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Shin was running, as fast as he could—faster than he knew he could. His chest was burning, but he didn’t pay it any attention. He had to get to Saint. He had to get to Saint.
The address Ken had sent him was a few blocks from the Dragon Fang’s main base. Presumably so that Saint wouldn’t be found too close by. So his body wouldn’t be found near enough for proof.
He’s bluffing, Shin told himself. Even Jeng wouldn’t want the hassle of a potential murder investigation over a mere high school student, or at least a high school student who wasn’t Shin. But then he remembered the chill humor in Jeng’s voice over the phone, threatening Chingching, and he knew it wasn’t impossible.
Night made it difficult to see clearly, and Saint was still in his dark school uniform, so it wasn’t until he was nearly on top of him that Shin saw Saint, bloodied and battered, collapsed against a stack of pallets. Shin fell to his knees, touched Saint’s face—but he was cold, and there was no movement to his chest, no breath when Shin put his finger beneath Saint’s nose.
“No,” Shin said, voice cracking. The earth was spinning, and he was going to fly off it, or he was going to scream, or both. “No, no, Saint, fuck you, you don’t get to die on me, not after all that—” He drew in a harsh, ragged breath and realized he was crying when his vision blurred. He collapsed forward onto Saint’s still chest, banging his fist into Saint’s ribs, and it couldn’t be, not when there was still so many things Shin had to say to him—
“Shin!”
It took a moment for Shin to reorient himself, resurfacing from the dream as though from deep underwater. There were arms around him, a hand at the back of his neck. A strong leg between his. Breath that tickled his fringe. Saint.
Shin couldn’t look at Saint for a moment, still seeing his bruised and bloody face in his mind’s eye, but finally he forced himself to. He took in every inch of Saint’s face, the way his brow wrinkled with concern, the gentleness of his eyes, how he was whole and healthy and right there.
“Shin, you were crying,” Saint said softly. The hand on Shin’s neck slid to cup his jaw so Saint could wipe the damp stains from his cheek. “What were you dreaming of?”
Shin’s chest ached; he wanted so badly to close the distance between them and kiss Saint, to taste his breath and feel the solid heat of Saint, alive, in his arms. In his half-awake state, he nearly did, moving in close enough that Saint sucked in a startled breath. At the last second he remembered himself and instead pushed his face into Saint’s shoulder. He breathed in deeply, filling his senses with Saint, who was here and safe, and pressed as far into Saint as he could. He feigned more sleepiness than he felt so Saint wouldn’t say anything, but when Saint pressed into Shin’s hair a moment later, Shin could feel that he was smiling.
“I’ve got you,” Saint murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”
You better not, Shin thought. He was already slipping back into sleep, the adrenaline spike from his dream soothed by the steady rise and fall of Saint’s chest.
—
Shin woke first, as usual, blinking awake at the light leaking in through his curtains. Saint didn’t even stir as Shin gingerly pulled free of his grip, the two of them even more tangled up than usual. Saint had always been a tactile sleeper, tugging whatever was in reach into his arms, whether that was a pillow, the duvet, or Shin. When they were younger, it had been a source of deep frustration to Shin, the way Saint would pull him in and keep him trapped, unaware of how Shin’s skin prickled in response or how Shin had to carefully angle his hips so Saint wouldn’t feel it if Shin got hard, which he often did. Saint, for his part, never seemed embarrassed by his own erections, often joking about it when Shin scrambled back, face red and desperate to hide how much he wanted to touch.
These days, Shin still tried to keep his distance, but Saint slept over most nights and Shin’s bed was small for two guys their size. The three years apart hadn’t changed his clinginess, but at least he seemed less prone to morning wood, and Shin being the first one to wake meant he could slip into the bathroom to take care of his own.
Today there was no need for that, the lingering mood of his nightmare enough to kill his body’s response to being pressed up against Shin’s warm chest. He tugged the duvet back over Shin and went to wake Chingching, their mother already at work by now. She was asleep with half her sheets falling off the bed and grumbled the entire time as Shin coaxed her out of bed and into her school uniform.
By the time he got Chingching dressed and downstairs to the kitchen, Saint had gotten up too, though he was bleary-eyed and his hair stuck up all over like an anime character. Shin rubbed the back of Saint’s hair, making it worse, and said, “You could sleep more.”
“If I slept, what would you eat for breakfast?” Saint asked. He opened the fridge and started pulling things out, setting them on the counter. Chingching went on her tiptoes to see better, eyes wide.
Shins scowled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“I noticed last night that you don’t have much in the fridge right now,” Saint said. “At least nothing already cooked.”
“And P’Shin can’t cook,” Chingching said with a heavy, dramatic sigh. For an eight year old, she really acted like an old disappointed grandma sometimes.
“You can help me,” Saint suggested. He pushed the carton of eggs closer to Shin. “Crack and beat, uh, six eggs.”
“Whoa, that’s a lot,” Shin said. He turned to get a bowl from the cabinet and set it down beside the carton. “We need that many?”
