The lines grew darker.
More certain.
What had started as a sketch was turning into something else—something sharper, more intentional, every stroke carrying a memory instead of just an image.
My hand didn't hesitate anymore.
I already knew the shape of him.
The way his shoulders held tension even when he looked relaxed.
The subtle definition along his arms when he rolled up his sleeves.
The controlled strength in his chest—never shown off, never exaggerated… just there.
Present.
Always.
I leaned in closer, my pencil pressing a little harder as I deepened the shadows, adding contrast, giving form to something that felt almost too real on paper.
Too familiar.
Like I wasn't creating it—
just remembering it.
A quiet breath slipped past my lips.
My fingers paused for a second, hovering over the page as my eyes traced the lines I had already drawn.
"…You're unfair," I murmured softly.
Because even like this—
even reduced to graphite and paper—
he still had that effect.
I exhaled and continued, softer this time, refining instead of building, letting my hand slow down as the sketch neared completion.
And then—
my phone vibrated.
The sound cut through the silence of the room instantly.
My hand stilled.
For a second, I didn't move.
Then I turned my head toward the desk.
The screen lit up faintly.
My chest tightened slightly as I reached for it, fingers brushing against the edge before I picked it up.
A message.
From him.
I unlocked it quickly.
Are you behaving?
A small smile appeared before I could stop it.
"You started it," I whispered under my breath.
My fingers moved over the screen.
I'm working.
Send.
I glanced back at the sketch for a second, then added another message—
On something important.
I hit send before I could overthink it.
A second passed.
Two.
Then—
his reply came.
Show me.
I froze.
My eyes dropped to the drawing.
To him.
To the way the lines captured more than they probably should.
"…No," I said quietly, almost immediately.
My fingers moved again.
Not yet.
There was a short pause.
Long enough to feel deliberate.
Then—
You're hiding things from me now, artist?
I let out a quiet breath, shaking my head slightly, though the smile was still there.
Some things aren't for you yet.
Send.
Another pause.
This one longer.
And then—
We'll see about that.
My heartbeat picked up just a little.
Annoying.
I placed the phone back down slowly, my gaze lingering on the screen before shifting back to the sketch.
The room felt quieter again.
But not the same.
Not empty.
Charged.
I leaned forward once more, picking up the pencil again, my fingers brushing lightly over the page before continuing.
This time—
slower.
More deliberate.
Adding the final details.
The shadows beneath the collarbone.
The slight tension in the lines of his torso.
The hint of movement, like he could step off the page at any moment.
My lips parted slightly as I focused, my breathing evening out again as I got lost in it.
In him.
Minutes passed.
Maybe more.
I didn't keep track.
Until finally—
my hand stopped.
Completely.
I leaned back slowly, the pencil slipping from my fingers onto the desk as my eyes stayed on the drawing.
Finished.
Or close enough.
A soft exhale left me as I reached out, my fingertips lightly brushing over the paper.
"…You're really not fair," I whispered again.
Because even like this—
he still felt too real.
Too close.
And not close enough at the same time.
I leaned back in my chair, tilting my head slightly as my gaze softened.
Waiting—
suddenly felt a lot longer again.
But now—
at least I had something to fill it with.
Even if it only made me miss him more.
I stayed there for a moment longer.
Just looking at the drawing.
Then I exhaled softly, pushing my chair back and standing up, my body stretching slightly after sitting for so long.
"Okay…" I murmured under my breath.
Enough.
If he was coming—
I wasn't going to meet him like this.
I left the art room, the door closing quietly behind me as I walked down the hall and straight into the bathroom.
The light flicked on.
Warm.
Soft.
I didn't hesitate.
The water started running, steam slowly filling the space as I stepped under it, letting the heat wash over me, grounding me, calming the restless energy that had been building all evening.
For a few minutes—
there was nothing else.
No thoughts.
No waiting.
Just the steady sound of water.
When I stepped out, the air felt cooler against my skin.
I reached for a towel, drying off slowly before pausing for a second, my eyes drifting toward the mirror.
Then—
a small, almost knowing smile appeared.
"No pajamas," I murmured quietly.
Instead, I pulled on simple swim shorts.
And then—
his.
Chak's black silk robe.
It slipped over my shoulders, the fabric soft and cool, far too big for me, the sleeves slightly too long, the length falling lower than it should.
It smelled faintly like him.
That alone—
was enough.
I didn't tie it too tightly.
Just enough to keep it in place.
Then I stepped out into the living room.
The apartment was quiet again.
The lights dim.
I moved to the couch, sitting down, one arm resting lazily along the back, my gaze drifting toward the door without really trying to.
Waiting.
Minutes passed.
Slowly.
Then—
thirty minutes later—
the sound.
The door unlocking.
My body reacted before my mind did.
I stood up instantly, turning toward the entrance just as the door opened.
And there he was.
Chak.
For a split second—
I moved.
Almost instinctively, stepping forward like I was about to close the distance completely—
like I was about to throw myself into him.
But I stopped.
Just before reaching him.
My eyes moved over his face.
His lips.
Then back to his eyes.
"Wait," I said softly.
A small step closer.
"First…"
I held out a moisturising wipe toward him.
"Wipe your lips."
A quiet pause.
"And take it off."
My voice was calm.
But there was something underneath it.
Something controlled.
Intentional.
His gaze didn't leave mine.
Not for a second.
Even as he took the wipe from my hand.
Even as he lifted it slowly to his lips.
He kept looking at me.
And then—
he started walking closer.
One step.
Then another.
Still wiping his lips.
Still watching me.
