Ren hesitated, eyes darting away. "Nothing," he said quickly. "Just… talking."
Kai studied him, noticing the faint redness creeping up Ren's neck. "You don't say things like that for no reason."
"Maybe I do," Ren said, half smiling, but his voice wavered.
The hallway was quiet, the hum of fluorescent lights filling the air. They stood there, unsure whether to leave or keep pretending they weren't both trembling under the weight of something they didn't want to name.
Kai broke the silence first. "You mean—relationships in general?"
Ren gave a faint laugh. "You're really bad at subtlety."
Kai smirked. "And you're terrible at explaining yourself."
That earned him a softer smile, the kind Ren rarely gave. "Maybe that's why this feels weird," Ren murmured.
"This?" Kai asked, stepping a little closer.
Ren met his gaze, steady now. "Us talking like this. Pretending we don't know what it means."
Kai froze. His breath hitched. The space between them seemed smaller, even though neither moved.
For a moment, it felt like time had thinned—like everything else in the world had faded until only this strange tension remained, fragile and heavy all at once.
Kai whispered, "Then stop pretending."
Ren's eyes widened slightly, then softened. "You first."
The challenge lingered there, quiet and daring.
Kai took a step closer. He could see the faint shadows beneath Ren's eyes, the small scar near his jaw, the way his lips trembled just slightly. He didn't know what he was doing—he just knew that not doing it hurt worse.
He leaned in. Slowly, hesitantly. Their breaths mingled, shallow and uneven.
Ren didn't move away.
When their lips met, it wasn't passionate—it was soft, unsure, like both of them were testing the weight of something they didn't fully trust. The world didn't explode. There were no fireworks. Just quiet warmth and a faint ache behind it.
Ren's hand brushed Kai's sleeve, trembling, then fell away.
When they pulled back, they didn't speak for several seconds.
Kai finally whispered, "That… was something."
Ren nodded, eyes downcast. "Yeah."
Silence.
It should have felt right. It should have been one of those moments people wrote stories about. But the air felt heavy, and their hearts beat not with excitement—but confusion.
Kai cleared his throat. "So… what now?"
Ren shrugged slightly. "I don't know. Maybe we… try?"
"Try what?"
Ren's voice was quiet. "Being together."
Kai hesitated. His pulse raced, but not with joy—with uncertainty. Still, he nodded. "Yeah. Maybe we should."
Ren smiled faintly. "Just for a bit. See how it feels."
Kai forced a small laugh. "Right. A bit."
They started walking back toward the office. Neither spoke. Their shoulders brushed once or twice, but neither reached out again.
The days that followed passed in a haze of almosts.
They started texting more. Short messages at night. "Did you eat?" "Good luck tomorrow." "Don't overwork."Small, safe things.
Kai would catch Ren glancing at him during meetings, and sometimes, he'd look back. Their eyes would meet for a second too long before one of them looked away.
Once, when Kai was walking Ren out, their fingers brushed. Ren smiled, soft and unsure. "Guess this is what dating is like."
Kai smiled back, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Maybe."
They went out once—coffee again, a habit that had somehow turned into routine. They talked about music, about how Ren hated mornings, about how Kai couldn't cook to save his life. It was nice. It was calm. But beneath the laughter was something that neither could name—an echo of hesitation, a faint emptiness that trailed behind their words.
When Kai dropped Ren off that evening, Ren lingered by the car door. "I'll see you tomorrow?"
"Yeah," Kai said softly.
Ren leaned in, kissed him again. Short. Careful.
It should have felt warm. Instead, it felt safe. Too safe.
Days turned into weeks. The office whispers grew louder—someone had noticed the closeness, the looks. Kai brushed it off, but the unease followed him home.
Ren started staying quiet during lunch breaks. Kai noticed, but didn't ask.
They weren't fighting, not really. Just drifting. Smiling when expected, saying the right things, pretending not to feel the slow unraveling of something they hadn't even had time to build.
One night, Kai lay awake, staring at the ceiling. His phone buzzed.
Ren: Can we talk tomorrow?
Kai stared at the message. His stomach turned.He typed: Sure. Then deleted it. Typed again. Yeah. Of course.
He set the phone down and closed his eyes. But sleep didn't come.
The next day, they met on the rooftop. The city stretched below, silent and glittering.
Ren leaned against the railing. "It's quiet up here."
Kai nodded. "Yeah."
Neither spoke for a long time.
Finally, Ren said softly, "Do you ever feel like we're… forcing this?"
Kai's heart stuttered. "Forcing?"
Ren looked away. "I mean, I like you, Kai. I really do. But it's like every time I try to feel something more, it's just…"
"Muted," Kai finished quietly.
Ren exhaled. "Yeah."
The wind tugged at their sleeves, cool and restless.
"I thought maybe it was just me," Kai admitted. "Like maybe I wasn't doing enough. Or saying the right things."
Ren shook his head. "It's not that. You've been… kind. You've been everything you should be."
Kai let out a hollow laugh. "That's the problem, isn't it? Everything we should be."
Ren turned to look at him. "Then what are we, really?"
Kai met his gaze. "Two people trying not to be alone, maybe."
Ren's lips parted, but he didn't argue.
They stood there until the sun began to sink, the orange light catching in Ren's hair. For a moment, it almost looked beautiful again—almost.
But the silence between them was too loud.
Ren's hand twitched, as if he wanted to reach for Kai, but stopped halfway.
Kai's chest ached. He wanted to say something—to fix it, to pull them back into the warmth of that first day. But the words wouldn't come.
Ren finally whispered, "I should go."
Kai nodded. "Yeah."
Ren hesitated. "I'll text you."
Kai smiled faintly. "Sure."
The door closed behind him, leaving Kai alone with the wind.
Kai:
I should've stopped it earlier. It wasn't fair to him—to keep pretending. But when he smiles, I forget why I wanted to let go. Maybe I just didn't want to lose the idea of him, even if the real thing doesn't fit.
Ren:
He looks at me like he's scared to feel something. Maybe that's why I wanted him in the first place—to prove I could be wanted. But I'm tired of chasing half-hearted warmth. I'm tired of calling it love when it feels like guilt.
Kai:
I thought if I kept saying the right things, I'd start believing them. That maybe affection could grow where love refused to.
Ren:
He doesn't hurt me, but he doesn't save me either. We're just… drifting. Smiling. Pretending. Like strangers who memorized a script too well.
Kai:
He deserves more than this. More than my uncertainty, more than my silence. But if I let him go, what's left of me?
Ren:
Maybe it's not that we're wrong for each other. Maybe we just met at the wrong time—when both of us were too lonely to tell the difference between comfort and love.
Kai:
I don't know if I miss him or just the idea of not being alone.
Ren:
I don't know if I love him or if I just hate the thought of starting over again.
---
They both thought simultaneously: "Maybe we never loved each other at all. Maybe we just needed someone to fill the quiet."