“Of course we do! Chingching needs to grow up big and strong, right? Like me!” Saint flexed, making Chingching giggle in delight before raising her own skinny arms to strike a strongman pose.
“I’m already strong!” she declared.
“Mm, okay, strong girl,” Shin said, holding back a laugh. “Want to help me with the eggs?”
“Yes!”
He lifted her onto the counter so she could reach the bowl easily. “Do you think you can crack the eggs into this for me?”
Chingching was maybe a little overenthusiastic with her egg cracking—Shin had to fish some shards of shell out of the bowl—but between the two of them they produced a freshly beaten bowl of eggs. Saint took it with a murmured thanks and began making omelets, moving with such easy, casual confidence that Shin was lightly annoyed. No one in Shin’s family was much of a cook, Shin possibly the least of all.
Still, he could do something. “Chingching, let’s set the table, okay? Open the cabinet behind you and hand me some plates.”
Chingching obediently offered him three plates, one at a time, which Shin set beside Saint before lifting Chingching off the counter and sending her to get her school bag together. Shin hovered a little behind Saint, wanting to be useful but knowing he wasn’t much help. Saint seemed to sense him standing there, because he glanced over his shoulder and smiled at him, the sweetness of it making Shin’s heart clench.
“By the way, Ai’Shin, are you all right?” Saint asked.
Shin frowned. “What do you mean?”
“Last night.” Saint smoothly flipped over the omelet in the skillet. “Do you not remember waking up?”
Shin remembered, but he had kind of hoped Saint wouldn’t. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure? You seemed really upset.”
“It was just a nightmare,” Shin said as Chingching came back into the room. “Don’t worry about it.”
Chingching’s face scrunched up. “Did P’Shin have a bad dream?” she asked sadly. “I thought you didn’t have those anymore.”
Shin sighed and glared at the back of Saint’s head before crouching down to fix Chingching’s hair. “Everyone has bad dreams, Chingching. It’s all right.”
“Did P’Shin have a lot of bad dreams before?” Saint asked. Shin widened his eyes at Chingching and shook his head, but of course she ignored him.
“Lots,” she said. “Especially when he broke his leg.”
Shin mentally swore. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Saint look at him, felt the weight of his stare. “Chingching, did you do all of your homework?”
“Obviously!” Chingching said with a small sniff. “I’m going to be smart when I grow up, not like you.”
“Oh, really?” Shin asked, laughing. “Let me see, then.”
Chingching narrowed her eyes at him, but still took her backpack off to rummage around and produce three wrinkled sheets of paper. Shin looked it over, reflecting that her handwriting was remarkably bad, and was satisfied to see that she had filled everything out all the way instead of faking it the way she did when she was feeling tired.
“Breakfast is ready,” Saint said from above them. Shin craned his neck to look up at Saint, who had gotten his face under control and wasn’t looking at Shin with his sad dog eyes that he always broke out when anything about Shin’s leg came up in conversation. “We gotta eat quick, you two. Chingching will be late for school.”
“What about you?” Chingching asked. “You aren’t even in your uniforms.”
“We eat fast, unlike a certain slowpoke,” Shin said. He stroked the back of her head and took a seat as Saint set a plate of omelet over rice in front of him. It smelled delicious, and when Shin took a bite, it tasted just as good.
Shin and Saint ate quickly and jogged upstairs to get dressed, Shin knocking his shoulder into Saint’s as they did. Usually Saint would nudge back, playful, but today he shied away, the way he did when he was afraid of hurting Shin. Shin had thought they were over that by now; he was hardly fragile. But Saint was like that when he was reminded of the possibility of Shin being hurt. It was so opposite to Shin, who still had the dream image of bloodied Saint lingering behind his eyelids, and wanted to push at Saint, to feel him push back to remind himself that Saint was fine, he was alive.
Shin ducked into the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth while Saint dressed in the bedroom. There were light shadows beneath his eyes, not as bad as they had been for a long time, but worse than recently. Not much to be done about that.
When he returned to the bedroom, Saint was waiting for him, Shin’s uniform in his arms. Shin rolled his eyes and took it from him before turning his back to strip off his sleep clothes. “Are you my butler now?”
“If you want me to be.”
“Don’t do this again,” Shin said. He turned his shirt around in his hands until he found the front and tugged it over his head. “I’m fine, Saint.”
“What was your dream about?” Saint asked. “Was it about—back then?”
“No,” Shin said. “It doesn’t matter what it was about, it was just a dream.”
He shrugged on his jacket and stepped into the trousers, hopping a little to get them all the way up. He turned around and swore, out loud this time, when he found Saint standing way too close to him, eyes huge and shiny.
“Ai’Shin,” Saint said. “Was Chingching telling the truth about back when you broke your leg?”
“Stop,” Shin said. He swatted Saint across the head. “It wasn’t about you. Now hurry up, we’re going to be late.”