The air shifted.
Tightened.
Every step bringing him closer until there was barely any space left between us.
He finished, lowering his hand.
For a fraction of a second—
we just stood there.
Then—
I moved first.
Closing the distance completely.
My lips met his.
Soft at first—
but not hesitant.
At the same time, my hands lifted, finding the front of his shirt, fingers slipping to the buttons, undoing them slowly, one by one.
My touch shifted, brushing against the warmth beneath the fabric, feeling the familiar firmness of his body under my fingertips.
Not rushed.
Not desperate.
Just…
certain.
Like I had been waiting for this moment all evening—
and now that he was here—
I wasn't going to waste a second of it.
I pulled back just slightly, my fingers still resting against his chest, the last button of his shirt slipping free.
For a moment, I just looked at him.
Then—
I stepped back.
"Wait," I said softly.
I turned, reaching for something on the chair nearby before holding it out toward him.
"These," I added.
His swim shorts.
My gaze met his again.
"Put them on."
There was something quiet but firm in my voice—something that didn't leave much room for argument.
He didn't argue.
Of course he didn't.
Chak took them without breaking eye contact, then turned and walked toward the bathroom, his movements calm, unhurried… like he knew I was watching.
Which I was.
The door closed behind him.
And just like that—
the space felt different again.
Quieter.
Anticipating.
I exhaled slowly, running a hand through my still slightly damp hair, steadying myself.
It didn't take long.
A few minutes at most.
Then—
the door opened.
My gaze lifted immediately.
And there he was again.
This time without the formality, without the layers—simpler, more real… and somehow even harder to look away from.
I stepped closer.
"Lift me," I said softly.
A small pause.
"And carry me to the pool."
Something flickered in his eyes.
But he didn't question it.
He stepped forward—
and with one smooth, effortless movement, his hands found me, lifting me up as if I weighed nothing at all.
A quiet breath left me as my arms instinctively wrapped around him, my body settling against his.
Close.
Too close.
And yet—not enough.
We didn't speak.
We didn't need to.
Because the entire time he carried me through the living room and out toward the pool—
we were looking at each other.
Unbroken.
Every step.
Every breath.
The night air was cooler outside, brushing softly against my skin, but I barely noticed.
Not when he was holding me like that.
Not when his gaze didn't leave mine.
When we reached the edge, he lowered me down slowly, carefully placing me back on my feet.
For a second—
I didn't move.
Then my fingers lifted, catching the edge of the silk robe draped over my shoulders.
And slowly—
I let it fall open.
The fabric slipped apart, revealing just enough, the cool air brushing against my skin as I looked at him.
"Time to relax," I murmured softly.
A small step back.
Then I turned slightly—
and stepped into the water.
The surface broke around me in soft ripples, the warmth of it wrapping around my body instantly.
I looked back at him.
A silent invitation.
He followed.
The water shifted as he stepped in, closing the distance between us almost immediately.
His hands found me again—strong, steady—lifting me slightly as if it was the most natural thing in the world.
A quiet breath escaped me, my hands resting against his shoulders as the water moved around us.
Closer.
Closer.
And then—
his lips met mine again.
This time slower.
Deeper.
Unhurried.
The world outside the pool faded instantly, leaving nothing but the warmth of the water, the quiet night, and the way he held me like he had no intention of letting go.
My fingers traced lightly along his shoulders, his arms, feeling the familiar strength beneath my touch as I melted into him, into the moment.
No rush.
No distractions.
Just this.
Just him.
And finally—
no distance left between us.
The water moved gently around us, soft ripples breaking against our bodies as he held me there, steady and unshaken.
For a moment—
we didn't move.
Didn't rush.
His forehead rested lightly against mine, his breath warm, uneven in a way that betrayed more than his calm expression ever would.
My fingers slid slowly along his shoulders, down his arms, feeling the quiet strength there—the same strength that had carried me without effort just moments ago.
"…You took your time," I murmured softly.
His grip tightened just slightly at my waist.
"I came as soon as I could."
I lifted my gaze, meeting his.
There was no distance left now.
Not really.
"Still not fast enough," I whispered, a faint smile touching my lips.
Something in his expression shifted—subtle, but real.
Then his hand moved, brushing lightly along my back, slow and grounding, like he was making sure I was really there.
"I told you," he said quietly, "I don't like being away from you."
The words settled somewhere deep.
Warm.
Heavy in the best way.
I didn't answer.
Instead, I leaned in again, letting my lips brush against his—softer this time, slower, like I was in no hurry to get anywhere.
The water carried the movement, gentle and steady, as he adjusted his hold on me, lifting me just slightly again, keeping me close without effort.
A quiet breath left me, my hands sliding to rest more firmly against him.
"Careful," I murmured against his lips. "You're breaking your own rules."
A faint huff of breath escaped him—almost a laugh, almost something else.
"You made the rules," he replied.
"And you signed them," I shot back softly.
For a second—
just silence.
Then his lips found mine again.
Not rushed.
Not demanding.
Just… certain.
Like he had all the time in the world now that he was here.
The night wrapped around us, quiet and still, the only sound the soft movement of water and the occasional shift of breath between us.
My head rested briefly against his shoulder, my body relaxing into his hold, the earlier restlessness finally fading.
This—
this was what I had been waiting for.
Not just him.
But this feeling.
No distance.
No interruptions.
Just us.
"…Stay a little longer," I murmured quietly, almost without thinking.
His hand moved again, slow, reassuring, tracing lightly along my back.
"I'm not going anywhere," he said.
Simple.
Steady.
And this time—
I believed it.