The grand staircase stretched silent beneath Arun's measured steps. Dressed in charcoal-grey formals, his hair slicked neatly into place, he carried himself with effortless authority.
At the landing, he paused. His sharp gaze narrowed faintly at the sight below.
Servants were gathered in the sitting area, clustered unusually close to the sofa, their attention caught by something instead of their work.
The nearest maid noticed him first and straightened abruptly.
"Good morning, sir," she said, flustered, prompting the others to bow quickly in unison.
Arun gave a curt nod, eyes flicking past them. "Did Abhi leave?"
The servants hesitated.
They shifted aside, revealing the source of their distraction.
Abhi.
Curled on the sofa, arms wrapped tightly around a pillow, knees drawn close as though to shield himself from the world. His features, so often sparking with defiance or restless energy, were softened in sleep. His chest rose and fell in even rhythm.
Arun stopped.
The weight of his question dissolved. His stern expression melted, replaced by something softer, warmer. His lips curved faintly, eyes deepening with quiet affection.
He adored every part of him—especially this rare, unguarded stillness.
Without tearing his gaze away, he spoke low.
"Prepare something sweet for him."
The servants exchanged brief smiles, then hurried off.
Arun stepped closer, quiet in his movements. A stray lock of Abhi's hair had fallen across his forehead. For a moment, Arun's hand twitched with the urge to brush it away—but he didn't want to disturb him.
Instead, he lowered himself to sit at the edge of the sofa near Abhi's feet, watching in silence.
The moment broke with the faintest stir.
Abhi shifted, brows knitting slightly. His lashes fluttered, reluctant to part. Slowly, his eyes opened—and collided with Arun's.
He froze.
Awareness rushed back like fire in his veins. He sat up too quickly, nearly toppling forward, heat rushing to his face.
Before he could scramble away, Arun's hand caught his wrist. Firm. Unyielding. His touch carried strength, but the faint tremor in his fingers betrayed something else—hesitation.
"I haven't accepted your sorry yet."
Abhi's heart stumbled. His lips parted, words forming but caught in his throat.
"Sir, breakfast is ready," a maid's voice rang from the doorway.
The tension shattered.
Arun didn't release him. Without a word, he rose, guiding Abhi along with quiet certainty.
His grip was steady, not forceful—but there was no space for refusal either.
And so, Abhi followed.
---
[Dining Room]
Silver gleamed against porcelain. The quiet clink of utensils echoed in the expansive room.
Abhi sat stiff-backed, posture perfect, his gaze locked on the plate before him. He lifted his spoon with careful precision, eating as though the simple act demanded all his concentration.
Across the table, Arun wasn't eating. He leaned into his chair, elbow on the armrest, chin resting against his knuckles, his eyes fixed steadily on Abhi.
A faint smile played at his lips—amusement barely contained.
Abhi could feel it. The weight of his gaze burned, making every bite feel clumsy, unnatural. He clenched his jaw, muttering under his breath without lifting his eyes.
"It's not polite to watch someone while they're eating."
Arun tilted his head slightly, the smile deepening.
"Is it more impolite than what you did?"
His voice was light, teasing—but the faint blush across his cheek betrayed him.
Abhi exhaled sharply, retreating into silence. He shoveled another bite into his mouth, pretending to ignore him, even as his ears burned crimson.
It was safer that way.
...
[Later—Rawat house]
Aarav sat cross-legged on his bed, a mound of pillows propped against the headboard. His laptop glowed in front of him, balancing on his knees, casting a soft light across his features.
On the screen, familiar faces filled the frame—Abhi, Vihan, and Karan—each grinning like they were in on the same secret.
Karan's teasing voice carried through the speakers. "Enjoying your honeymoon, I see… Too bad the next semester's about to start."
Aarav smirked, lips parting with a ready retort—when a knock broke the rhythm.
"Senior?" The voice outside was soft, hesitant.
Aarav turned toward the door. Recognition flickered instantly across his face, melting his sharp expression into something tender. A faint blush crept up his cheekbones.
"Come in," he said without pause.
On the laptop screen, his friends exchanged smirks. Vihan nudged Karan; Karan raised his brows knowingly. Chuckles hummed through the speakers.
The door eased open. Ayan stepped in, framed by the warm glow of the room's yellow light. His delicate features seemed almost luminous, his steps careful as though he didn't want to intrude.