—
It wasn’t the first time Shin had dreamed about Saint; it wasn’t even the first time Shin had dreamed about Saint being hurt. Over the years, Shin had dreamt more about Saint than anything else: half-real memories of them as kids, darker visions of Saint breaking his leg and laughing over it, arguments they’d never had, Shin getting to fight back that day in the rain, Saint in his bed and inside him—Shin had had all of them.
The first time he dreamed of Saint in that way, he had woken sweaty and embarrassed, still feeling the phantom touch of Saint’s lips on his skin. He was lucky not to have to change his sheets, but that meant he was left with an achingly hard dick and the imagined sense of Saint pushing him into the lockers at his boxing gym.
That had probably been what spurred the dream in the first place. Saint had taken up boxing a little after his fourteenth birthday, his dad clearly hoping that the outlet would keep him out of fights, but his training times usually overlapped with Shin’s soccer practice, so Shin hadn’t had time to go see him at it until the day before. It had been a mistake; Shin knew that the second he walked in and saw that Saint had his shirt off and was being guided through his set by a young guy Shin vaguely recognized from one of the matches Saint had showed him on YouTube.
Saint’s trainer was handsome, but Shin only had eyes for Saint, for the muscle developing on his chest and arms, and when Saint had caught sight of him and smiled, bright as always, Shin wanted to run. He managed to stay put by staring just past Saint at the wall, which was covered with boxing posters, and was starting to feel calm again when Saint bounded over to him, sweaty and glowing.
He threw his arm around Shin’s neck, tugging him in, and Shin wanted to die, sure that everyone in the gym would look at him and know. “Ai’Shin, you made it! Don’t I look cool?”
“Get off me, you stink,” Shin said, trying to shove him off. But Saint was so strong now, and he could hold Shin in place easily. “Ai’Saint!”
“Not until you say I look cool,” Saint said placidly.
Shin struggled uselessly for a moment before finally going limp and saying in a dull monotone, “You look really cool, Ai’Saint.”
Saint let him go and whooped joyfully. “Did you hear that, P’Yei? I looked really cool.”
Saint’s trainer looked amused, his gaze sharp as it flicked between Saint and Shin. “I did. This is your friend?”
“My best friend,” Saint said. “Shin. He plays soccer! He’s really good, you should see him—”
And he was off, bragging about Shin in the way that made Shin cringe and preen simultaneously, delighted by Saint’s pride in him even as he was embarrassed to hear his childish accomplishments talked up as though they were something more. Saint’s trainer listened indulgently and then slapped Saint’s shoulder.
“Go shower,” he said. “Your friend is waiting.”
“Yes, sir!” Saint saluted and jogged off toward the locker rooms. He paused, looked back over his shoulder, and said, “Ai’Shin, come on. I want to show you!”
Shin caught Saint’s trainer looking at him with an expression somewhere between pity and amusement and decided he didn’t want to wait here with that. “Fine, okay,” he said.
He trailed after Saint and loitered around the locker room, trying not to look too long at anyone who came through. He had realized a while before that he was probably into men, but it was still a new thought. He hadn’t even told Saint.
Saint didn’t take long in the shower, coming out with his towel around his waist and his hair dripping. He shook his head like a dog when he came up to Shin, beaming as Shin sputtered and punched him in the shoulder. “Isn’t this cool?” he enthused, gesturing around the room. “I could be a real boxer. P’Yei says I have talent.”
“You have enough practice,” Shin said dryly. “Hurry up and get dressed. I have to get back to babysit Chingching.”
Saint pouted, but went to his locker. Shin quickly averted his eyes as Saint dropped the towel and got dressed, listening absent-mindedly as Saint chattered about the other guys at the gym and how he was the youngest one there but could match the other lower level boxers. It was a little strange, him and Saint having different hobbies now. They had always done everything together for as long as he could remember. But Saint had neither the patience nor the talent for team sports, and he seemed to love boxing the way Shin loved soccer.
On the ride home, Saint teased Shin by braking suddenly on his bike to send Shin sliding into him, and Shin tried very hard not to sit too close, the hard muscle of Saint’s back against his chest too much to take.
But it turned out not to matter how hard he’d tried not to look, or feel, or notice, because in the night the desire had no barrier, and he dreamed of Saint kissing him, of getting to touch Saint the way he wanted, and that was what he thought of when he skulked into the bathroom to jerk off, angry at Saint for being the way he was, angry at himself for liking it.
That had been the first time he had dreamed of Saint like that, but since then there had been many more. Some were tame, pathetic schoolboy dreams of holding hands or hiding between the library shelves to kiss, but plenty that weren’t. Saint occupied so much of Shin’s waking thoughts that it wasn’t a surprise he was a frequent star in his dreams.
Chingching was right that in the first months after he had broken his leg, he had frequently had nightmares. Most of them were about Saint, though not as many were about Saint breaking his leg as Saint might think. More often than not, they were about that day in the hospital when Saint had come to visit, or the day Shin had told Saint about the coach’s ultimatum. Sometimes the dreams were genuinely unpleasant, spiraling into imagined arguments and fights. Other times, they would be about the golden, ideal ways things could—should—have gone. Shin telling the coach no, or Saint deciding to end the gang to stay with Shin. Saint coming into the hospital room and sitting with him, helping him through his rehab.
