Pete waited an hour.
Maybe two.
The rain had finally stopped, but the storm inside him hadn't. He kept pacing. Kept checking the door. His mind raced with worry, but it was the ache in his chest that scared him more.
Finally, unable to sit still, he wandered into Mek's room.
Not to snoop.
Just to… feel closer to him.
The room smelled like Mek—mint, ink, and something faintly citrus. Pete's fingers grazed the edge of Mek's bookshelf, then stopped when something caught his eye: a notebook, wedged between two thick fantasy novels.
It was old. The corners curled, the cover nearly torn.
Pete knew he shouldn't.
But something told him this was it—the crack.
He opened it slowly.
The first page held a sketch. Two boys. One holding the other's hand, reaching toward the sky.
Under it, a caption:
"Don't let me go."
Pete's heart squeezed.
He flipped more pages—drawings of pain, of people turning away. Scribbled poems of loneliness, regret, a desperate yearning for something... someone.
Then he saw it.
A drawing of him. Sleeping on the couch. A soft smile on his face.
Beneath it:
"I wish I could let you in."
"Shit..." Pete whispered.
"You went through my things?"
Pete jumped, the notebook slipping from his hands.
Mek stood at the door, soaked from the rain, his shirt clinging to his body, breath coming fast—either from running or from pure panic.
Pete stepped forward. "Mek, I—"
"You had no right!"
Pete didn't stop. He grabbed Mek's wrist, holding it gently this time. "I didn't mean to snoop. I just… I saw it, and I—"
"You don't get it," Mek hissed, trying to pull away. "I can't let you love me."
"Too bad," Pete said. "Because I already do."
Mek froze.
The rain had soaked through his shirt, droplets clinging to his lashes, lips parted slightly in shock.
Pete's voice dropped to a whisper. "You think I don't see you? The real you? You've been screaming silently this whole time, Mek, and I hear every damn word."
"I don't want your pity," Mek muttered, eyes flashing.
Pete leaned in.
"It's not pity," he said, brushing his knuckles against Mek's cheek, gently wiping a tear away. "It's desire."
Mek's breath hitched.
Pete's hand slid to the back of his neck, slow and careful. "Tell me to stop... and I will."
Silence.
Mek didn't move.
Didn't speak.
Didn't breathe.
So Pete kissed him.
Soft, hesitant—testing the waters.
And when Mek didn't pull away…
Pete kissed him again, deeper this time. Fire meeting ice. Mek's hands balled into Pete's shirt, gripping tight like he didn't know whether to shove him away or pull him closer.
But when Mek kissed back?
Oh, it was over.
The air snapped with electricity.
The kiss turned hungry. Raw. Conflicted. Mek pushed him back against the door, breathing hard, eyes dark.
"Don't make promises you'll regret," he whispered.
Pete grinned, voice low and dangerous. "Try me."