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Arashi sat up with a gasp.
The blanket was half on the floor. The pillow was nowhere in sight. And he was sprawled awkwardly across the couch with one leg hanging off.
His heart was racing.
He blinked and rubbed his face, trying to push the vivid images out of his mind—but they lingered.
Ken.
That face. Those soft, dark eyes under messy bangs. The way his voice sounded in the dark.
"You want to sleep with me?"
Arashi groaned and buried his face into the couch cushion, his ears bright red.
He had dreamed it. All of it.
Ken opening the bedroom door shirtless, his hair falling over his eyes, sleepy and gentle, like something out of a damn romance drama. The way Ken reached for his hand and asked that question with such quiet honesty…
And Arashi—he had leaned in. Pulled Ken close. Felt their lips brush, soft and warm and—
Thud.
He had rolled off the couch and hit the floor.
"What the hell is wrong with me…" Arashi muttered into the pillow, dragging a hand through his tousled hair.
He wasn't even drunk anymore. He was sober. Which made it worse.
Sitting up fully now, Arashi stared at the empty hallway that led to Ken's bedroom.
It was just a dream. Just a stupid, stupid dream.
But even now, his chest was tight, and his skin still felt hot. That moment, fake or not, had felt real. Too real.
And the way Ken had looked at him, like—
"Nope. Nope. Stop."
He shook his head violently and stumbled into the bathroom to splash cold water on his face.
Looking in the mirror, he scowled. "Get it together, idiot."
By the time morning light crept in through the window, Arashi was wide awake but pretending not to be.
Ken padded into the kitchen in soft grey joggers and a loose hoodie, yawning as he reached for the coffee machine. His hair was a mess, and he was humming under his breath.
Arashi peeked over the couch arm, watching him in silence.
Ken glanced over. "You're awake?"
"…Barely," Arashi muttered, sitting up and clutching the blanket around him like a defensive wall.
Ken poured two cups of coffee. "Headache?"
Arashi shook his head. "I didn't drink that much."
Ken handed him a mug and plopped down on the armchair across from him, sipping his own.
For a moment, there was quiet.
Ken finally broke it with a small smirk. "You talk in your sleep, you know."
Arashi almost choked on his coffee. "I what?"
"You said something like… 'Ken… softer…' or something."
"I—what?!"
Ken raised a teasing brow, eyes sparkling. "Something you wanna tell me?"
Arashi's face turned red instantly.
"I was probably talking about your stupid voice being too soft to hear, idiot."
"Hmm. Sure."
Ken sipped his coffee calmly, but Arashi was burning.
He stared down at the dark liquid, trying to ignore the way his chest felt like a kettle ready to whistle.
That damn dream.
And that damn boy.
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