Those were maybe the worst, even if they were joyful in the moment, because Shin would wake up back in his own bed with his leg in a brace and no one beside him except maybe Chingching, Saint so far out of reach now that Shin thought they’d never meet again. He could have gone looking for him, he supposed, but by the time he was healed enough to travel around on his own, it had been months since he had last seen Saint, and Saint had made no effort to see or talk to him. The line was clear, and Shin had his pride. He wasn’t going to go begging.
There was a stretch of a few months, right before their schools merged, that the dreams had stopped. It wasn’t that he forgot about Saint—it was impossible to forget Saint—but the thought of him didn’t weigh as heavily. His mom probably would have called it growth. Shin, for his part, always felt equal parts triumphant and furious when he realized he had gone for a day without thinking about Saint, on the one hand vindictively pleased that he could wipe Saint from his mind as easily as Saint had walked out of Shin’s life, and on the other angry at himself for letting his grudge fade.
He knew full well that it wasn’t healthy to dwell. But there was a sick righteousness in his anger that felt good, that made the ache of Saint’s absence fade into the background. If he thought about Saint, even in anger, he couldn’t notice how lonely he was.
Since they had mended their friendship, Shin had dreamed less of Saint. He didn’t need to, not with Saint at his side nearly every waking moment. But sometimes they still crept back, the most embarrassing times being when he had a dream about putting Saint on his knees, or Saint pinning him down. That was when Saint’s clinginess was the most grating, and Shin often had to work not to snap at him in the mornings after. It was humiliating; he was twenty now, he should be past this. But it was hard to stop wanting Saint, and he was never going to push him away, not again.
Chingching had asked once if he dreamed about Saint. He hadn’t known how to reply, because of course he did. How could he not? Saint was everything to him.
—
They managed to get Chingching to school on time, and just barely squeaked into their own class as Khru Jan was taking attendance. She gave them both a long-suffering look as they hurried to their seats, but she knew that Shin took Chingching to school in the mornings and at this point was used to them arriving together. Shin dropped into his seat beside Saint and ignored the teasing from their friends about them being attached at the hip.
At lunch, Shin went to get in line for food only for Saint to push him gently and say, “Go grab a table, I’ll get your food for you.”
“Saint—”
Saint ignored him, gazing at the lunch options like he was trying to seriously evaluate them. Shin sighed and went to join the table Peeta and Eve had already claimed. Airy dropped into the seat beside Eve as Shin sat, looking at the empty spot in front of him in confusion.
“Ai’Shin, where’s your lunch?” she asked.
“Saint’s getting it,” Shin said. He forced himself to remain stone-faced as the girls exchanged knowing looks. Frankly, they saw far more than he’d like them to; Peeta had apologized to him a while back about blaming him for Saint acting as his gopher, saying that she understood now.
“Understand what?” he had asked.
Peeta smirked. “That Ai’Saint just likes doing things for you.” And that you like it too was left unsaid.
“I wish I had a friend as good as Ai’Saint,” Nate said as he, his brother, and Ken sat down at the end of their table. While strictly speaking they were all friends now, the three of them still kept a bit of distance most of the time. “Ai’Knot, why don’t you get my lunch for me?”
“Asshole, I’m your brother, not your friend,” Knot said. Nate smacked him over the head and they broke into a playful tussle that was only interrupted when Cable plaintively asked them to stop.
Soon, their table was full, the whole gang of them jostling for space but leaving room next to Shin that was taken by Saint when he returned with two full plates of food. Shin thanked him and began eating, only realizing a moment later that everyone else was looking at them.
“What?” he asked.
“Did Ai’Saint do something wrong?” Eve asked, eyes glittering with eagerness. “Is this punishment?”
“It isn’t punishment if he’d do it anyway,” Tew muttered, gaze cutting over to Shin with a vague air of disapproval. Shin avoided his eyes and shrugged.
“No, nothing wrong,” Shin said.
“Is it so wrong that I want to take care of my best friend?” Saint asked, feigning hurt. “After he had a difficult night—”
“Is that what this is about?” Shin asked, exasperated. “Ai’Saint, I told you it was nothing.”
“A difficult night?” Eve looked like a dog who had just spotted a chicken and was about to give chase. “What does that mean?”
“Ai’Saint,” Shin said warningly.
“What? It’s just a bad dream, it isn’t embarrassing.”
“A bad dream, huh,” Peeta said. “And how do you know Ai’Shin had a bad dream?”
Under the table, Shin kicked Saint’s ankle, trying desperately to get him to shut up, but as usual, Saint was incapable of taking a hint.
“Well, he woke me up,” Saint said. Shin mentally debated killing him on the spot.
“Oh did he.” Peeta exchanged another loaded look with Eve. “Okay then.”
Shin decided the best solution was to eat as quickly as possible and leave, almost choking as he did. “I’m going to the library,” he said when he finished, which was a pathetic excuse but the best he could come up with on the spot. He climbed over the bench and headed for the door, leaving his cleared plate on the cart by the exit.
