Abhi paced his room restlessly, footsteps soft against the polished floor. His hand brushed against the desk, then the edge of the bed, before drifting back toward the door again. Unease clung to him like a second skin.
Finally, he gripped the doorknob and yanked it open—only to halt.
Arun leaned against the frame, tall and composed, arms folded loosely across his chest. A faint smirk tugged at his lips.
Abhi's brows furrowed. "What… are you doing here?"
"Making sure a certain someone doesn't go wandering at night," Arun drawled.
Before Abhi could fire back, Arun stepped inside, moving with deliberate ease. Abhi instinctively backed away, retreating into the room.
Arun reached the glass doors, drew the curtains shut in one fluid motion. The night outside disappeared, replaced with the enclosed warmth of the room. The air felt smaller.
Then he turned and sat on the bed, stretching out as if he doesn't need permission. His gaze found Abhi again.
"What are you waiting for? Come, sleep."
Abhi blinked, hand tightening on the doorknob as though it might steady him. "Sorry?"
One brow arched, amusement flickering in Arun's eyes. "I can't let a troublesome boy wander around the mansion. And just to make sure that doesn't happen—I'll be with you."
Abhi bristled, his voice sharp. "And who exactly gave you the right to walk into my room, act like you own the place, and take over my bed?"
Arun stretched his arms behind his head, smirk widening. "I… actually own this place and this bed too."
Abhi's glare faltered, heat prickling at the back of his neck. His words tangled before he could push them out.
Arun's smirk softened, tilting just slightly. "I will forgive you for that kissing incident."
Abhi froze, embarrassment climbing up his throat. With a huff, he turned sharply, muttering, "Fine. But stay on your side."
"I don't do something without consent," Arun said quietly, the smirk fading into something softer.
Abhi moved stiffly, climbing into bed. He pulled the blanket around him, his back turned.
Arun watched him silently. Not teasing. Not mocking. Just watching—fondness flickering beneath the cool mask.
Ayan's words echoed faintly in his mind: "Brother, make sure Abhi feels the same comfort I'm having here."
Arun leaned his head back against the wall, voice low enough that it barely stirred the air. "I'd stay with you every night if you let me."
Abhi's fingers curled tight around the blanket—but he said nothing. He just pretended to sleep already.
The silence in the room was no longer heavy. Not frightening. Just still.
By the time Abhi drifted into sleep, the shadows in his chest had eased—quietly replaced with the warmth of someone laying just inches away.
---
[Next Morning]
Sunlight filtered through the drawn curtains, hazy gold spilling across the room.
Abhi stirred, eyes fluttering open. Warmth cocooned him, heavy and steady. His cheek pressed against something firm, his arm draped across a solid warmth that rose and fell in rhythm. An uneven heartbeat. Why did this feel so… safe?
Blinking, he lifted his head slowly—straight into Arun's sharp, unblinking gaze.
Heat surged through his face. He jerked back, retreating to his side of the bed, his heart stumbling.
"If you're awake, why are you still here?" His voice cracked between indignation and embarrassment.
"I would have gone," Arun said lightly, "if I wasn't trapped by someone."
Abhi's eyes widened, darting back to where his head had been resting. Heat burned up his neck.
Without another word, he scrambled out of bed, feet hitting the cold floor as he hurried toward the bathroom. At the doorway, he stopped, forcing his voice into something steadier.
"I have to buy something before going to the university. Get ready."
He shut the door firmly behind him.
Arun's gaze drifted back to the wrinkled sheets, fingers brushing lightly over the spot Abhi had left. A quiet chuckle slipped from his lips.
"Like a husband giving orders… Should I get used to this?"
His thought lingered in the silence—until Abhi's phone rang sharply. And his gaze flickered to the screen.
Caller: Karan.
...
[Later—A Flower Shop]
The moment Abhi stepped into the flower shop, the stiffness in his shoulders eased.
The air was thick with the mingled scents of roses, jasmine, and fresh lilies, each fragrance softening his expression. Warm light spilled through the glass panes, turning petals into glowing jewels—pink, yellow, and white blooming as if love itself lingered between the stems.
Arun followed at a slower pace, tall frame brushing the edge of the doorframe as he stepped inside. His eyes scanned the overflowing displays of flowers with faint bewilderment, as though trying to decipher why anyone would be so absorbed in fragile, fleeting things.
Abhi, however, walked with purpose—his dark hair catching the sunlight, posture both sure and gentle as he approached the counter.
The florist, an elderly man with weathered hands and kind eyes, looked up with a smile that belonged more to family than customer.
"Welcome, Abhi. I will get your order."
Abhi's lips curved faintly, the kind of smile that carried weight. "Thankyou soo much, Uncle."
For a while, only the soft rustle of petals and the hum of a radio filled the air.
When the florist returned, he carried a bouquet of white lilies. Their long stems were bound neatly, petals pure as snow, each bloom carrying a quiet dignity.
Abhi accepted them carefully, his fingers curling around the stems as if he were cradling something fragile and irreplaceable. His smile was tender, but his eyes… his eyes carried a heaviness that words could not explain.
Arun caught it—the shift, the silence, the reverence. His brow furrowed. Finally, unable to stay quiet, he asked, "Who's this for?"
Abhi didn't meet his gaze. His voice, when it came, was low and steady. "For someone I love a lot."
The lilies trembled slightly in his hold, though his grip stayed firm.
Arun's chest tightened. His throat felt dry, his voice no more than a murmur meant only for himself.
"Must be someone… really important."
...
[That Evening—University Gate]
Arun lingered by the gate, hands buried in his pockets. His stance was tall, composed as ever, but his foot tapped against the stone path with restless impatience.
No matter how he tried, the image wouldn't leave him—Abhi with those lilies, the reverence in his eyes. The thought burned in his chest until patience snapped like a brittle twig.
He moved. Long strides carried him past students scattered across the grounds, his sharp gaze flicking left and right, searching. His heart beat faster than his steady pace betrayed.
Then—he saw it.
Near the football field, beneath the shade of a sprawling tree, Abhi stood. The bouquet of lilies still in his hands.
And across from him—Karan.
They were close, speaking in tones too soft for the wind to carry. Karan leaned in slightly, familiarity written in the line of his shoulders.
Abhi extended the bouquet without hesitation. Karan took it, fingers brushing against the petals, against Abhi's hand.
Something cracked inside Arun, sharp and merciless.
The ground seemed to tilt, air thickening until each breath hurt. His heartbeat thundered, not with the calm rhythm of control, but the ragged pounding of loss.
He turned away abruptly, slipping into the shadows cast by the evening light. His jaw tightened, every muscle wound taut beneath his skin.
The mask on his face held, but beneath it a storm raged—each step away heavy with the weight of something breaking.