The morning air smelled of wet concrete and the faint trace of flowers from the school garden, yet Ohm barely noticed. His mind replayed yesterday, every heated glance, every brush of shoulders, every unspoken tension that lingered between them. Nanon's laughter, soft and infuriatingly familiar, haunted the edges of his thoughts.
They met again in class, as if drawn by an invisible thread, hearts racing despite themselves. Nanon's eyes found him first, lingering, teasing, yet softened with something deeper, almost tender. "You look… restless," Nanon murmured, words light but weighted with awareness. "Still thinking about yesterday?"
Ohm's chest tightened. I shouldn't be. His hands curled around his pen, knuckles white, but his gaze kept slipping toward Nanon, drawn as if by some cruel gravity. I don't care. I don't… He forced himself to focus, yet the warmth of Nanon's presence clung to him, inescapable.
During their shared project time, a trivial comment from another student sparked a quiet flame of jealousy in Nanon. He watched Ohm's attention stray, a smile playing at the corner of his lips that he could not suppress. The sensation was sharp, like a knife sheathed in warmth. I hate that I feel this. I hate that it stings.
Their hands brushed over papers, shoulders leaned accidentally, and every movement carried weight. The world contracted around them until it was only the heat of proximity, the charge of unspoken words, and the silent storm of their hearts.
At one point, Nanon dropped a pen. Ohm's hand reached for it—accidentally, inevitably—fingers grazing fingers. Both froze. Heat surged, silent, insistent. The air between them thickened, charged with recognition they refused to name.
"You're… frustrating," Ohm muttered, voice low, almost breaking under the weight of restraint.
Nanon smirked, almost shyly. "So are you. And yet… I can't look away."
Time slowed. Words failed. Emotions, raw and untamed, collided in their chests, threatening to spill over. Every glance, every brush of skin, every breath carried the weight of confession neither dared voice.
By evening, the library emptied, leaving them alone with their work and the quiet hum of the world outside. A storm broke across the sky, rain drumming softly against the windows. They shared the umbrella again on the walk home, shoulders brushing, steps falling into rhythm.
Ohm thought bitterly, I hate that he makes my heart race like this. I hate that I care.
Nanon, close enough to feel the tension radiating from him, thought the same. I hate that I want him. I hate that every brush of his hand feels like fire.
And yet, neither moved away. The storm outside mirrored the storm inside—their emotions wild, chaotic, and undeniable.
For the first time, the thought lingered, unspoken but piercing: Maybe being "just friends" is impossible.