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The rain pelted against the dorm window like tiny drumbeats, a steady rhythm that mirrored Gun's tapping pencil. He sat cross-legged on his bed, surrounded by colorful sticky notes, textbooks, and an array of highlighters that reflected his bubbly personality. Across the room, Yotha sat at his desk, his sleek, black laptop illuminating his focused face. His mechanical engineering diagrams looked like some alien blueprint, intricate and intimidating, just like him.
Gun tapped his pencil against his book, humming a random tune. “Hey, Yotha, did you know the human brain can only focus for 25 minutes at a time? I think I’ve already gone past that—should we take a break?”
Yotha didn’t look up. “You haven’t focused for 25 seconds, Beagle,” he said flatly. “And no, we’re not taking a break.”
Gun pouted. “You’re no fun.”
Yotha smirked but said nothing, turning back to his notes. Gun stuck out his tongue at Yotha’s back, then settled down—sort of. He still found ways to distract himself, occasionally muttering trivia or doodling in the margins of his notebook.
The storm outside grew louder, thunder shaking the windows. Then, without warning, the lights flickered and went out.
Gun froze, the darkness wrapping around him like a suffocating blanket. “Y-Yotha?”
“Relax, Beagle,” Yotha replied, calm and steady as always. “It’s just the storm.”
Gun hugged his knees, his usual cheeriness evaporating. “I know, but I... I hate this.”
Yotha sighed, the sound laced with exasperation, but there was the rustle of movement. A second later, a blinding beam of light cut through the darkness. Yotha stood beside Gun’s bed, holding a sleek flashlight.
“You have a flashlight?” Gun asked, blinking against the brightness.
“Obviously.” Yotha adjusted the angle so it illuminated the room without blinding Gun.
Gun stared at him for a moment, then a grin broke through his fear. “You totally bought it for me, didn’t you?”
Yotha raised an eyebrow. “Why would I do that?”
“Because you knew I’d freak out,” Gun teased, his voice soft but full of warmth.
Yotha’s jaw tightened, his gaze flicking away. “You’re reading too much into it.”
Gun smiled gently. “Am I?”
Yotha didn’t answer immediately, instead shifting the flashlight to cast a wider glow across the room. “Does it help?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant.
Gun nodded, though his hands fidgeted in his lap. “Yeah, it helps. But... I still get this weird, tight feeling in my chest when it’s dark. Like the shadows are creeping closer. I know it’s dumb—”
“It’s not dumb.” Yotha cut him off, his tone firm but not harsh. He hesitated, then glanced at Gun, his expression unreadable. “Do you want me to stay?”
Gun’s eyes widened slightly, his heart skipping a beat at the offer. “I... yeah. If you don’t mind,” he said, his voice small.
Yotha sighed, the sound laced with reluctant affection. “You’re really something, Beagle.”
He moved without fanfare, sitting on the edge of Gun’s bed. The mattress dipped slightly under his weight, and Gun instinctively shifted closer, his shoulder brushing Yotha’s arm.
“Thanks,” Gun murmured, his voice so soft it was almost lost beneath the rain.
Yotha didn’t respond immediately, but his presence was steady and grounding. “Don’t overthink it,” he muttered after a moment, adjusting the flashlight so it lit up more of the room. “Just focus on calming down.”
The storm raged on, the wind howling like a wild beast. Gun inched closer, and Yotha didn’t pull away. Instead, he wrapped an arm around Gun’s shoulders, his awkwardness melting into something protective.
“Why are you so nice to me?” Gun asked softly, resting his head against Yotha’s chest.
Yotha stiffened for a moment, then relaxed. “Because you’re... you,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.
Gun tilted his head up, his wide eyes searching Yotha’s face. “What does that mean?”
Yotha let out a soft, resigned sigh. “You’re impossible, Beagle.”
Before Gun could respond, Yotha leaned in, his hand cupping Gun’s cheek. His lips brushed against Gun’s in a kiss—brief but firm, a startling mix of confidence and hesitation.
Gun’s breath caught, his heart pounding so loudly he was sure Yotha could hear it. When Yotha pulled back, his usual stoic mask was firmly in place, but there was a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes.
Gun’s breath hitched. “Yotha...”
“Don’t make it a big deal,” Yotha muttered, already looking away. “I just—”
He didn’t get to finish. Gun lunged forward, throwing his arms around Yotha and nearly knocking them both over. “I like you too!” he blurted, his voice bright and brimming with joy.
Yotha blinked, stunned. Then, slowly, a rare, genuine smile tugged at his lips. “You’re ridiculous,” he murmured, though there was no bite to the words.
The storm continued outside, but inside, with Yotha’s arm still loosely around him, Gun felt something he hadn’t felt in a long time: safe.