Eli’s POV

The first thing I notice is warmth.

Not sunlight. Not the chill of morning air brushing across my face. Just warmth—thick and steady and human. My body is wrapped in it, blanketed by it. Safe because of it.

And then I realize it's him.

His arm is around my waist, loose but protective, his chest rising and falling steadily against my back. His leg brushes mine, and I can feel the slow, gentle rhythm of his breathing. I freeze for a second, not from fear—though I’m startled—but from something else entirely. A quiet, stunned kind of awe.

We’re still like this. Still tangled together from last night. Still touching.

God.

I want to close my eyes again, pretend I’m still asleep, stay like this forever. But my pulse won’t let me. It’s hammering too hard against my ribs, echoing in my ears.

I shift slightly, careful not to wake him, and turn in his arms. It takes effort—more effort than it should—to face him. His grip tightens in sleep like his body doesn’t want to let me go.

My breath hitches.

He’s so close.

Too close. Not close enough.

His face is peaceful, softer than I’ve ever seen it, as if sleep smooths away everything hard or guarded. His dark hair falls messily over his forehead, and I have the sudden, irrational urge to brush it back. His lips are parted just slightly, his lashes resting gently on his cheeks. There’s a faint pink line on his jaw—probably from the pillow—but it only makes him look more real. More human. More heartbreakingly beautiful.

I swallow hard.

My cheeks are already warm, but now they’re burning. I don’t even need a mirror to know how flushed I must look. My skin prickles with heat. I should turn away. I should look anywhere but here.

But I don’t.

I can’t.

Instead, I let my eyes trace every inch of his face, memorizing him. Like if I just stare long enough, I can sketch this into my bones. Like if I blink, he’ll disappear.

My fingers move on their own. Hesitant. Shaking.

I raise my hand, hovering it over his skin like I’m afraid he’ll wake at the slightest touch. And maybe I am. Maybe I want him to. I don’t even know. But I trace just above his cheekbone, down the curve of his jaw, letting the air between us hum.

And then I pause at his lips.

I shouldn’t.

But I do.

I let my fingers drift toward them, slowly, almost trembling. I don’t even breathe. I just—watch. As if touching his mouth will unlock something in me. As if the world will tilt differently if I know what it’s like to feel his breath against my skin.

My hand is barely a breath away from his lips when his eyes open.

I freeze.

Rafe blinks once. Then again. His eyes are sleepy, unfocused—but then they find mine.

And they stay.

We stare at each other in the dim morning light, his gaze still hazy from sleep. He doesn’t pull back. Doesn’t speak right away. Just looks at me. Like I’m not doing anything wrong.

Like I belong here.

"Hey," he says softly, voice rough and low.

I swear my heart stumbles.

“Hey,” I whisper, barely managing it past the tightness in my throat.

His arm tightens around me, instinctively pulling me closer. His warmth floods through me, and even though I’m already burning, I let it happen. I don’t move away.

"You okay?" he murmurs, eyes scanning my face like he's searching for some hidden crack I haven’t noticed yet.

I nod, and it's pathetic how shaky it is. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

“When did you wake up?”

“A little while ago,” I say.

He frowns gently. “Couldn’t sleep?”

I hesitate. “I… I didn’t want to move.”

His expression softens even more. It shouldn’t be possible, but it does. “You don’t have to explain.”

Silence settles between us, not uncomfortable—just full. My head is on his pillow now, facing him. His thumb starts moving in slow, absent circles against the back of my shirt where his hand rests. My skin tingles, my heart tight in my chest, aching in some quiet, fragile way.

“I’m sorry,” I say suddenly, voice small.

“For what?”

“For last night. For waking you. For being… like that.”

He shakes his head, almost fiercely. “Don’t. Don’t apologize for something you couldn’t control. You were scared. That’s not your fault.”

“But I—” My voice cracks. “I didn’t want to be a burden. I know I’m not… easy.”

Rafe leans forward, pressing his forehead lightly to mine. “You’re not a burden, Eli. You’re someone I care about.”

My chest tightens.

