The afternoon sunlight was soft, almost lazy, spilling over the edges of the courtyard, but Ohm could barely notice. His gaze, as ever, was caught by Nanon—the curve of his shoulders, the tilt of his head, the careless mischief in his eyes that made Ohm's chest tighten and pulse with a rhythm he could not name.
They walked together, steps in sync yet hearts in turmoil. Every accidental brush of hands, every fleeting touch of shoulders, every near-collision of their gazes carried the weight of unspoken desire, unacknowledged longing. The air around them was charged, electric, trembling with tension neither dared confront.
Nanon smirked, leaning subtly closer, shoulder brushing Ohm's. "You're quiet," he murmured, voice soft, teasing, yet tinged with a rare vulnerability. "Still brooding over that little spat yesterday?"
Ohm's chest tightened. I'm not… I don't… He faltered mid-thought, heat rising to his cheeks. Every glance from Nanon, every teasing remark, every brush of fingers left him raw, flustered, and achingly aware of the distance he could not maintain.
Hours passed in this delicate dance of proximity and denial. Nanon teased, leaning over to point at notes, fingers brushing, every movement deliberate yet subtle. Ohm's mind reeled. Why does every touch feel like fire? Why does every glance make my heart betray me?
A careless comment from a classmate about relationships sparked a quiet flare of heat in both of them. Ohm's jaw clenched; Nanon's lips twitched into a smirk. They exchanged a look, sharp and loaded, but neither spoke. And yet, the message was clear: We cannot be just friends.
Later, they found themselves in the empty library, sitting side by side, books between them yet invisible in importance. Their shoulders brushed, a subtle, electric connection that left them both breathless. Every shared silence was a confession, every accidental touch a revelation.
"I hate that you make me feel like this," Ohm muttered, voice low, almost lost to the quiet. His words trembled, but he could not stop them.
Nanon's gaze softened, warmth flooding his expression. "I hate that I want you," he admitted, voice a whisper, yet certain, unflinching. "And there's no going back."
Time seemed to suspend. The storm inside them, long restrained by pride and rivalry, broke in small, relentless waves. Neither moved closer, yet neither moved away. Every glance, every brush of skin, every unspoken word was a tether pulling them toward the inevitable.
The afternoon waned, sunlight fading into gold and amber. They walked home, silent yet speaking volumes in the rhythm of their steps, the brush of shoulders, the near-miss of fingers. Lovers in denial, hearts tethered by a fragile, unspoken bond, standing on the edge of revelation, unable or unwilling to step forward yet unable to step back.
For the first time, Ohm admitted quietly to himself: I am lost in him, and I cannot deny it.
And Nanon, a heartbeat later, thought the same: I am his, whether he admits it or not.
The storm between them raged silently, relentless, uncontainable, and unavoidable.