The door clicked open, and Kaein stepped inside, dropping his bag with a soft thud. The apartment was warm, filled with the quiet hum of familiarity. Lior was in the kitchen, stirring a cup of tea, and glanced up with a grin that made Kaein's chest tighten slightly—like sunlight breaking through a clouded sky.
"My dear friend," Lior said, setting the cup down. "Look who finally made it home. How was work today?"
"Long," Kaein admitted, loosening his tie. "But… I have good news. I managed to take a week off. A whole week, finally."
Lior's grin widened, and he crossed the room to clap Kaein lightly on the shoulder. "A week, you say? Excellent! Just the timing I needed. Shall we go somewhere? Somewhere to forget the world for a while?"
Kaein felt a small thrill at the suggestion. The idea of leaving the city behind, of stepping away from schedules and stress, felt almost luxurious. "I was thinking… maybe the resort in my hometown. The one by the river. We could… just relax, walk, maybe sit by the cottages. You know, the old familiar places."
Lior's eyes lit up, the spark of excitement unmistakable. "Perfect. I could wander those streets for hours. You, me, no one else. It's been too long since we had something like this."
Kaein nodded, smiling. The apartment suddenly felt smaller, more intimate, with the anticipation of shared days ahead. This week wouldn't just be a break from work—it would be their time, their space, where the world outside could wait, and all that mattered was the quiet rhythm of being together.
---
They spent the evening packing lightly, avoiding the urge to overthink. Lior hummed softly while organizing the small backpack he would carry, folding clothes with surprising care. Kaein leaned against the doorway, watching him, the soft lines of his face relaxed and bright. For a moment, the years of distance, separation, and subtle heartaches melted away.
"So," Kaein said, holding up his own bag. "Do you remember the little path by the river? The one we used to sneak out to during summer breaks?"
Lior's eyes twinkled. "I do. We used to race our bikes down the slope and almost crash into the willows every time. And you—you would always lose because you got distracted talking about books or experiments."
Kaein chuckled. "And you always teased me for being clumsy. Still, somehow, you never let me fall completely."
Lior shrugged, his grin softening. "Someone had to keep an eye on you. You were too reckless."
A quiet warmth settled between them, a comfort born of shared history and unspoken understanding. They didn't need to say more—the presence itself, the simple companionship, spoke volumes.
---
The next morning, Kaein woke early, the soft light of dawn spilling across the apartment. Lior was already awake, perched by the window with a steaming mug in his hands. He glanced over his shoulder as Kaein stretched, a small smile lifting the corners of his lips.
"Morning," he said. "Packed the car?"
"Almost. Just a few things left," Kaein replied, moving to the kitchen to pour himself some tea. The quiet ritual felt familiar, safe, and grounding.
They ate breakfast together, the conversation light—what they had planned for the week, small jokes, shared memories of their high school days—but beneath it, the undercurrent of their closeness pulsed. Every glance, every casual brush of hands across the counter carried a weight neither needed to name.
Once the car was packed and the last check done, they stepped outside into the crisp morning air. The city hummed around them, but their focus was narrow, centered entirely on the road ahead, and on each other. Lior adjusted his seatbelt, turning to smile at Kaein.
"You ready?"
"Always," Kaein said, and for a brief second, he felt the steady reassurance of being exactly where he belonged.
---
The drive was filled with gentle conversation and occasional silences, each as comfortable as the other. They passed familiar streets, rolling hills, and then the quiet outskirts that led to Kaein's hometown. Lior's eyes occasionally lingered on the scenery, but most often on Kaein, his thoughts quietly settling around the presence of the other boy beside him.
"So," Kaein finally said, breaking the quiet, "how long has it been since we last came here?"
Lior's smile was soft, almost nostalgic. "Longer than I can remember. Must be… ten years? Maybe more."
Kaein chuckled, the sound mixing with the low hum of tires on the road. "Feels like yesterday, somehow."