I let my eyes close for a second, breathing him in, anchoring myself to the warmth of his skin and the quiet sincerity in his voice.

"You really didn’t mind?" I ask, quieter than ever. "Me being like that?"

“I hated seeing you in pain,” he says. “But I didn’t mind being there for you. I want to be there.”

My eyes sting, but this time I don’t cry. I just let the feeling swell in my chest like a tide that’s not meant to be held back. I want to hold him. I want to press myself into his chest and stay there. I want—

Before I can even think twice, I shift closer. Not by much, just enough that my forehead touches his collarbone, and I let my hand rest lightly against his chest, where his heart is. He responds instantly, wrapping both arms around me like he was waiting for it, like he needed it too.

And we just stay like that.

I don’t know how much time passes. It could be minutes. Could be hours. But I’m not cold. I’m not scared. I’m just there, with him. Safe.

Then I feel it—soft and barely there. His lips press gently to the skin just beneath my eye, where it’s probably still puffy and sore from crying the night before. Then the other. A kiss to each bruise I carry.

My breath stutters.

He doesn’t say anything after. He doesn’t need to.

That one simple gesture undoes something in me that’s been knotted for years.

I tuck my face into the crook of his neck, eyes squeezed shut, holding back tears that don’t fall this time. My voice is small, choked in the safety of his arms.

“Thank you, Rafe.”

His fingers tangle in my hair, gentle and soothing.

“Always,” he whispers again.

RAFE'S POV

“Are you hungry?” I don't want him to cry.

He opens his mouth like he’s going to say no, but before a sound can come out, his stomach growls—loudly.

We both freeze. And then I laugh, real and warm, probably the lightest I’ve felt in weeks.

He hides his face in the pillow. “Oh my god.”

“Guess that answers that,” I say, grinning.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” I say, ruffling his hair affectionately. “Stay here. I’ll make us something.”

Eli peeks out at me through the pillow, still blushing. “I can help.”

I shake my head as I sit up. “Nah. You rest. I got it.”

“But I want to—”

“I said I got it,” I say, a little softer, reaching out to smooth a piece of hair behind his ear. “Just… lie back and breathe for a bit.”

He watches me with that shy, unreadable expression of his as I get out of bed, stretch, and head toward the kitchen.

The apartment is quiet—just the hum of the fridge and the creak of the floorboards beneath my feet. I start on breakfast, pulling eggs from the fridge, grabbing the pan, letting the familiar rhythm calm my nerves. I am not good at cooking but it's  Predictable. Unlike the boy lying in my bed.

He’s a mystery I want to unravel slowly, like turning pages in a favorite book you don’t want to end.

While the eggs sizzle, I hear a quiet shuffle from the bedroom. I don’t turn around. I just smile, listening to the rustling of paper and the gentle scratch of pencil.

I know what he’s doing before I see it.

When I finally plate the food and walk back into the room, two steaming dishes in hand, Eli’s sitting cross-legged on the bed, sketchbook open in his lap. He looks up quickly, like he’s been caught doing something vulnerable.

“What’s that?” I ask, setting the plates down.

“Nothing,” he mumbles, trying to close it.

But I catch a glimpse before the pages shut—two figures, sitting side by side on a bed. One with dark curls, one with lighter hair. Two figures under a blanket, knees tucked to their chests, heads touching. Stars above. A tiny cracked window open beside the bed. The night soft around them. His pencil strokes were tender, careful. Like drawing us was the only way he knew how to hold the moment still.

I don’t push. I just sit beside him and hand over his plate. “Looks really good.”

“Your drawing?” I tease. “Or my eggs?”

His blush returns. “Both, maybe.”

We eat quietly. Not awkwardly quiet—just the kind that fills up the space with something unspoken but understood. Our shoulders brush now and then. His knee knocks against mine. And I let it happen. Every tiny touch feels like a gift.

“Rafe” he pushes the sketch towards me “Your birthday gift. Since i didn't get you anything. I mean it’s not much-”

Before he could ramble more, I set my fork down and look up at him.

