The apartment was silent. Too silent.
Ayan sat on the edge of his bed, damp hair dripping cold down the back of his shirt, a suppressant patch clenched between his fingers.
It should've gone on hours ago.
It didn't.
He stared at it like it was a lifeline—because it was.
Because without it, the heat crawling under his skin would burn him alive.
He pressed the patch to his arm anyway.
Waited.
Breathed.
But the hum didn't fade.
The pulse in his blood didn't slow.
It only got worse.
His fingers curled against the sheets until they ached. His throat felt raw, dry, like swallowing glass.
The blackout storm replayed in flashes—the dark, Kairo's voice soft as a blade, the heat that had flared so sharp it left bruises on his lungs.
> What are you hiding from me, Ayan?
He dragged a hand over his face, nails biting into his scalp.
Pathetic.
He wasn't some weak creature bending under biology.
He was control. Always control.
So why did the memory of his breath—close enough to taste—
Why did it burn worse than the fever in his veins?
A laugh—sharp, broken—tore from his throat before he could choke it down.
He hated him.
Hated him for this.
Hated himself more.
The patch wasn't working.
And the next shift with Kairo? Tomorrow.
Too soon.
Too dangerous.
Ayan stood abruptly, the room tilting like a slow spin.
He needed to get out.
Away.
Before the heat swallowed him whole.
But the thought of running felt like a lie even as it crossed his mind.
Because deep down, under all the ice and iron—
A part of him wanted to burn.
---
Thank you for reading please comment if you like it 🫶