11Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡIbB1JZ99yB
🌧️ The rain had ended, but the world still whispered with leftover thunder. Birds remained quiet, and the streetlights buzzed faintly in the distance. It was that soft space between night and morning—where time felt gentle, and the heart dared to breathe a little slower.
Ric hadn’t slept.
He sat at the edge of the bed, the blanket tangled around his waist, watching Ren’s sleeping form. His head rested on Ric’s pillow now—cheek squished slightly, lashes dark against his pale skin, lips parted just enough to show the softness of his breath. His hair was a little messy, sticking to his forehead, and his hoodie had slipped off one shoulder.
There was something terrifying about seeing someone like this—unguarded, peaceful, real.
Ric's thumb brushed lightly against Ren’s hand. The smaller boy shifted a little but didn’t wake.
🕯️ In this small room that had once been only his, Ric now felt the warmth of two heartbeats.
He leaned back against the headboard, resting his arm over his eyes. Everything felt so close—like if he let go, the world might fall into him all at once.
Was this what it felt like… to belong?
---
🌄 Morning came slowly. The light filtered through the curtains like melted gold, catching dust in the air. Ric finally dozed off sometime after five, but it was Ren who woke first.
He blinked sleepily, taking in the room. The worn posters on the wall. The half-dead cactus on the windowsill. The hoodie draped over Ric’s chair. The jacket Ric always wore—hung beside the door.
And Ric himself.
Asleep beside him, lips parted slightly, one hand resting near Ren’s waist. His brows were relaxed. The tension he always wore in his shoulders had melted during the night.
Ren sat up slowly. He didn’t want to wake him. But something deep inside him stirred. He reached forward—barely touching the tip of Ric’s fingers—and whispered so quietly, the room had to lean in to hear.
“You make silence feel safe.”
---
🍞☕ Downstairs, the smell of toast and eggs began to drift into the air. Ren, still barefoot and in Ric’s oversized hoodie, padded into the kitchen like he’d done it a hundred times before. It was strange… how natural it felt.
He was humming under his breath when Ric walked in—barefoot, hair messy, shirt slightly rumpled.
“Morning,” Ric murmured, voice husky with sleep.
Ren turned, a slice of toast in his mouth, and smiled.
“You’re not a dream, right?” Ric asked, scratching the back of his head.
Ren rolled his eyes but blushed. “You sound like a romance novel.”
Ric grinned and moved closer—trapping Ren between the counter and his sleepy frame. “Maybe I’m just living one.”
Their lips met again—this time without hesitation. Not rushed. Not desperate. Just full of all the things they hadn’t been able to say. Ric kissed him slow, like he was memorizing the way Ren tasted in the morning. Like he already knew this was going to ruin him forever in the best way.
---
🌸 Later that afternoon, the quiet moments continued—soft music playing while Ric studied on the floor and Ren read beside him on the bed, legs swinging gently off the side.
They didn’t speak much. They didn’t need to.
Every now and then, Ric would glance up, and Ren would already be watching him.
And that was enough.
That was more than enough.
---
🧸 That night, just before Ric turned off the lamp, Ren whispered, “Can I stay again?”
Ric turned toward him, brushing a strand of hair from his eyes. “Stay as long as you want.”
Ren smiled. “What if that’s forever?”
Ric leaned in, kissed the corner of his mouth, and whispered:
“Then I’ll keep the light on.”
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