"Oh!" His gaze caught the laptop screen. He froze mid-step, embarrassment flickering across his face. "Sorry, are you busy?"
Aarav's smile gentled, his eyes softening at once. "Come," he said, patting the space beside him. "They all miss you."
After a brief pause, Ayan crossed the room, the quiet swish of his clothes brushing against the silence. He sat beside Aarav, close enough that their shoulders almost touched, fitting neatly into the frame.
But Aarav didn't look at the screen anymore. His eyes lingered on Ayan—tracing the line of his lashes, the faint curve of his lips, the way his fingers rested lightly against his own knee. Almost hypnotized.
"Brother," Vihan teased, his grin wicked, "we can end the call if you've got other plans."
Ayan glanced sideways, catching the unwavering stare. With a soft smile, he nudged Aarav's arm, breaking the spell.
Aarav blinked, awareness crashing back. Heat spread across his face, the tips of his ears flushing red.
The others burst into laughter.
Desperate to recover, Aarav cleared his throat. "How's your practice going?"
"Boring as usual," Vihan groaned, then leaned closer to his camera, slyness glinting in his eyes. "But Brother-Abhi might have news. He's living with his tutor."
All eyes shifted to Abhi. His jaw tightened, silence his only defense.
"You can come back if you're still scared," Aarav offered lightly.
"I told you to share a room with Arun," Karan added, voice tinged with knowing amusement.
Abhi snapped back, low but sharp. "All these problems started because of your stupid solution."
Beside Aarav, Ayan tilted his head, his curiosity gentle. "What are they talking about?"
Aarav leaned in, explaining, "Abhi's scared of ghosts. And your mansion is pretty isolated… so nights can get unsettling for him."
Ayan blinked, brows lifting. For someone like Abhi—confident and brash—it was a surprising revelation.
Abhi groaned softly, cheeks faintly flushed. "Brother… you don't have to explain that much."
The call ended not long after, leaving the room wrapped in a softer quiet.
Aarav closed the laptop, setting it aside. He shifted closer, his arms winding around Ayan's waist from behind. His lips brushed the curve of Ayan's neck in a lingering kiss.
Ayan's shoulders tensed at the sudden warmth, then relaxed. A quiet chuckle slipped from him as he leaned back into Aarav's embrace.
But Aarav wasn't satisfied. He guided Ayan down onto the bed, his movements slow but insistent.
"Senior…" Ayan's breath hitched, his cheeks flushed pink. His gaze flicked nervously toward the door. "Uncle's still awake downstairs."
"Then," Aarav whispered, his lips brushing the shell of his ear, "I'll just have to keep you quiet."
His lips found Ayan's—gentle at first, then lingering with a depth that held more than words. Ayan's hand trembled as it slid upward, fingers curling into Aarav's shirt. In a single pull, he tugged it free from his body.
The air thickened—warm, slow, intimate. Each brush of Aarav's lips across Ayan's skin was patient, asking, never taking.
"Ayan…" His voice was hoarse, almost pleading. "Can we do it for real?"
Ayan's chest rose and fell quickly. His voice was a whisper. "What if it hurts?"
Aarav cradled his face, thumb brushing against his cheek. His eyes, steady and sure, held nothing but patience.
"It's okay... Don't worry—we won't do anything until you're ready."
Ayan's gaze faltered, lashes lowering. His chest ached with something unspoken. Then, instead of words, he leaned up and kissed Aarav with all the answer he couldn't say aloud.
The last of his hesitation melted away.
And when Aarav leaned close, lips brushing against his once more, the quiet question came again. "Are you sure?"
Ayan's nod was small, shy—but in his eyes, trust burned clear.
Aarav gently uncovered him. And lead himself into the moment.
The first move was sharp with both pain and sweetness, Ayan's breath breaking on a soft moan. A single tear slipped from the corner of his eye, glittering faintly in the room's dim light.
Aarav paused immediately, his expression shifting to concern. "You okay?"
This time Ayan's nod was firmer. He tightened his arms and legs around him, wordlessly begging him not to worry.
Aarav kissed his temple, then the corner of his eyes, tenderly brushing the tear away.
What followed was unhurried—gentle rhythms that gradually blurred pain into warmth. Every movement spoke more of love than desire.
The world outside vanished. Only their breaths, mingled heartbeats, and the fragile closeness of bodies remained.