breath. Not loud. Not overwhelming. Just real - so real it made you want to surrender and shatter all at once.

Then came silence.

Gawin turned his back to Joss, their bare shoulders touching, neither of them speaking. Joss's hand rested lightly at Gawin's waist - not holding, just being there, like a promise no one dared to make.

The night breeze still slipped through the curtains. The room remained still. But somewhere in that silence, something gentle... quietly took root.

It didn't need a name.
It didn't need a promise.
It just was.
Once. And real.

@nopbyy vietnam!