Gawin woke up as pale golden light slipped through the half-closed curtain.

The room carried a soft trace of ginger tea, mingled with the familiar scent of skin. The blanket was still warm, just enough to know Joss had left the bed not long ago.

He stretched, his body aching in a pleasant way.

There were no harsh bite marks, no lingering bruises from nights too hot and hurried.
Only a gentle fatigue remained, the kind that follows a night of being truly heard, truly loved.

From the kitchen came the soft clinking of a pan.
Gawin threw on Joss's shirt and padded barefoot into the living room.

Joss stood with his back to him, chopping onions.
A white T-shirt hugged his back, soft gray sweatpants hanging loosely.
Broad shoulders. Firm arms.
But what warmed Gawin most was the quiet tune Joss was humming, an old song, the one he used to sing whenever Gawin was sick.

Not to impress.
Not because someone was listening.
But because it was a moment that was truly his.

"Over-hard or soft-boiled?" Joss asked, eyes still on the cutting board.

"Soft," Gawin replied, voice rough, still thick with the remnants of a morning full of tenderness.

Joss turned around. Their eyes met.
No wide smiles.
But somehow, the whole kitchen lit up.

They ate facing each other.
Bread, eggs, hot tea.
No need for chatter.
When Gawin placed a slice of sausage into Joss's bowl, he said nothing. But that gesture said plenty.

After breakfast, they cleaned up together.
No one insisted on doing it alone.
No one brushed the other aside.
Everything moved smoothly, naturally, with no effort, no tension.

Joss made coffee.
Gawin curled up on the sofa, watching him in silence.

"Do you ever think..." he began,
"...maybe we were right for each other, just chose all the wrong ways to hold on?"

Joss didn't turn around. He just stirred the coffee gently.

"Maybe... you loved me with fear of losing, not with understanding."

Gawin nodded to himself. His heart ached, just a little.
But he knew they were on the right path.
Because for the first time, both of them were brave enough to name the things they had always tried to deny.

Once the coffee was done, Gawin slid closer.
He rested his chin on Joss's shoulder, whispering:

"I don't need you to promise forever.
Just... don't let today be the last time we sit still like this."

Joss turned around and pulled him in.
No kisses. Just a hug.
As if he wanted to slow time down, to hold this moment a little longer.

Gawin pressed his face into his neck.
Warm skin. Steady heartbeat.
The scent of post-shower and coffee blending in the air.
He exhaled and gently closed his eyes.

"For the first time in months... I feel safe in your arms.
Not cornered.
Not consumed.
Not forced to brace myself."

Joss whispered back:
"And for the first time, I'm holding you... without fearing you'll vanish into thin air."

That afternoon, they didn't go out.
They just lay there, watching an old movie.
Hand in hand.

No urgency.
No need for sex.

Because today, being close, was enough.

@Nopbyy Việt Nam