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The morning light came in soft through the curtains, pale and unfocused. It settled over the room without urgency.
Blankets were tangled near the foot of the bed.
Somewhere outside, a car passed.
The city was waking up, but not loudly.
Joss blinked, throat dry, nose stuffy. His head felt heavy. He didn’t move right away. He just lay there, breathing through his mouth, trying to decide if the room was spinning or not.
It took him a second to realize he wasn’t alone.
Warmth pressed against his side. An arm rested over his stomach, slack and easy. When he turned his head slightly, he saw Gawin lying beside him, still asleep. His hair was a little messy. His face was soft, calm. Breathing slowly.
Joss let his eyes fall closed again for a moment, remembering.
The night before, when Gawin had asked him to come over, he hadn’t even hesitated. Just said it plainly: “You shouldn’t be alone when you’re sick. Come here. I’ll take care of you.” That alone had done something to Joss’s chest. It tugged at something deep, something warm. People didn’t usually offer him that kind of care so easily.
He hadn’t realized how much he needed it until Gawin said it like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
Then Gawin had made him congee. It was soft, light, and easy to swallow. Tea followed, warm and slightly sweet. Medicine was handed over without a word. No fuss, no drama. Just quiet care. And Joss had felt the steady kind of love behind it. The kind that doesn’t ask to be noticed but fills every corner anyway.
It made him feel seen.
Not just looked at, but seen.
Later, when they’d climbed into bed and put on an old movie, Joss had started to fade.
His throat had ached less, thankfully.
His eyes kept closing. He’d been on the edge of sleep when he felt Gawin shift closer, an arm sliding around him, holding him steady. Joss had melted into it before he could think too much. His body relaxed like it had been waiting for permission.
He hadn’t said it out loud, but he felt it: this exact moment, in Gawin’s bed, in Gawin’s arms, was the most comfortable he’d been since he felt sick.
Now, under the beam of the morning light that peeked through the curtains, Joss shifted his gaze back to Gawin, careful not to move too much. The light caught gently on the angles of the younger’s face, his cheekbone, jaw, and the curve of his nose. His lashes rested against his skin, unmoving. His breathing was steady, chest rising and falling in a rhythm that made it hard to look away.
He looked peaceful like this.
Completely unguarded.
Joss found his eyes drifting to the little mess of hair at the top of Gawin’s head, slightly flattened in the back and sticking up at odd angles.
He smiled to himself.
It would’ve been so easy to just stay like this—quiet, still, watching him breathe. He could’ve stayed awake for hours just to keep looking at him. Just to be next to him like this.
His thoughts wandered to the way Gawin always tilted his head when he was thinking, like it helped him hear his own thoughts better. The way his laugh came out softer when it was just the two of them, like it was only meant for Joss to hear. The way he never asked for credit, never looked for praise, but always, always showed up when it mattered.
Joss’s chest ached with something warm and full.
He didn’t even try to push it down.
Gratitude and affection all pooled together into a quiet kind of surrender.
If this was what it felt like to fall in love, then maybe he already had. Or maybe he was just on the edge of it, toeing the line with every breath Gawin took beside him.
He didn’t need grand gestures.
Gawin never worked like that.
He said everything in the small things. In making soup, in handing over medicine, in shifting over to make space in his bed, like it was natural, like Joss belonged there.
Lying there, watching him sleep, Joss thought: I could stay in this moment forever.
And he meant it. He could’ve gotten lost here, in the quiet rise and fall of Gawin’s breathing, in the way his fingers twitched once in his sleep, in the calm that wrapped around them both like the thick blankets still tangled at their feet.
Every second beside you feels like something I’ll remember for the rest of my life.
Gawin shifted slightly beside him, the blanket slipping lower over his shoulder. He looked so soft like this. His skin was warm with sleep, face relaxed, lips parted just a little. There was something vulnerable about it. Something that made Joss want to protect him, even from dreams.
He reached out gently, brushing a strand of hair away from Gawin’s forehead.
His fingers lingered, just barely touching skin.
A soft graze, like he was afraid to break the moment.
Then, slowly, he shifted them both, slipping his arm under Gawin’s neck, pulling him in until they were fully wrapped around each other. Gawin didn’t stir, only let out a quiet breath, and curled instinctively closer.
Joss swallowed, throat still scratchy. His body ached and begged for more sleep, but he resisted. He didn’t want to close his eyes. Not yet.
Lying this close and feeling his heartbeat…
He could feel it, steady against his own chest. It grounded him and unraveled him all at once.
He wondered what Gawin was dreaming about.
If he was dreaming.
If maybe, just maybe, Joss was in there somewhere. A passing moment. A blurred figure in a quiet dream.
God, he hoped so.
His eyes traced the slope of Gawin’s nose, the softness of his lashes, the slight part of his lips. Without thinking, he leaned forward and pressed the lightest kiss to the crown of his head. Then another to his forehead. Barely there, barely pressure, just enough to whisper I’m here without sound.
Thank God we’re here, he thought.
Thank God he let me stay.
Everything else faded away. The cold in his chest, the city outside, the usual rush of thoughts in his head. All of it drowned in the feeling of having Gawin in his arms.
He didn’t want to sleep.
He didn’t want to miss a second.
Because even if he dreamt of Gawin, it wouldn’t be better than this.