“Ai’Shin, wait up!” Saint called. Shin pretended not to hear and doubled his pace.
Even so, Saint caught up with him on the way to the library, jogging ahead of him and turning to walk backwards so he could look at Shin. “What’s wrong?”
“Why did you tell them that?” Shin demanded. “It’s none of their business.”
“You said it wasn’t a big deal,” Saint said, frowning. “Are you worried they’re going to make fun of you? None of them would dare. Not even Ken these days. Everyone has bad dreams.”
“Not the dream thing,” Shin said. They had made it so long without anyone figuring out that they shared a bed, helped by the fact that Chadjen wasn’t around to snitch on them. “That we—you know, that I woke you up.”
“What’s bad about that?”
Shin sighed and tried to push past Saint, but Saint could be as immovable as a wall when he wanted to be. “We sleep in the same bed, Saint.”
“Well, yeah,” Saint said. “You only have one.”
“I really hate you sometimes,” Shin said. He was going to have to change schools again. His mom would be so mad. “You know most guys our age don’t do that, right?”
“We aren’t most guys,” Saint said. “Are we?”
No, they weren’t. They were Saint-and-Shin, the way they had been when they were kids, up until they weren’t. But that didn’t mean the same thing to Saint that it did to Shin.
The smart thing to do when he realized that his feelings for Saint were as strong as ever, if not stronger, would have been to put distance between them. With their friendship mended, they could survive spending more time apart without it being like an open wound. Shin could spend more time with his other friends, be there fully without the ghost of Saint in his head. He had options, he knew he did; Tew, at the very least, had never been very subtle about his crush. But every time he had toyed with the idea, he wanted to throw up at the thought of not waking up to see Saint. It was all he had ever wanted.
He was selfish, he knew. Saint would probably be different if he knew the way Shin thought of him. Probably wouldn’t constantly tell Shin he loved him, words that hurt every time he said them even as Shin clung to them like a lifeline. Wouldn’t spend nearly every night at Shin’s house, until he became a fixture of his family’s life again.
“You’re an idiot,” Shin said, half under his breath. He finally managed to duck under the arm Saint had put up to block him and escaped into the library where at least the librarian’s steely glare would keep Saint quiet.
They finished the rest of the school day without incident, though Shin kept catching their friends, even Cable, giving him looks that ranged from pitying to smug. Saint seemed oblivious to it all, as usual, which Shin envied and also found infuriating.
He kept it at bay all the way through picking Chingching up and dinner with his mom, who had finally gotten over the last of her reticence regarding Saint because of how often he ended up cooking dinner. It was only when they were upstairs getting ready for bed and Saint asked, “Should I sleep on the floor?” that Shin finally cracked.
“Why would you do that?” Shin asked. “Suddenly grown a conscience about taking up two-thirds of the bed?”
“What—do I do that? No, wait.” Saint pulled at Shin’s shoulder until Shin looked at him. “I thought maybe you’d be more comfortable if I slept on the floor.”
“Did I say I was uncomfortable?”
“No, but you said it’s weird for us to share a bed,” Saint said. His brows were knitted together, the way they were when he was trying hard to understand a math problem. “I can go home, too.”
“No!” Shin said, too loud. “Don’t you dare.”
“Okay! I won’t, jeez.” Saint leaned back against the wall, staring at Shin with that adorable confused expression that made Shin simultaneously want to kiss him and strangle him. “But—I don’t understand. You didn’t want them to know. Are you embarrassed?”
“Yes! No, I mean—it isn’t their business, okay? This is for us.” Shin heard the words come out of his mouth and immediately wanted to curl up into a ball. “Look, just don’t go telling everyone that. They might get the wrong idea.”
“The wrong idea?”
“Don’t worry about it,” Shin said, tired now. “Go brush your teeth. I have to put Chingching to bed.”
He calmed down somewhat as he read Chingching a bedtime story and gave her a kiss on the forehead. Their mom stepped in to tuck Chingching in, voice soft as she sang an old song under her breath, and Shin let them be, only hovering in the doorway for a moment to see Chingching’s eyes sink closed.
Back in his room, Saint was already in bed, scooted all the way to one side, so close to the edge that he was bound to fall off at any moment. Shin scoffed and switched off the light before getting in on the other side. He could feel Saint laying stiffly beside him, as though he were terrified to move, and finally reached out to drag him closer.
“Just sleep normally, idiot,” he said.
“But you don’t like it,” Saint said, voice small.
“When did I say that, huh?” Shin asked. It came out softer and fonder than he meant, too much of his affection for Saint bleeding through in the safety of his dark room. “Relax. I like it. I would have said so otherwise.”
Slowly, he felt the tension leave Saint’s body, his limbs gradually spreading out until his ankle was bumping into Shin’s, his wrist going limp in Shin’s hold. Shin fell asleep like that, feeling the thrum of Saint’s heartbeat beneath his thumb.