“Can I tell you something kinda stupid?”

Eli stops his rambling , he tilts his head. “Yeah?”

“This sketch? Of us… it might be the best birthday present I’ve ever gotten.”

“it’s not much-”

“You made me look peaceful,” i interrupt him. He let himself down too much and I am not gonna let that happen

“You are,” Eli said softly. “When you sleep. When you’re not trying to fight the whole world.” I reach out, fingertips brushing his wrist then slowly tangling my hands in his.

Eli’s breath catches, and for a moment, I think he’s going to cry again—but instead, he just leans into me, pressing his shoulder against mine like a silent thank-you.

We finish breakfast slowly. He offers to help with the dishes and I let him dry while I wash. He hums something soft under his breath, and I don’t know what song it is, but I don’t care. I could listen to him forever.

_______________________________________
 

I leaned against the doorway, as he changed in the washroom, arms crossed, trying to mask the pang of disappointment that settled in my chest. He got out back in his clothes.

"You sure you don't want to stay a bit longer?" I asked, attempting a casual tone.

Eli glanced over his shoulder, offering a small smile. "I wish I could, but I should get back. I don't want my father to notice me gone."

I nodded, my jaw tightening at the thought of his father. Still, the thought of him leaving, returning to that environment, made my stomach twist.

"Let me at least drive you home," I offered.

Eli shook his head quickly. "No, it's better if I walk. If he sees me getting out of your car,  it'll just make things worse."

We stood in silence for a moment, the weight of unspoken words hanging between us. I wanted to protest, to insist on ensuring his safety, but I knew he was right. Pushing it would only add to his burden. And I would never want to be a part of his burden.

"How about I drop you off a couple of blocks away?" I suggested. "That way, he won't see me, and you won't have to walk the whole way." I wiggle my eyebrows trying to lighten the atmosphere.

Eli almost smiled then considered this for a moment, his fingers playing with the strap of his bag, before nodding. "Uh…yeah, I guess."

I led him to the garage, where my mother's old bike rested against the wall. It hadn't been used in years, but I had kept it in good condition, unable to part with the last thing she left. I dusted it off and checked the tires, ensuring it was safe for the ride.

We rode in silence.

Eli's arms stayed snug around my waist, his chest pressed lightly to my back. I could feel the steady rhythm of his breathing, the way he tucked his chin into the curve between my shoulder blades . The wind brushed against us, cool and soft, but all I could think about was —how he fit against me, how he held on like he didn’t want to let go. And God, I didn’t want him to.

I kept the ride slow, longer than it needed to be. Just a few more minutes. Just a few more blocks. Just a little longer where I didn’t have to think about the way he’d look walking away from me again.

But all too soon, we reached the spot—two blocks away from his house. The place he’d asked me to stop.

I pulled the bike to a stop.The silence that followed felt heavier than it should’ve.

Eli hesitated before loosening his arms. His hands lingered at my sides, his cheek stayed close to my back a second longer than necessary before he finally let go. I already missed the warmth.

He slid off the seat slowly, like he didn’t want to break whatever had been holding us together. His sneakers hit the pavement. Then his eyes met mine.

"Thank you, Rafe," he said, voice quiet, almost shy. His gaze dropped to the ground, and I watched the way his fingers curled into the strap of his bag.

I nodded, trying to swallow the lump in my throat. “Anytime,” I said.

But my heart didn’t agree. It screamed, Don't go.
I wanted to reach out, tuck his hair behind his ear.
I wanted to tilt his face up, see his eyes, see if they were as unsure as mine.
I wanted to hold him, keep him here, tuck him into the curve of me like he belonged.
Could I touch him like that? Could I… would he let me?

He hesitated, then took one small, shaky step forward and leaned in. His hand brushed my jacket sleeve for balance. Then he rose onto his tiptoes and pressed a soft kiss to my cheek.h

Not a hurried one. Not accidental.

It was gentle and uncertain. It was just a kiss on my cheeks. But I couldn’t breathe.

“I’ll see you soon,” he murmured, voice so soft I almost missed it.

