"Stop…" Beom whispered, his voice barely audible, a hushed tremor lacing the words as if he weren't sure whether he wanted to say them at all. The plea hung in the air like a fragile thread, fragile and desperate. It was as if he was trying to convince himself as much as Yaroslav. His hand gripped the edge of the blanket, his fingers curling into the fabric, trying to find something solid, something real to hold onto. He didn't know how to stop this, how to make the man understand, but he had to try. Please... just stop...
But Yaroslav didn't stop. If anything, he only seemed to move closer, as though Beom's words weren't a rejection but an invitation. His lips were still brushing against Beom's neck, his hand still sliding down his chest, slowly, teasingly, as if trying to draw Beom in. Please, Beom thought, his chest tightening as panic and confusion swirled together. Why can't he take the hint?
Yaroslav's voice, low and almost pleading, broke through Beom's thoughts, and it sent a shiver down his spine. "Please..." he muttered, his breath warm against Beom's skin. "Let me just stay like this for a while."
Beom's heart faltered at the words, the raw vulnerability in Yaroslav's tone catching him off guard. The man had always been so strong, so confident, always in control, always the one calling the shots. But now, there was something different—something that felt fragile in the way Yaroslav held onto him. It was as if he was clinging to Beom, not just physically, but emotionally, and that realization made Beom's gut twist with a mixture of confusion, anger, and pity.
Beom had always prided himself on being independent, on being able to navigate the world on his own terms. But this... this was a level of intimacy he wasn't prepared for, a level of need that he couldn't wrap his mind around. Why was Yaroslav suddenly so desperate for his attention? Why did it feel like Yaroslav was so lost?
The vulnerability in Yaroslav's voice made Beom's heart ache, but he quickly shoved the feeling away. I can't feel sorry for him, Beom reminded himself, Not now. Not after everything.
But still, his mind couldn't quiet the storm of emotions swirling within him. This isn't right, Beom thought, the words echoing in his head like a mantra. I can't let this happen. I won't let him control me like this. His heart thudded heavily in his chest, each beat filled with a desperate need to distance himself, to separate himself from the man whose touch was growing more insistent by the second.
But even as he told himself this, even as his mind screamed at him to stop, his body was betraying him. The closeness, the warmth, the faintest whisper of a touch—every part of him responded involuntarily, his pulse quickening, his breath shallow. The internal battle was becoming unbearable, his mind clashing with his body's reactions.
"Stop," Beom repeated, the word stronger this time, his voice wavering with a mixture of frustration and fear. He tried to turn his body away, but Yaroslav's grip was too firm. Beom's muscles tensed, but he couldn't escape the pull of Yaroslav's presence. "I can't... do this," Beom whispered, his throat tight. He didn't know how to make the situation stop, didn't know how to stop the current of desire and discomfort that had taken root in him. He wanted to escape, to break free, but every part of him felt bound to the moment, trapped in a strange web of conflicting emotions.
Yaroslav's silence was deafening. He didn't answer, didn't pull away, didn't make a move to change anything. It was as if he was waiting—waiting for something from Beom, for something that Beom couldn't provide.
And for the first time, Beom felt a strange sense of helplessness—a vulnerability he couldn't shake.
The sound of soft music filled the room in Yaroslav's memory, a vivid and intoxicating fragment of his past playing out like a scene from a dream. He could almost feel the strings vibrating as Alexei strummed his electric guitar, the notes crackling with energy yet carrying a melody so familiar that it felt etched into Yaroslav's soul. Alexei's fingers moved effortlessly over the strings, each chord resonating with a rhythm that matched Yaroslav's heartbeat.
"Wait…" Yaroslav had said, his voice a mix of hesitation and longing. Alexei had chuckled, his warm laughter like a balm to Yaroslav's nerves, as if he could sense the unspoken request.
"Do you want me to play?" Alexei asked, raising an eyebrow as he adjusted the strap of his guitar.
Yaroslav had nodded, his lips curving into the smallest smile, the kind he reserved for the moments he thought no one would notice. But Alexei always noticed. He always saw right through the quiet walls Yaroslav built around himself, breaking them down with a single look or word.
Without waiting for further confirmation, Alexei began to play. The electric guitar came alive in his hands, the music flowing effortlessly, each note a declaration of his passion and confidence. Yaroslav's gaze never left him, his chest tightening with a flood of emotions he rarely allowed himself to feel. Love, admiration, and a twinge of sadness that felt all too familiar. He watched Alexei's every movement—the way his fingers danced over the strings, the way his lips curled into a smile of pure joy as he lost himself in the music.