—
Shin was warm. Too warm. There was a hand on his waist, stroking gently, and when he looked down, he saw Saint looking up at him, mouth wet and eyes soft, affectionate, but with a heat behind them that made his dick twitch.
“Shin,” Saint said, voice heavy, nearly a purr. “Can I?”
Shin couldn’t speak, fixed to the spot by Saint’s hand on his hip. He just nodded and watched, breaths coming faster, as Saint took hold of Shin’s zipper and started working it down. Shin reached out to cup Saint’s head, careful not to push even if he knew Saint wouldn’t mind.
Saint pulled Shin’s dick free, touch so light as to be hardly there, and Shin bucked forward without meaning to, trying to get some kind of pressure on it, but Saint’s hold on him was strong. Saint looked horrifically smug as he started to jerk Shin off, slow, teasing, and Shin was going to lose his mind if Saint didn’t follow through soon and put his mouth on him.
“Saint,” he groaned. “Please.”
“Please what?” Saint asked, goading.
“You know what.”
“I’m stupid, you know that,” Saint said, a wicked gleam in his eyes. “You need to spell it out for me.”
“Saint,” Shin moaned. “Come on.”
“Shin,” Saint said, only his tone had changed. He sounded—worried. “Shin—”
Shin jerked awake and found Saint propped over him, one hand on Shin’s shoulder, face just barely visible in the dim street light coming through the window. He yelped and tried to thrash away from Saint’s hold, only Saint was as strong in real life as he was in Shin’s dream and he couldn’t get free. “Ai’Saint, what—?”
“You were having another bad dream,” Saint said. “Are you okay?”
“I wasn’t having a bad dream,” Shin said, horrified. “Saint, let me go.”
“Are you sure? You were making noises like you were in pain.” Saint finally released his hold on Shin and sat all the way up while Shin desperately tried to contort himself in a way that his erection wouldn’t be easily seen. “And you said my name.”
“Did I?” Shin aimed for a casual shrug, but wasn’t sure he pulled it off. “I don’t remember.”
“You just said it wasn’t a bad dream,” Saint said, narrowing his eyes. “If you don’t remember, how do you know that?”
“It’s really annoying when you decide to be smart, you know that?” Shin snapped. “I’m okay, Saint. Go back to sleep.”
He kicked at Saint, trying to coax him into laying back down, but Saint remained stubbornly upright. “Not until you do,” Saint said. “That’s two nights in a row. I’m worried.”
“Don’t be, because it wasn’t a bad dream, and you can just let me deal with it myself,” Shin said. Horrifyingly, he was still hard despite this excruciating conversation, probably because Saint was still so close, the smell of him lingering around Shin. Had he been pressed up against Saint? How had Saint not felt him?
“No,” Saint said stubbornly. “We deal with things together. We’re a team.”
“Not for this,” Shin said. He eyed the distance from the bed to the door and wondered if he could run fast enough in his condition to make it to the bathroom before Saint caught him. “Just go back to sleep.”
He tried to push Saint down with one hand, only for Saint to catch his wrist and tug him over, and in the ensuing scramble, Shin kicked the duvet off. He instantly realized his mistake and tried to snatch it back, but Saint caught his other wrist and held him still, eyes roaming down Shin’s body to the undeniable fact of his dick, straining at the front of Shin’s shorts.
“Oh,” Saint said, voice faint. “It wasn’t a bad dream?”
“Like I said,” Shin said acidly. He yanked at Saint’s grip, but Saint just tightened his hold, seemingly unconsciously. “Let me go deal with it.”
“Deal with it?” Saint blinked and then started to flush as he realized what Shin meant. “Oh. Right.”
Finally, finally, he let go of Shin’s wrists. Shin gathered what was left of his dignity and started to get out of bed, though at this point he thought maybe the humiliation of it all would take care of the problem for him. He was about to stand when Saint’s hand landed on his shoulder, fingers digging over his collarbone.
“What?” he snapped, not turning around.
“You said my name,” Saint said. “I heard it.”
Shin went cold all over. “And?”
“And you weren’t having a bad dream.” Saint tried to pull Shin back, but Shin held firm, trusting that Saint wouldn’t dare exert his full strength. “Ai’Shin, look at me.”
“Let me go.” Shin grabbed Saint’s hand and yanked it off him. “Just go back to bed. I’ll sleep on the floor when I get back.”
He stood and had made it halfway to the door before Saint caught up with him, seizing him by the arms and wrenching him around to face Saint. Shin took a step back, trying futilely to put some space between them, only for Saint to follow, until Shin’s back was against the wall and there was nowhere left for him to go.
“Ai’Saint,” Shin said, tired now and ready to end this conversation forever, “it was just a dream.”
“You were dreaming of me,” Saint said, as usual too stubborn to pay attention to anything Shin said. “What was I doing in the dream?”
“Ai’Saint—”
Saint suddenly darted forward and kissed the corner of Shin’s mouth. Shin went silent, too startled to move. Saint leaned back and observed Shin’s face. “Was I doing that?”
“No,” Shin said faintly. “Saint, what are you doing?”
