The dorms buzzed with Monday fatigue. Mix and Arm moved quietly through it, like a pair of ghosts who had shared something too sacred to speak aloud in daylight.
They hadn't defined anything. They hadn't made declarations. But they had become something. And the air between them was softer, warmer, heavier.
Arm kept brushing his fingers near Mix's hand as they walked to class. Not touching. Just… there. Waiting.
But Mix didn't reach back.
Not this time.
---
In the music hall, Mix tapped at the piano, half focused, half hiding. A new composition stirred at the edges of his brain something delicate and unsure, like a question with no punctuation yet.
Then a familiar voice.
"Well, well. Still playing sad boy melodies?"
Mix turned. Tan.
Hair slightly longer, backpack slung across one shoulder, smile like a page from an old chapter.
"I thought you dropped theory," Mix said, voice carefully neutral.
Tan shrugged. "I'm back for the festival collab. Surprise."
There it was. That cool confidence. The easy charm. The way he always made everything feel like a casual dare.
"You look different," Tan added, eyes sweeping over Mix.
"New hoodie," Mix muttered, tugging it down instinctively.
Tan grinned. "Looks better on you than whoever you stole it from."
Mix didn't laugh. "I should get back to rehearsal."
Tan raised both hands, teasing. "Alright, alright. I'll see you around, heartbreaker."
As Tan walked away, Mix caught a glimpse of movement near the door. A tall figure. Still. Watching.
Arm.
Their eyes met. Arm didn't smile.
He turned and left.
---
Back in the dorm room, Mix found Arm lying on the bed, one hand behind his head, the other scrolling his phone aimlessly. His jaw was tight. His shirt still half-buttoned. His energy off.
"You saw?" Mix asked.
"Hard not to."
Mix closed the door, leaned against it. "It wasn't anything."
Arm didn't answer right away. Then: "You looked like you used to."
Mix blinked. "What does that mean?"
"Like you were still trying to be liked. Still trying to disappear into whatever someone else wanted."
"That's not fair."
Arm sat up. "Maybe not. But it's what I saw."
The silence that followed was sharper than a fight. It was the sound of two people not saying the things that needed to be said.
Mix ran a hand through his hair. "I didn't tell anyone about us."
Arm looked up, eyes careful. "Because of your parents?"
Mix nodded. "Because of everything."
Another beat.
"I'm not asking you to shout it," Arm said. "But don't erase it either."
Mix stepped closer. "I'm not. I just… I don't know how to carry it yet."
Arm softened. "Then let me help carry it with you."
Their eyes met.
And something shifted again.
But not into anger this time.
Into need.
Need to remind each other who they were. What they meant. What they were building, even in the dark.
---
Mix hadn't expected to feel this cold in his own room.
Not after everything. Not after the way Arm had held him like a secret he wanted to protect, not hide. But now, with a few words unsaid and the shadow of Tan freshly haunting the air, even the bed felt too wide.
He changed into an old t-shirt, avoiding Arm's eyes. Arm was already on his bed, headphones in, staring at the ceiling.
Mix hesitated.
Then sat on the edge of his own mattress, back straight, hands in his lap like he didn't know where else to put them.
"You're quiet," Mix said.
Arm didn't respond right away. Then, taking out one earbud, he said, "I've been quiet before. Didn't seem like you noticed."
That landed hard.
Mix flinched. "I'm not with Tan. I wasn't flirting."
"I know." Arm's voice was low. Controlled. "But the way you looked at him… I've seen that look before. It's the one you give when you don't feel like you're allowed to want something."
Mix's mouth was dry. "You think I want him?"
"I think you want to be safe," Arm said. "And I get it. He's easier. Cleaner. He doesn't come with your parents' disappointment or your fear."
Silence.
Then Mix said, "No one's easier than you."
Arm turned on his side. His voice dropped lower. "Then why does it feel like I'm still the one you're hiding?"
The words hung there like fog. Dense. Wet. Hard to breathe through.
Mix stood slowly. Walked the space between their beds like it was a bridge over something sharp. He didn't sit this time. He knelt.
Arm sat up, confused. "What are you...?"