Yaroslav reached out, his fingers brushing over the keys of the piano nearby. He pressed down on the first note, then another, finding the harmony with Alexei's guitar. The sounds melded together beautifully, the piano and guitar weaving an intricate story that spoke more than words ever could. Alexei's eyes sparkled with surprise, and he laughed, the sound so infectious that it made Yaroslav's heart ache in the best way.
"I never knew you played so well," Alexei said, his voice teasing yet filled with genuine admiration.
Yaroslav chuckled softly, shaking his head as though the skill were nothing extraordinary. But the moment felt extraordinary. The music, the laughter, the shared glances—it was as if the world outside didn't exist, and it was just the two of them, bound by a melody that was uniquely theirs.
Then, with his usual spontaneity, Alexei reached into his pocket and pulled out a small camera. He held it up, his grin widening. "Smile," he said, snapping a photo of Yaroslav before Yaroslav could even react.
"Alexei," Yaroslav said with mock annoyance, but his lips betrayed him, curving into a smile. Alexei didn't stop there. He moved closer, holding the camera out to capture both of them in the frame. Their faces were close, their expressions unguarded, and in that moment, it was as if time itself paused to preserve the fleeting joy.
Before Yaroslav could fully process what was happening, Alexei turned to him with a mischievous glint in his eye. Yaroslav leaned in and kissed Alexei gently on the cheek, a soft, tender gesture that held everything he couldn't put into words. Alexei's eyes widened in surprise, his lips parting slightly as he turned to look at Yaroslav. There was no hesitation, no doubt in his gaze—only warmth and something deeper, something that spoke of trust and love.
A slow smile spread across Alexei's face, and he reached out, cupping Yaroslav's face in his hands. Then, without a word, he leaned in and captured Yaroslav's lips in a kiss. It was deep, consuming, their mouths moving together in a rhythm as natural as breathing. Their tongues intertwined, the kiss igniting a fire that seemed to burn away every other thought or feeling. It wasn't rushed or frantic—it was deliberate, filled with unspoken promises and emotions that neither of them had dared to voice before.
It felt like heaven, Yaroslav thought. Like floating in a place where nothing could touch them, where the world outside didn't matter. He closed his eyes, letting himself drown in the moment, his hands finding their way to Alexei's waist, pulling him closer. It was everything he had ever wanted and more, and for that brief moment, he allowed himself to believe it could last forever.
But forever was an illusion.
When Yaroslav opened his eyes, the dreamlike memory dissolved, leaving him in the quiet reality of his room. The music was gone, the warmth of Alexei's touch replaced by the cold stillness of the present. Yaroslav blinked, his chest tightening as he turned his head. Beside him, Beom was fast asleep, his expression peaceful and unguarded. The soft rise and fall of Beom's breathing filled the silence, grounding Yaroslav in the here and now.
Yaroslav's heart ached as he looked at Beom, his thoughts a tangle of past and present. He reached out, wrapping an arm around Beom's waist, pulling him closer as though trying to hold onto the fleeting warmth that Alexei's memory had stirred within him. Beom shifted slightly in his sleep but didn't wake, and Yaroslav pressed his forehead against the back of Beom's shoulder, closing his eyes again.
Beom stirred awake, the weight of sleep still heavy in his body as he blinked against the soft morning light spilling through the curtains. The bed next to him was empty, and the absence of Yaroslav's presence immediately registered. For a moment, he thought he might have imagined everything from the night before—the closeness, the vulnerability—but then he heard muffled voices from outside the room, followed by the unmistakable sound of footsteps.
The door opened, and in walked Yaroslav, followed closely by a man Beom didn't recognize. The man's crisp white coat and professional demeanor gave him away instantly. A doctor? Beom thought, his brows knitting together in confusion. His mind raced as he sat up slightly, trying to piece together why a doctor was here and what exactly was going on.
The man greeted him with a polite nod, his tone formal and composed. Beom returned the nod, though his expression remained wary. His eyes flicked toward Yaroslav, who was leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. He looked calm, almost too calm, as if he were observing everything without truly engaging.
Typical Yaroslav, Beom thought with a huff, feeling the weight of his gaze even from across the room.