Saint kissed Shin on the lips then, light and fleeting. His face was red when he moved away, but his voice was firm and steady as he asked, “What about that?”
Shin was going to die. Hopefully he would take Saint with him. “Not—not this time.”
“This time?” Saint latched onto that as Shin should have known he would. “So you’ve dreamed of me like that before?”
“Don’t make me answer that,” Shin said. “You don’t want to know.”
“I do, though.” Saint crowded Shin up against the wall, working his leg between Shin’s. Shin bit the inside of his lip as Saint’s hard thigh pressed against him. “That’s—that’s really hot, Shin.”
“Stop,” Shin said, trying to turn his head away as Saint tried to kiss him again. “You don’t mean this.”
“Of course I do. I love you,” Saint said, and oh, Shin was going to kill him.”Will you look at me?”
“No,” Shin said stubbornly. “No, I won’t.”
Saint took Shin’s chin in his hand and forced him to turn his head. “Ai’Shin, how long?”
“Are you trying to make fun of me?” Shin demanded. “Because fuck you if so—”
“How long?”
Shin shut his eyes. “A while,” he said through gritted teeth.
Saint let out a little noise, somewhere between a sigh and a whine. “It’s only been a few months for me.”
Shin’s eyes snapped open and he stared at Saint’s sheepish expression. “What? When? Why?”
“Your soccer match when you scored that beautiful penalty goal,” Saint said, voice dropping low. “It was so sexy. I wanted to pin you down there and kiss you in front of everyone.”
Shin shivered involuntarily at the thought of that, of everyone’s eyes on them as Saint staked his claim. “You didn’t say anything.”
“I didn’t know you felt the same way,” Saint said, and he was so, so stupid, and Shin loved him so much he thought his heart would burst.
“You fucking idiot,” Shin said. “Everyone knows how I feel about you. Why do you think my mom was so angry with you? She thought you broke my heart.”
“I’m sorry,” Saint said. “Guess that’s another thing I need to make up for.” He reached up and stroked Shin’s hair away from his forehead, gentle and almost worshipful. “Can I kiss you?”
It was so like Shin’s dream, the rich near purr of Saint’s voice as he asked permission to touch him. Just as in his dream, Shin was powerless to do anything other than nod, and he melted into Saint’s arms as Saint kissed him, clumsy at first but quickly gaining confidence as Shin kissed back. Shin’s dick started regaining interest, and from where his thigh was pressed between Saint’s, he could tell Saint was hard, too.
“So,” Saint said, leaving Shin’s mouth to kiss his jaw, his neck. “What was I doing in your dream?”
Shin’s hands trembled as he reached up to hold Saint’s shoulders. “You were on your knees,” he said, voice raw and hoarse. Saint slid back and sank to his knees, looking up at Shin, mouth wet from kissing him, and Shin was so turned on he could hardly think what to say next. “I—you—” He gave up on speech and grabbed Saint’s hands, dragging one to rest at his waist and the other to the waistband of his shorts.
“Okay,” Saint said, his attempt at a smug tone ruined by how shaky he sounded. “I think I get it.”
Shin’s head thumped back against the wall as Saint pulled Shin’s shorts and briefs down, and immediately winced, hoping the sound wasn’t loud enough to be heard by anyone. Then he forgot to worry, because Saint’s big hand was on his dick, a little hesitant but still so good that Shin’s hips bucked forward, or tried to, because Saint had him pinned in place, his big hand pressing hard just above Shin’s hip.
In Shin’s dreams, this was usually where his imagination failed him; after all, he didn’t have any real experience to draw on for inspiration. All he had was his own hand and the memories of Saint. The reality of it now, of a twenty-year-old Saint on his knees touching Shin with his calloused but gentle hand, was beyond anything he could have dreamed. He was instantly close to the edge, every inch of him alive with need as Saint slowly, mercilessly stroked his dick, clearly not intending to tease but doing so nevertheless.
“Saint,” Shin gritted out. “If you don’t do something—”
Saint glanced up, his eyes dazed. His cheeks had gotten pinker, and as he looked at Shin, he licked his lips. Shin cursed and dug his fingers into Saint’s shoulders, squeezing hard.
“What is it?” Saint asked.
“Go faster,” Shin ordered. He wrapped one of his hands around Saint’s and forced him to move quicker, until Saint caught the rhythm that made Shin’s legs shake, and Shin’s mind went empty of everything except for Saint.
Shin bit his own fist when he came to muffle any noises he might make and slumped back against the wall before his knees gave out and he slid to the floor, shorts still around his ankles. Saint pressed his legs apart and inserted himself between them to kiss Shin, his hand already down the front of his own shorts. Shin’s brain came back online long enough for him to reach out and tug down the waistband of Saint’s shorts, determined to touch him too.
“Shin,” Saint groaned, letting go of himself to take hold of Shin’s wrist. “If you—you don’t have to.”
