Tharn stopped a few feet from the table, the faint aroma of coffee drifting from the cup in his hand.
Every step he had taken from the table to reach this point had been careful, deliberate, each movement carrying a weight he didn't yet fully understand. It was as if with every inch closer to Sira, a new pulse of life surged through him, a quiet thrill that whispered of something he had been missing all along. Something he had been missing all along. Something that felt like home, like destiny.
He bent slightly, placing the Americano on the table in front of Sira without a word. The cup appeared almost magically, yet it was the gravity in Tharn's stance that made the world pause for a heartbeat.
Sira blinked, eyes dropping to the cup, confusion flickering across his face. Tharn's gaze lingered a moment longer, a faint smile brushing his lips, as he was daring Sira to look up and meet his eyes. Yet slowly - hesitantly - Sira lifted his gaze.
And he saw him.
Tharn stood there, tall and impossibly composed. Lean but athletic, he radiated confidence and arrogance, yet there was something gentle in his eyes. His eyes were deep, dark, and steady, capable of reading a room. There was subtle warmth to his sun-kissed skin, a glow that seemed effortless, almost luminous. And yet, it wasn't just his face that held Sira's attention....it was the way he carried himself, the calm strength beneath the composed exterior.
Tharn tilted his head slightly, eyes never leaving his.
"Do you mind?" Tharn asked softly. Then, after a heartbeat, his gaze softened, warm yet steady.
"It's.... compensation for my mistake," he said, voice gentle but unwavering. "I hope you'll understand."
Sira looked at Tharn, and there was a subtle flirt hidden in the tilt of his lips, in the steady weight of his eyes. Playful, yet grounded, like a spark that somehow resonated with something Sira couldn't name.
And yet..... Tharn felt it too. The unspoken pull tug in his chest. That quiet certainty that Sira wasn't just a stranger. Slowly and softly, Tharn reached forward.
Before Sira could react, he lifted the Americano from Sira's hand, took a small sip, and returned it with a small, calm, measured motion.
Sira's jaw drooped slowly, his mind scrambling to process the simple audacity of the gesture.
Nat, watching quietly from the side, leaned back, lips pressed together in amusement. There was something .... undeniable in the energy between them. A tension, a warmth, a fluttering beat that hadn't been there before.
Love in the air,if Nat had to name it.
A grin tugged at Nat's mouth before he even realized it.
Wait… why am I smiling?
Why do I look like such an idiot right now?
He let out a small chuckle to himself, shaking his head.
But, before Sira could respond - before the unspoken magic could fully sink......
THUD!!!!!!!!!
A football shot across the space and slammed straight into Tharn. The Americano in his hand tilted, and dark coffee splashed across Sirá's white shirt.
For a second, everything seemed to pause. Then irritation flickered to life.
Tharn's eyes narrowed slightly, the calm in them cooling into something sharper. He turned toward the culprit, slow and deliberate, his gaze cold enough to make anyone think twice.
"What's your problem?" Tharn growled, low and dangerous.
Across the field, the guy who had shot the ball raised a lazy hand, lips curling into a playful grin.
"PASS THE BALL", he said casually.
He was joking. Careless. Like it was nothing that he ruined someone's drink and shirt.
Tharn's hand clenched into a fist around the edge of the table. Every muscle in his body coiled as he turned toward the footballer. Without hesitation, he strode forward, each step deliberate, sharp, measured. It was pure rage made manifest, controlled, focused, and utterly unrelenting.
He reached the boy, grabbed the collar of his shirt, and pulled him close. The cafe noise seemed to vanish again, replaced by a low, dangerous "hummmm" radiating from Tharn.
"What's your problem?" He demanded voice low but cutting. "Can't you say sorry? huh?"
The guy looked up at him, calm, almost amused. He shrugged one shoulder lazily.
"I didn't do it on purpose," The guy said lightly. "Common it's not a big deal."
Tharn's eyes narrowed. The casual indifference only fueled his anger further. There was no remorse, no acknowledgement in that guy's eyes, which made Tharn's more boil.
Sira felt the tension spike in the air across the ground. A sharp, electric pulse that made his chest tighten. He wanted to stop Tharn, to pull him back - but he also understood that this wasn't just about the spilled tea; it was deeper than that.
Then, as if the words themselves weren't enough, Thar's fist shot forward. Quicker. Precise. The punch landed squarely on the boy's cheek with a heady THUD!!!!.
The guy staggered back, surprised, but fury flared in his eyes. He stepped forward, ready to strike back, his hand raised.
But he wasn't going to get a chance.
Kiet ran to him at the same time and moved instinctively, stepping between them. Nat and Sira also ran there at the same time. Every attempt at retaliation was blocked. Both Tharn and the guy were trapped in a standoff that neither could finish.
Sira's gaze met Tharn's for a moment. Silent, wordless.
Sira reached out, his hand finding Tharn's. A small touch, yet it carried a steady, grounding weight. Gently, Sira tugged him, pulling him away from the confrontation, away from the boiling rage that threatened to erupt.
Behind them, the guy's expression shifted subtly. A smirk flickered at the corner of his lips - half amusement, half frustration. He watched as Tharn and Sira moved away, hands in hand.
His eyes glinted with something else - anger, calculation, something unreadable. He murmured under his breath, just loud enough for himself.
"Just wait a little longer....... You won't be able to hold that hand for too long."
And with that, he stepped back, letting his gaze linger a moment longer before he finally turned away.
Unaware of the lingering eyes behind them, Tharn and Sira went towards the washroom, the dark stain of coffee on Sira's white shirt impossible to ignore.
The washroom door swung shut behind them with a loud THUD!!!
For a few seconds, neither of them spoke.
Sira finally let go of Tharn's hand, only then realizing he had been dragging him the entire way from the football field. The adrenaline from the fight was fading now, leaving behind an awkward silence.
He cleared his throat.
But… he had no idea what to say.
He hadn't even thought this far. He just wanted to save Tharn from the chaos.
Now they were alone.
Two strangers. Standing far too close.
Sira looked at Tharn, slightly confused, as if waiting for him to speak first.
But Tharn didn't say anything. He stepped forward.
Slowly.
Sira blinked.
Tharn took another step.
Sira instinctively stepped back.
Then another. And another. Until suddenly....Sira's back hit the cold edge of the basin behind him.
Sira stopped as there was no more space for him to go back.
Tharn stopped too.
The two of them stood face to face, so close that the space between them seemed to disappear. Their breaths came in heavy, uneven waves, brushing against each other without a word, each inhale a quiet confession.
Sira's eyes slowly lifted to meet Tharn's, and Tharn didn't look away. Their gaze locked, electric and endless, as if a thousand things were waiting to be said, but none of them dared.
A faint, almost mischievous smile curved Tharn's lips. "You're staring," he murmured, his voice low, teasing, but something in it made Sira's chest tighten. "Careful, you might get caught."
Sira's heartbeat skipped. "And you're not?" he breathed, voice soft, playful, but there was a tremor there, betraying how much he felt.
For a moment, the world outside ceased to exist. It was just them, breath mingling, eyes locked, as if every move had its own language. Every blink, every quirk of a smile, every little shift carried the weight of a thousand unspoken words, a pull, a tension that drew them closer without a touch.
Nothing happened, yet everything was happening. The air between them burned, quiet but undeniable, and even without a word, even without a touch, they both knew that something had shifted. Something had begun.