Mix reached forward and brushed his hand over Arm's thigh. "Let me say it a different way."
Arm blinked. His voice caught. "Mix "
"I don't want him," Mix said, eyes locked on his. "I want you."
His hand was still there. Still firm. His voice shaking a little, but his gaze didn't waver.
"Let me show you."
Arm exhaled, deep and uneven. "You sure?"
Mix nodded.
"No music. No walls. No hiding."
Arm leaned down and kissed him slow, but firm. A kiss not just of hunger, but of claiming. Of knowing.
Mix kissed back.
And this time, he didn't hold back.
---
Moments later
They left the dorm hand-in-hand, more relaxed now, though the heat between them hadn't fully cooled. They ended up at a corner café three blocks down from campus. The food wasn't great, but it was familiar. The kind of place with cracked menus and uneven tables.
Over noodles and spring rolls, they didn't talk about Tan, or parents, or secrets.
They talked about everything else the upcoming examination, a rumor about a professor dating a grad student, that one video of a guy getting chased by a goose.
Mix laughed harder than he had in days.
Arm just kept watching him like he was memorizing the sound.
On the walk back, their fingers brushed, then interlocked, and this time, Mix didn't let go.
---
Back in the dorm, the door clicked shut again the same quiet thud, but everything felt more certain now.
They kicked off their shoes. Arm pulled his shirt over his head again, slower this time. Mix did the same, more confidently. Like he was choosing it, not just reacting.
They met at the bed, no words, no planning.
Just contact.
And this time, when Arm kissed him, Mix kissed back with hunger. With clarity.
There was no rush. No frenzy. Just the quiet intensity of two people finally letting their feelings speak louder than their fears.
Arm's hand found Mix's jaw, tilting his face up. Their mouths met in a kiss that didn't ask for permission. It gave.
Slow, tender, and full of things they hadn't said out loud.
Mix's hands slid beneath Arm's shirt, fingertips tracing along the warm lines of his spine. Arm inhaled, shivering slightly, and let his own shirt fall to the floor.
Clothes gave way gradually, like they were undressing old versions of themselves. Nothing was hurried. Every movement was intentional.
Mix let his lips trail from Arm's mouth to his throat, tasting the salt of nerves and closeness. Arm's fingers danced lightly over Mix's bare sides, teasing along the waistband of his shorts, drawing a gasp that Mix tried and failed to hold back.
The bed creaked under their weight.
Mix laid back, eyes wide but sure. Arm crawled over him, slow and deliberate. Their legs tangled. Their skin met, chest to chest, heat to heat. Breath became the language between them.
Fingers explored. Soft at first, then firmer. Arm's hand mapped every inch of Mix's ribs, his hips, the hollow under his collarbone. He kissed down Mix's chest, pressing slow, open-mouthed kisses to sensitive spots, listening to every stuttered breath.
Mix arched, voice catching in his throat. His hands fisted the sheets. When Arm's mouth brushed lower, Mix gasped not from fear, but from the sheer shock of being seen and wanted this way.
"You okay?" Arm murmured against his skin.
Mix nodded, his voice almost a whisper. "Keep going."
And Arm did.
Their bodies moved together with practiced care and messy need. Mix wasn't experienced, but he was present. And Arm , Arm was patient, precise. He led, but never pulled. Guided, but never forced.
There were no fireworks. No choreographed moves.
Just heat. Contact. Whispers that turned to moans. Touches that melted into rhythm. The kind of closeness that blurred the lines between holding and being held.
Mix wrapped his legs around Arm's waist, pulling him close.
And when the final moment came
raw, breathless, electric it wasn't just physical. It was everything they had been holding back, released all at once.
After, they lay tangled together. Damp with sweat. Spent. Alive.
Mix's voice broke the quiet. "You don't have to be jealous."
Arm kissed his temple. "I just want to matter."
"You do," Mix whispered. "You always did. Even back then."
Arm smiled against his skin. "Then I'll keep proving it."
They fell asleep like that. Wrapped in each other, stripped of every mask.
No more secrets between them.
Just truth, and warmth, and a slow-burning promise they didn't have to speak aloud.
And probably the Tan drama behind them, or ...