“If you don’t let me, I’m never letting you touch me again,” Shin snapped. He used his other hand to grab the back of Saint’s head and dragged him forward into another kiss, swallowing the noises Saint made as Shin jerked him off. Saint bit down on Shin’s tongue when he came, hard enough that Shin yelped and pushed him away.
“Sorry, sorry,” Saint gasped, rocking back onto his heels. “Are you okay? Let me see.”
Shin rolled his eyes and batted Saint’s hands off him. “What are you going to do? It’s fine.”
“I could kiss it better,” Saint suggested, eyes bright. Shin leaned forward and bit Saint on the shoulder. “Ow! Hey, what was that?”
“You’re so stupid,” Shin said. He turned his head and caught Saint’s mouth with his. Saint smiled into him and wrapped his arms around Shin, dragging him in until they toppled over to the floor, Shin sprawled on top of him. Judging from the way he grinned when Shin lifted his head, annoyed, that had been intentional.
“Ai’Saint,” Shin said warningly. He tried to wriggle free, only for Saint to tighten his arms. “Saint. Let go. I’m not going to sleep like this on the floor.”
“Mm, good point.” Saint released him and watched as Shin stood, pulling his shorts up, and found a spare soccer towel to wipe his hands on. “Ai’Shin.”
“Yeah?”
“I meant it.”
Shin looked over his shoulder in confusion. “What?”
Saint pushed himself up onto his elbows, apparently not caring that his dick was still out. Shin tried not to look at it; if he did, they would never get back to sleep, and they still had school in the morning. “I love you. I know I’ve said it before—”
“Kind of a lot of times, yeah,” Shin muttered.
“—and I always meant it, I swear,” Saint said. “I didn’t know how I meant it, not always, but I do now.”
“What, are you doing a proper confession now?” Shin asked. “Why not write me a letter and leave it in my locker?”
“Would you like that?” Saint asked. “I could, you know.”
“No, your Thai sucks,” Shin said. He threw the towel at Saint. “Clean yourself up before you get back in my bed.”
Shin returned to his bed, slipping in under the duvet and reflecting that he’d have to take a shower come morning. A few moments later, Shin joined him, immediately pulling Shin up against him, which Shin made a point of resisting before giving in, letting Saint hold him close with his chest to Shin’s back. Saint kissed the curve of Shin’s ear and said, “Sweet dreams.”
Shin snorted and reached back to grab Saint’s arm and pull it over his waist. “I’ll try.”
Sleep came easy in Saint’s arms, and Shin fell into a strange, abstracted dream where he and Saint were at school, but age fifteen or so judging from Saint’s hair. The light streaming into the classroom was golden and brilliant, and there were cherry blossom petals falling gently through the open window.
Saint held out a pink envelope, decorated with stickers and heart doodles, and said, “This is for you.”
Inside was a sheet of paper that said, in Saint’s abysmal handwriting, I like you and nothing else. Shin looked up to see Saint grinning at him, looking eager. “Are you—is this a confession?”
“Of course,” Saint said, eyes literally sparkling. “Will you accept?”
Shin woke up laughing, the image of Saint’s horrible confession letter lingering even as the rest of the dream faded. Maybe he should let Saint write him one. He was curious what it would say. Behind him, Saint made a protesting noise and mumbled, “Shhh, sleep.”
Shin glanced at the window and said, “It’s morning, Saint. Get up.” He slapped the arm still wrapped around his waist before peeling it off him and sliding out of bed. Saint, as usual, just rolled into the abandoned warm spot without even cracking an eye. Shin smiled and ducked down to press a quick kiss to Saint’s forehead.
Saint’s eyes snapped open. Shin started back, trying to escape, but Saint was too fast, already sitting up and reaching for him before Shin got off the edge of the mattress. With a sigh, Shin let himself be reeled back in so Saint could kiss him fully, stale breath and all.
“How did you sleep?” Saint asked, holding Shin’s face in his hands. “Any dreams?”
“Only a good one,” Shin promised.
“Was I in it?”
Shin shrugged. “Maybe,” he said. He pulled away from Saint and headed to the door, holding in his urge to grin and give himself away.
“Ai’Shin!” Saint whined. “Tell me! Shin!”
“Not telling,” Shin said without looking back.
“That means I was. Right? Shin, come back!”
Shin couldn’t keep it in anymore and started laughing again, running down the hall to the bathroom to catch the shower before Saint. “Not telling!” he said again, and he managed to get inside just as Saint caught up with him. Saint slapped the closed door and then there was a noise like he was sliding down to sit just outside it.
“Ai’Shin,” Saint said, pout practically audible. “You’re so mean.”
Shin gave in and opened the door, crouching down to Saint’s level, and flicked the back of his head. “Are you coming in?” he asked Saint, who was in fact pouting and looking remarkably sulky.
At that, Saint’s face lit up, and he scrambled to his feet, nearly tripping over himself with eagerness. Shin bit his lip to keep from smiling as he let Saint into the bathroom and closed the door behind them as Saint hovered close, gaze already hungry. Shin didn’t need a confession; he had it here, in the expression on Saint’s face, and nothing he dreamed would be as good as that.