Gawin woke to a room still heavy with the scent of the night before. His body ached faintly — not from pain, but from echoes. As if sleep hadn’t been enough to wash away the remnants of every lingering touch — slow, but deliberate.

The sheets were wrinkled. The air thick and unclear, like the leftover haze of a dream he couldn’t decide was beautiful or better left forgotten.

Beside him, Joss was no longer there.

The pillow on the left was still warm. The faint impression in the mattress told him one thing: Joss had only just left. And though the room was silent, Gawin could hear the soft murmur of water behind the bathroom door — a small sound that loosened something tight in his chest.

He sat up. The sheet slipped down his waist, revealing traces of red still dusted across his back, his shoulders, the inside of his thighs. The places Joss had touched with his mouth — not rushed, but like he was leaving marks on purpose. The night had felt less like passion and more like an escape — one where bodies became the only way left to breathe.

A few minutes later, Joss stepped out. His skin was damp, flushed faintly from the heat. Wet hair clung to his forehead. Droplets traced a path from his neck to his collarbone before disappearing into the towel wrapped loosely at his hips.

Gawin didn’t look away. It wasn’t curiosity. Just… studying something that already felt like it was slipping away.

“You’re up,” Joss said softly, his voice warm, but distant.

“Yeah.”
A reflex more than an answer.

Silence passed — broken only by the hum of the air conditioner and the shallow sound of two people trying not to disturb something fragile.

“Are you going to say anything?” Gawin’s voice cut through — low, but unignorable.

Joss turned toward him. His eyes didn’t flinch — but they weren’t easy to read.
“What do you want me to say?”

A simple question. But it hit Gawin like a dull blade — right where he was softest.

“Maybe… ‘I don’t regret it.’ That’d be enough.”

Joss looked at him. Then, after a moment, sat down on the edge of the bed, half-shadowed by the morning light.
“I don’t regret it.”

Gawin nodded slightly.
But he wasn’t naïve enough to believe that was the end of it.

“…But?”
His fingers tightened around the edge of the sheet.

Joss met his eyes again.
“But I don’t know… if we should keep going.”

No shouting. No doors slamming.
But inside Gawin, something cracked — louder than either of those things could ever be.

No sound. But it broke.

He took a breath — not deep enough — and gave a small laugh. The kind that holds your heart together just long enough not to fall apart.
“Alright.”

Joss got dressed. Not rushed, but every movement felt like a quiet retreat.

Gawin pulled on the same white shirt from the night before. He didn’t look in the mirror. The scent of skin still clung to the fabric. The same hands that had clutched the sofa, the scratches on Joss’s chest — now just fading memories imprinted on flesh.

They stood at the doorway. The hallway light was too bright, too white.
Joss didn’t meet his eyes, but said:
“Do you think… we should keep some distance?”

Gawin didn’t reply right away. He tilted his head slightly, like choosing between the lesser hurt.
Then smiled — a thin one.
“If it helps you sleep better.”

Joss nodded. The elevator doors closed behind him. He didn’t look back.
But his shoulders tensed — like he was holding something in.

Gawin didn’t call after him. He returned to the bed without turning on the light. Sat down. Hugged his knees. Hair falling over his face.

No tears.
No blame.
Just a whisper, so quiet even he wasn’t sure if he’d said it out loud:

“What are we?”
We’re the touches the body remembers… but the heart never dares to keep.

@nopbyy VietNam!