Beam showed up on the third day.

He knocked on the door just as Gawin stepped out of the shower—shirt half-buttoned, the last clasp still dangling from his fingers. His hair was wet, clinging to his forehead in soft, dark strands.

Joss opened the door.

He blocked half the frame with his body, gaze sharp and cold, like a silent warning.

Beam didn’t flinch. He wasn’t confrontational, but his voice was unsettlingly calm—like every sharp word had already been rehearsed.

“Can I talk to him... alone?”

Gawin glanced at Joss.
It wasn’t a plea.
More like a silent heads-up: this won’t be easy.

Joss didn’t say anything.
Just stepped back.
His hand lingered on the lock, tightening just before the door shut behind Gawin.

Inside, all Joss could hear was his own heartbeat—steady, but far from calm.

Out in the hallway, Beam didn’t waste time.

“You really think he loves you, Win?”

Gawin crossed his arms, eyes narrowing.

“Who are you talking about?”

“Joss.”
Beam’s voice was low, even.
“He’s never lasted more than six months with anyone. I’d know. I used to be one of them.”

The words hit like a fist to the chest.
No need to shout. No dramatics.
Just the truth—clean, blunt, cruel.

Beam stepped closer, and his voice softened.

“I’m not mad you’re in love. I just don’t want you falling into the same hole again.”
“Do you remember how long it took you to crawl out last time?”

Gawin looked down.

He didn’t want to remember.
But memory’s a blade—it cuts whether you reach for it or not.

Those nights curled up in corners.
The airless feeling every time Joss’s name crept into his thoughts.
And Joss himself—both the savior and the wound.

Beam’s voice broke through again—gentler this time, but bare with feeling:

“I never forced anything. But if the day comes when he lets you go... I’ll still be here. I’ll be the one ready to catch you.”

Gawin said nothing.

It took a while before he whispered:

“I need to think.”

When he came back inside, Joss was already in the middle of the room.
His eyes—usually so unreadable—were storming with something between restraint and rage.

“I heard everything.”
His voice was low, rough.

Gawin swallowed hard, his body still as he stood in the wake of that simmering fury.

“So what are you going to say?” he asked.

Joss stepped forward.
His hand gripped Gawin’s arm—not harshly, but enough to make him stay.

“You doubt me that much?”

“You left me once.”
Gawin’s voice cracked.
“You disappeared without a word.”

The silence that followed stretched so tight, it felt like breathing might shatter it.

Then, without warning, Joss shoved Gawin against the wall.
No kiss. No softness.
Just forehead to forehead, breath crashing like waves.

“What do I have to do to make you believe me?”
He was shaking now—not from anger, but from the rawness of it all.

Gawin didn’t flinch.

His eyes glistened, red and wet, but still defiant:

“Prove it.”

That was all it took.

Joss snapped.

He lifted Gawin in his arms, kicked the bedroom door shut behind them, and tossed him onto the bed.

No holding back this time.
For once, he let go of every ounce of control he had.

Shirts torn.
Buttons flying.
Gawin pinned beneath him, staring up—eyes wide, lips parted, as if silently asking:
Will you stay this time?

Joss didn’t answer.
He didn’t need to.

He sank into him, deep and hard—no hesitation, no preamble, no apologies.

“You’re mine.”
His voice rasped against Gawin’s ear.
“And you’re not allowed to belong to anyone else.”

Gawin moaned, arms wrapped tight around him, nails raking down his back—leaving marks that wouldn’t fade anytime soon.

There was no grace to it.
No gentleness.

Just need.
Possession.
A desperate, hungry claiming born of love and fear and fury all tangled together.

Every thrust said what words couldn’t:
Don’t doubt me. Don’t leave me. I’m still here.

And in that mess of breath and skin and heat, nothing was held back.

It wasn’t just sex.
It was the sound of two hearts slamming into each other, bruised but still beating, still choosing.

When it was over, they lay tangled in sweat-damp sheets, breath ragged, the room heavy with everything unsaid.

Joss pulled Gawin close, arms wrapped around him like he couldn’t bear the distance of even an inch.

“G...”
His voice trembled, barely a whisper.
“If you’re not sure... say so. But don’t let someone else’s words make you forget what we have. Don’t doubt this—when your heart already knows.”

Gawin’s body trembled.

Then he pressed his face to Joss’s chest, voice almost too quiet to catch:

“I’m just... scared.”
“Scared of loving you more than I should.”

Joss kissed the top of his head, lips brushing against damp hair, and whispered—like a vow only meant for two:

“However much you love me... I’ll take it all."

@NopByy Việt Nam 🇻🇳🇻🇳🇻🇳