Not even close.
Even now, lying beside him, Joss missed him. Missed the sound of his voice, the soft way he looked when he laughed, the warmth of his presence when he wasn’t around.
But here, now, this was real.
And he didn’t want to miss a thing.
Gawin shifted beside him, the smallest movement, a quiet sound caught in his throat. He didn’t wake, just instinctively burrowed closer, his forehead brushing against the elder’s jaw, nose tucking into the curve of his neck. Then, warm breath, slow and steady, fanned over Joss’s skin as Gawin settled again with a sigh.
Joss smiled, eyes fluttering shut for a moment. The nuzzle tickled, but he didn’t move away.
He welcomed it.
He let it seep into him, this subtle closeness that felt like more than just habit.
He reached down, brushing the pads of his fingers lightly along Gawin’s arm. A slow, barely-there touch from shoulder to wrist.
Nothing grand, just quiet reverence.
A silent thank-you.
His body still did ache, throat raw and nose stuffy, but lying here wrapped in Gawin’s warmth, the soft weight of him pressed close, it dulled the discomfort. Like something in Joss’s chest had stilled. The warmth wasn’t just physical, it seeped into him deeper than that, slow and sure, steadying something he didn’t know needed healing.
He exhaled quietly and let his eyes drift open again.
Being next to Gawin already felt like medicine.
Better than medicine.
Gawin stirred, breath catching as he blinked into the muted morning light. His lashes brushed Joss’s collarbone before his eyes slowly opened, hazy and unfocused at first. He looked around, mind still climbing out of sleep, until his gaze landed on Joss, who was close, watching, still.
Their eyes met.
For a moment, nothing moved between them.
Then Gawin’s voice came, low and thick with sleep, “How are you feeling?”
Joss let out a soft, scratchy sound meant to be a laugh.
“Okay,” he rasped, throat dry. “Maybe even a bit better.”
It wasn’t a lie. Something about the quiet in Gawin’s gaze made the headache fade, the chill ease. Joss couldn’t stop looking. Gawin’s eyes in the soft light were warm, that familiar golden-brown flecked with something he could never quite name.
Something gentle. Something just for him.
And Joss found himself thinking: he really didn’t want to miss one second of this.
Not a breath, not a look, not a smile.
Gawin didn’t pull away. Not yet. He stayed pressed into him like he meant it. And maybe he did. Maybe they both did. That closeness felt like a confession Joss had waited years to hear.
“Good morning,” Gawin whispered, breath warming the skin just beneath Joss’s ear.
Joss smiled. He pressed a soft kiss to Gawin’s temple, slow and lingering.
“Good morning,” he whispered back.
He leaned in again, half a breath from another kiss, but Gawin tilted his head away.
“You’re still sick,” he murmured, teasing but gentle. “I’m not trying to catch that.”
Joss chuckled, the sound hoarse and rough but full of something real.
“Wow,” he croaked. “So cold.”
“I’m just being smart,” Gawin replied, a grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Joss looked at him and thought, I just wanna be with you. Right here, just like this.
He could feel Gawin’s heartbeat through the place where their chests touched, slow and steady against his own. And he wanted to stay there, right in that rhythm, for as long as life would let him.
There was nothing smarter than keeping someone like this close, even if he couldn’t kiss him just yet.
Gawin shifted, rolling to the other side of the bed, but Joss’s arms refused to let him go. He tightened his hold instinctively, murmuring against Gawin’s skin.
“You’re warm, I’m still sick. Can’t have the cold air making it worse, right?”
“Fine. Five minutes.” Gawin huffed, half a sigh, half a quiet laugh.
Joss took it as a victory.
In seconds, he’d rearranged himself, slipping fully into Gawin’s space. He was now sprawled halfway on top of him, face nuzzled into the crook of Gawin’s neck, breathing in the faint, familiar scent of him.
Gawin’s hand found his hair, carding through it slowly, absentmindedly.
Joss melted under the touch, every muscle slack, every breath slower.
He could’ve stayed like that forever. His sore throat didn’t matter, nor the stuffy nose or dull ache behind his eyes. Not when Gawin was under him, beside him, touching him like this.
He felt weightless. Safe.
Like this was where he belonged.
When the five minutes passed, Gawin stretched beneath him, body arching gently.
“Okay,” he murmured, tapping Joss’s side. “Up. I’m making breakfast. You eating?”
Joss groaned dramatically but lifted his head just enough to meet Gawin’s sleepy eyes.
“Only if you feed me.”
“Mm,” Gawin hummed with an amused smirk. “I’ll make rice porridge. That’s all you’re getting.”
“Best doctor I’ve ever had,” Joss muttered, but there was a tenderness to the tease, like every word was dipped in gratitude.
They moved slowly. Gawin slipped out of the covers first, already tugging a hoodie over his head as he padded toward the kitchen. Joss remained seated for a beat, blankets around his waist, hair a mess, body heavy but heart impossibly full.
He looked at Gawin’s back, the broad lines of his shoulders, the way he rubbed his eye with the back of his hand, and something inside Joss stirred again.
This feels like home, he thought.
His gaze drifted back to the bed.
The sunken pillows, the faint imprint where Gawin had just been, the sheets tangled and warm from their shared sleep.
That bed had been witness to something real and beautiful.
Then, he stood and followed the light.