Gawin didn’t get out of bed the next morning.

His body was sore. Thighs aching. A faint constellation of bruises bloomed across his collarbone in the dim light. The scrape on his shoulder still hadn’t healed. Traces of the night before—etched not just into skin, but into something unnamed beneath it.

He wore his headphones, a soft instrumental playing like an excuse not to think.
But the ceiling was still there.
And he kept staring at it.

Empty.
Not sad.
Not happy.
Just... nothing.

Joss had left early.

No kiss. No hug. Not a word.
Only a glass of water on the bedside table—placed so quietly, like he was afraid to wake him.

Gawin sat up and took a sip.
It was cold. Refreshing.
But the emptiness that followed came swift—like reaching out for someone in a storm and only grabbing air.

A text from Beam buzzed in:

“If you’re tired, don’t force it. You don’t have to be strong around Joss.”

Gawin read it.
Then flipped the phone face-down.
No reply.
He didn’t want anyone stepping into the void in his head right now.

That night, Joss came home.

The door clicked open.
Keys dropped onto the table.
Lights blinked on in the living room, then off.
He entered the bedroom.

Gawin was still there—sitting at the edge of the bed, back against the wall, lights off.

“Why didn’t you text me?”
Joss’s voice was quiet.

Gawin didn’t look up.

“I just wanted some silence.”

Joss sat down beside him, reaching for his hand—testing if there was still any warmth left in it.

“G…, please don’t shut me out like this. I can’t handle it.”

“I… don’t want to think about anything right now.”
His voice was paper-thin.

Joss stopped breathing for a second. Then asked—slow, but laced with fear:

“Do you regret coming back to me?”

That question made Gawin freeze.

He turned his face away.
Not because he didn’t know the answer—
But because he didn’t want to break something already hanging by a thread.

That silence was the last thing Joss could bear.

He stood up.
And for the first time, raised his voice—frustration pouring out, unfiltered:

“What do you want me to do, G?! I’ve tried everything! When I let go, you blame me. When I hold on, you shut down. What am I supposed to do to make this right?!”

Gawin bit his lip.

He wanted to scream.
He also wanted to hold him.
But in the end, he said nothing—because he didn’t even know what he felt anymore.

Joss snapped.

He lunged forward, pushed Gawin onto the bed, kissed him hard—desperate.
His hands yanked at Gawin’s shirt.

“I’ll make sure you can’t leave me again.”

Gawin didn’t resist.

Not because he wanted it.
But because he needed to see where this would go—what Joss would become when the control was gone.

The sounds that followed weren’t soft.

They were sharp.
Urgent.
Each breath a cry, each movement a plea: please don’t leave me.

Joss gripped his waist tight, thrusting deep, rough—
as if using his body was the only way to speak,
the only way to beg Gawin to stay.

“It hurts… you’re too rough…”
Gawin whispered.

But Joss couldn’t stop.
Not when fear had drowned out every trace of reason.
Not when losing him felt closer than ever.

When it was over, they lay there.

Backs slick with sweat.
Breaths heavy.
Not touching.

The thread between them—so thin now, it almost sang from the strain.

Gawin sat up first.
Got dressed.
Pulled his arm out of Joss’s loose embrace.

“I… need a few days.”

Joss sat up instantly, grabbing his wrist.

“Don’t. Please don’t disappear on me again…”

Gawin’s face softened.
But his eyes stayed distant.

“I’m not disappearing.”
“I just… need to remember who I am without you.”

He slipped free—gently.
So gently, it hurt.

@Nopbyy Việt Nam 🇻🇳🇻🇳🇻🇳