Lior glanced at him, a half-smile playing on his lips. "For me, it never really felt like yesterday. I remember every corner, every street, every tree. You were there too, you know."
"You remember the old ice cream shop near the river?" Kaein asked . "Still stands, I think. We used to spend hours there after school."
Lior chuckled. "I do. And you always bought the largest sundae and tried to convince me to eat half of it."
Kaein's lips twitched into a shy smile. "You never refused."
"No," Lior said softly. "Never."
The memory wrapped around them, filling the car with an invisible warmth. It wasn't just nostalgia; it was the recognition of a bond that had endured time and distance, one that didn't need labels or declarations.
Kaein looked away, pretending to focus on the passing scenery, but inside, his heart raced. Every memory was vivid—the walks to school, the stolen lunches, the moments when they would just sit and talk, sometimes not even needing words. It had all been simple, ordinary, yet extraordinary in its own quiet way.
---
By late afternoon, the resort came into view. Nestled between the gentle hills and the winding river, it was exactly as Kaein remembered—quaint cottages, soft gardens, and the quiet murmur of water that always made him feel at ease. Lior parked the car, taking a moment to look around, and Kaein felt that familiar tug at his chest: the quiet joy of returning to a place steeped in shared memories.
They unloaded their bags and took a slow walk to the cottage assigned to them. The air smelled of wet earth and blooming flowers, and the river gleamed like a ribbon of light. Lior fell into step beside Kaein naturally, the easy rhythm between them unbroken.
"This will be perfect," Lior said, voice low, almost reverent. "Just the two of us. No one else to distract or rush us."
Kaein nodded, feeling the same quiet contentment. "Exactly. I needed this. We needed this."
They spent the afternoon exploring the resort, walking along paths lined with familiar trees, the kind they had passed countless times during their youth. Kaein couldn't help but feel the strange comfort of nostalgia mixed with the newness of being here with Lior.
"Remember that old bridge near the river?" Kaein asked as they walked.
Lior's eyes lit up. "Of course. You fell into the water there once trying to impress me with a jump."
Kaein laughed, a little embarrassed. "I was younger… braver, maybe dumber."
"And I laughed at you," Lior said, smirking. "I still do sometimes."
The conversation lingered on small memories—school mischief, friends they had lost touch with, teachers who had been kind or cruel, everything that had shaped them. Each story drew them closer, not because they needed to be close, but because it reminded them of why they had always been.
As evening approached, they returned to the resort. The sun was dipping behind the distant hills, casting gold and amber reflections on the river. Lior suggested a small terrace dinner, arranged with lanterns and a gentle breeze carrying the scent of jasmine.
Sitting across from each other, the world felt like it had shrunk, leaving only the two of them in a space that existed solely for their shared history and quiet understanding. They spoke about future plans, jobs, and the small dreams they had yet to chase, each conversation punctuated by laughter or a comfortable silence.
Kaein noticed the subtle gestures—the way Lior reached for a glass, the careful way he folded the napkin, the ease of his movements that came only when no one else was watching. He realized, again, that even without words like "love" or "forever," he felt tethered to Lior in ways he couldn't explain.
And Lior, for his part, was aware of every glance Kaein threw his way, every small shift in expression. He felt the same pull, the same unspoken bond that had existed since high school. Being here, in a place that had once been mundane, now felt sacred.
The evening passed in a series of simple, beautiful moments. They unpacked, explored the nearby trails, and finally settled by the riverbank as the sun began its slow descent behind the hills. Words were few, but the comfortable silence spoke louder than any conversation could. Lior handed Kaein a cup of tea, their fingers brushing, and both felt the subtle flutter of connection that had always existed between them.
As night fell, the soft lights of the cottages reflected in the water, and Kaein realized that for this week, they could simply exist—together, undisturbed, and wholly themselves. No declarations were needed, no labels to define what was already evident in every glance, every shared smile, every comfortable silence.
And for the first time in a long while, Kaein allowed himself to simply breathe, knowing that beside him, Lior felt the same.