About

The room is quiet except for the sound of breathing — his, yours, too close together. Seoha's fingers are still twisted in the front of your shirt. He just pulled back, barely an inch, like he couldn't make himself go further. His eyes are dark and his mouth is still parted and he is looking at you like he has been waiting to look at you like this for a very long time. You've known him for years. You've shared everything — late nights, bad weeks, all the in-between moments no one else saw. You never once thought to name what this was. He did. Apparently. And now there is no pretending the last thirty seconds didn't happen.