But I didn’t miss the way his ears turned pink, or the blush creeping down his neck. I didn’t miss the way he ducked his head again, hiding behind his lashes as he turned to walk away.

And before I could think, before I could stop myself, my hand reached out and caught his wrist.

“W-what… the… kiss… just now—”

God. I was stuttering.

My heart was a wild thing in my chest. I could feel it pounding through my ribs, pounding with every breath. Eli had kissed me. Eli kissed me.

His eyes shot wide as he turned, lips parted in panic. “I can’t? I—I wanted to—I thought I could—I’m sorry—” he rushed out, voice trembling.

No.

No, no, no.

That wasn’t what I meant. That wasn’t what I wanted. I didn’t want to make him panic or backtrack or think for a second that I didn’t want that kiss more than I wanted anything.

I got off the bike and gently pulled him into my arms, cutting off the spiral before it could get worse. My hand slid to the back of his neck, fingers curling into his hair as I held him against my chest. I could feel how tense he was, how his heart was racing just as fast as mine.

“You can, Eli,” I said, my voice thick. “You don’t have to ask me.”

He blinked up at me, stunned.

I pulled back just enough to see his face—red cheeks, damp lashes, his lips parted like he’d forgotten how to breathe.

“You can touch me,” I said softly. “Hold me. Kiss me. Anything. You don’t have to ask for that.”

His breath hitched, and I felt his fingers grip the sides of my jacket.

“You’re not… mad?” he whispered.

“Mad?” I repeated, gently brushing his cheek with my thumb. “God, no.”

He looked down again, swallowing hard. “I didn’t mean to make it weird. I just… I wanted to. I’ve been thinking about it since yesterday and then this morning and then now and I—” He stopped, like his words had all tangled together in his throat. “I’m sorry. I just wanted to kiss you before I went back.”

I felt my heart twist painfully in my chest. This boy. This beautiful, terrified, soft-hearted boy who had never been taught that he was allowed to want things.

“You don’t have to be sorry for that,” I said. “I wanted you to kiss me, Eli.”

He looked up at me, eyes wide and wet and vulnerable.

“I still do. More than just a peck on the cheek.”

I saw his breath hitch. His hand lifted slightly, like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to reach for me again. So I reached first—sliding my hand down his arm and lacing our fingers together.

“I’m scared,” he whispered, voice so quiet it almost wasn’t there.

“Me too,” I said, honest as I’d ever been.

“I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“You don’t have to. We’ll figure it out. Together. We don't have to name it if you don't want to”

He looked at me like I’d said something sacred. Like no one had ever told him that before.

I leaned forward, rested my forehead gently against his. “You never have to apologize for showing me how you feel. I want to know. I want you.”

He trembled in my hands.

And then—softly, he pressed his lips on mine. His hand gripped my jacket like he didn’t know what else to do.

And still—still—it was perfect.

His lips trembled against mine, and I kissed him back just as gently, my fingers sliding into his hair. We stayed there—still and quiet—trading shy, clumsy kisses like we were trying to learn each other by heart.

When we finally pulled away, our foreheads stayed touching. 

Eli was blushing furiously, eyes darting everywhere but me.

I smiled as I caress his cheeks “I don’t want to let you go.”

“I don’t want to go,” he whispered. “But I have to.”

I nodded, pressing one last kiss to his forehead.

He squeezed my hand tightly before letting go.

“I’ll see you soon?” I asked.

He gave me a small, soft smile. “Yeah.”

Then he turned and started walking, slowly, glancing back only once.

I waited until he was completely out of sight before I let out the breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

The ghost of his lips still lingered on my skin.

And in the hollow space where he used to be, my heart kept whispering Eli.

----------+-+----------------------

OH MY GODDDD. They kissedddddd. Was it rushed? 😭 Idk since I have never written it before. But i kept feeling like I was keeping them from doing something more . 🧞‍♂️ Two boys in a room. They might kiss. I wrote it longer since they kissed. Lmao, I am sorry, . Don't forget to vote🫶🏻