The morning arrived like a pale whisper, sunlight filtered and fragile, yet Ohm could not see it. His thoughts were tangled, a storm of yesterday's rain, yesterday's closeness, and yesterday's unspoken confessions. Nanon's smirk haunted him, as if it had etched itself into the corners of his mind, smiling where he could not, breathing where he could not.
They met again in the classroom, a quiet tension settling over them, heavier than the weight of books or air. Nanon's eyes found Ohm first, the easy mischief lurking there, but softened by something subtler, something Ohm was not ready to acknowledge. "Morning, broody," Nanon murmured, voice carrying a teasing warmth, though edged with awareness. "Sleep well?"
Ohm's chest tightened. Sleep… what does it matter if I sleep? Yet the question, casual as it seemed, brushed against his heart like wind through bare branches. He could not meet Nanon's gaze, turning his attention instead to the desk, to the pen, to anything that would anchor him to the mundane.
The assignment today was collaborative, the professor pairing them intentionally close, and the library later in the afternoon promised the same proximity as yesterday. They worked side by side, words clashing like fire and stone. Each sentence, each correction, each subtle teasing remark carried a weight neither dared name.
A careless comment from a passing classmate flicked across the table. "Oh, you two make a good pair," she said with a grin that seemed meant to wound.
Nanon laughed, the sound light yet pointed, and Ohm felt something like fire crawling across his skin. Why does that bother me so much? His mind screamed at him, logic grappling with the irrational heartbeat that betrayed him.
"You're smiling," Ohm said, voice low, almost a growl. "Why are you smiling at that?"
Nanon's gaze flicked up, teasing sharpened with an almost painful sincerity. "Maybe I like hearing you get flustered," he said, and the words struck with quiet violence.
The afternoon stretched into a battle of wit and subtle tension. Ohm's pen brushed Nanon's, fleeting, accidental, yet enough to ignite a charge that hummed beneath skin and bones. They worked, argued, and teased, but the undercurrent of curiosity, of fascination, was undeniable now, a silent current neither could resist.
Then, a misunderstanding erupted—a comment misheard, a glance misread. Ohm's temper flared, sharp and bitter. "Do you even care what I think?" he snapped, the words tasting of hurt and frustration, though the edge of them hid something deeper.
Nanon's eyes widened, hurt flashing there before mischief returned to mask it. "Of course I do! You think I don't?" he countered, voice low, tense, and trembling with an unspoken vulnerability.
Their argument crackled, sharp as lightning, revealing fissures neither had expected. Beneath the sarcasm, beneath the anger, the tension, lay unacknowledged feelings, delicate and raw.
Hours later, they packed their things in silence. Ohm's chest ached with unsaid words. I hate him. I hate that I feel this. I hate that he makes me feel like this.
Nanon, walking beside him, kept quiet too, mind spinning. He frustrates me. He enrages me. He infuriates me. And yet… I can't stop thinking about him.
The rain returned, soft at first, tapping on the pavement, whispering over rooftops. They shared the umbrella, shoulders brushing as they walked, a closeness fraught with tension and meaning.
And in the quiet of the drizzle, the storm of emotion between them surged, unspoken, undeniable. Neither dared to name it, yet neither could ignore it. The wall they had built for years—rivalry, sarcasm, pride—had cracked, and light, dangerous and intoxicating, leaked through.
For the first time, Ohm admitted to himself, though silently: I can't pretend I don't care.
And Nanon thought, in the same heartbeat: I hate that I want him this badly.
The umbrella sheltered them from the rain, but it could not shelter them from the storm growing between them—the storm that would not be denied.