The room felt different that night.
Too small. Too quiet. Too aware.
Ayan was already seated when Kairo walked in — earlier than usual, jaw tight, eyes unreadable. Neither greeted the other. They didn't need to. The tension had been waiting for them.
For the first fifteen minutes, there was nothing but the scratch of pens. But it wasn't focus — it was deflection. Both pretending they weren't listening to each other breathe.
Kairo broke first.
He dropped his pen and leaned back, arms crossed, voice low.
"Something bothering you?"
Ayan didn't look up. "Only your voice."
That earned a small, humorless laugh. "You really think you can keep pushing me, don't you?"
"Only if it works."
The words hit harder than they should've. Kairo stood, pacing a few slow steps before stopping right behind Ayan. The air thickened.
"Look at me," Kairo said.
Ayan didn't. "Why would I?"
"Because you want to."
The chair scraped back as Ayan stood, finally facing him. They were too close again — the same distance that had undone them before.
"You think everything is about wanting," Ayan said coldly. "You don't understand restraint."
Kairo's smirk returned, but there was no humor in it — only something darker.
"I understand denial. You wear it like perfume."
Ayan stepped forward, eyes sharp. "Careful. You're close to crossing a line."
Kairo leaned in until their breaths tangled — the world outside that room ceased to exist.
"Maybe that's the point."
Ayan's hand shot up, gripping Kairo's collar before his mind could stop him.
"Don't—"
But the word died halfway, choked by silence, by the raw pulse hammering between them.
Kairo's fingers closed around Ayan's wrist — the same spot as before.
Neither pulled away.
The lights flickered. The air buzzed.
Then Kairo's voice — low, rough, breaking.
"Tell me, Ayan. What are you hiding from me?"
Ayan's eyes darkened.
"Something you'll wish you never found."
Then — the bell.
Too soon.
Too cruel.
Ayan dropped his hand first, turning sharply, leaving without another word.
Kairo didn't follow. Couldn't. He just stood there — chest rising too fast, wrist tingling with the ghost of a touch that wasn't supposed to mean anything.
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