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The studio lot is finally quiet. Most of the crew have already disappeared home to their families, friends, or pets, leaving only the hum of streetlights and passing cars to fill the silence. The last echoes of the busy day leave a peaceful hush on the lot.
They are to leave together, like they always have, even before all of this started. Pavel is the first to slip out, cap low, hoodie pulled up, offering an easy smile to the few lingering crew members. Calm. Casual. Professional. Just another long day on set, though it will be the last for a while. A new series is already in the works, contracts signed even though their current project has not aired yet. A few minutes later, Pooh followed, laughing at something one of the makeup artists said before ducking to his car. He does not look back towards the exit where he knows Pavel will emerge. He did not need to, he knew where he would be, because Pavel is already there, leaning against Pooh’s car, waiting for him to take them home.
The studio gates slide shut behind them. The guard gives Pooh a polite nod as they roll onto the main road, headlights cutting through the chilly night. For a moment, they are silent. Pooh drives like he always does after filming, careful and composed, both hands on the steering wheel at ten and two. Too perfect. In the passenger seat, Pavel shifted, raising his cap now they were off the main lot. He watched Pooh out of the corner of his eye, clearly amused.
“You know… the director already said cut,” Pavel says cheekily, grinning at the driver next to him.
Pooh did not look at him. “I’m aware.”
“You can stop acting,” Pavel says, lowering his voice into a sweet tone, cocking his head to the side.
“I’m not acting,” Pooh insists.
Pavel hums. “So this is just how you normally drive? Like you’re transporting state secrets?” Pavel jokes, failing to stop himself from letting out a quick chuckle.
Pooh’s lips twitched despite himself. “You’re dramatic!”
“At least I don’t look like I’m about to sit my driving exam!” Pavel fails to restrain himself once more and begins to laugh.
Pooh shoots him a brief look, eyebrow raised. “Do you want to walk? Because I can pull over here if you want.” He points to a section of the side of the road wide enough to pull into.
Pavel grins, settling deeper into the seat. “Threatening me already? We just left work!”
They hit a red light. The car idles softly, while street vendors pack up on the corner, neon signs buzz overhead. Pooh exhales through his nose, fingers tapping a few times against the steering wheel. Pavel notices. Without saying anything, he lets his hand drift down to the centre console between them. Casual, almost lazy. Not touching. Just there. Pooh’s gaze flicks down for half a second before snapping back to the road.
“You were smiling a lot today,” Pavel says, turning his attention to the glowing street before them.
“I smile every day.”
“Not like that,” Pavel teases, turning his attention back to Pooh.
Pooh scoffs. “You’re imagining things.”
“Am I?” Pavel leans slightly closer, voice lowering just enough to feel intentional. “In the garage scene, you missed your cue because you were staring!”
“I was listening,” Pooh argues, ripping his attention away from the road for a second, to look at Pavel.
“To what?”
“You.”
Pavel blinks. Caught off guard for a fraction of a second. Then he recovers, smirk returning. “Careful now.”
“Careful of what?”
“You’ll see!” Giving Pooh a cheeky wink, enlisting a sigh and a shake of the head from Pooh.
The light stays red. Pooh shifts one hand from the steering wheel, adjusting his grip, and in the movement, his knuckles brush Pavel’s fingers. Neither of them moved away. The air in the car changes, not heavy, not overwhelming, just aware.
“You’re quiet now,” Pooh murmurs.
“I’m thinking.”
“That’s dangerous.” Giving way for Pooh to chuckle at Pavel now.
Pavel laughs softly. “You’re the one who gets flustered.”
“I don’t get flustered,” Pooh argues.
Pavel lets his pinky hook lightly around Pooh’s for half of a second. Pooh inhales, barely noticeable, but he does not pull away this time. The light turns green. Pooh drives forward, but his hand stays lowered, fingers loosely intertwined with Pavel’s over the console. Hidden below the dashboard, invisible from the outside. A small rebellion. A motorbike speeds past and Pooh instinctively checks the mirrors. Pavel squeezes once before loosening his grip, teasing but reassuring.
“You’re so cautious!” Pavel says, “It’s kind of cute you know.”
Pooh’s ears tinge a faint shade of pink. “Don’t start, please.”
“Start what?” Pavel says, as he whips his head around to tease Pooh further.
“Whatever you’re doing,” Pooh responds, trying his hardest not to look at the man next to him.
“I’m sitting in a car” Pavel replies sarcastically.
“Yeah, with an agenda!” Pooh says giving in and now turning to look at this grinning cat.
Pavel smiles to himself, watching the city lights flicker across Pooh’s face. “Maybe.”
They turn off the main road just as the traffic thins, the city noise fading into something softer. The street ahead is quieter and quaint, smaller houses, shuttered cafés, warm yellow streetlights flickering on one by one, guiding their journey to their destination.
Pooh keeps one hand steady on the steering wheel, the other resting loosely near the gearshift. “We should’ve bought groceries earlier,” Pavel says from the passenger seat, glancing out the window.
Pooh snorts. “You’re only realising that now that we’re off the main road?”
“There’s nothing at home”
“There’s rice,” Pooh points out glancing at Pavel.
“And sadness,” Pavel replies in a huff.
Pooh bites back a smile. “You survived on protein yogurt for three days straight, once.”
“That was a dark time… There’s a store up here,” Pavel adds, nodding ahead. “Five minutes. In and out.”
Pooh side-eyes him. “You said that last time.”
“That was different,” Pavel argues, raising a finger at Pooh.
“You got recognised in the frozen food aisle!”
“That kid was staring at me like I owed him rent!” Pavel defends.
“You waved,” Pooh reminds him.
“Well… he looked nervous,” Pavel adds, like it would make his case any better.
Pooh shakes his head, but he’s already slowing the car as the small convenience store comes into view. The parking lot is dim but not empty, a few scattered cars, a motorbike and three bikes are tipped on its stand near the entrance.
“Fine,” Pooh says. “Five minutes.”
Pavel grins like he’s won something. Pooh parks neatly, killing the engine. He reaches for his mask, pulling it on properly before giving Pavel an extra one. “If this goes wrong, I’m blaming you.”
“You always do,” says Pavel with a smile.
They step out into the cool evening air. “Separate?” Pavel suggests as they approach the entrance.
Pooh stops walking. “You’re unbelievable.”
“It looks less suspicious.” Pavel playfully whines.
“We’re buying eggs.” Pooh sternly points out.
“And butter,” Pavel adds.
Pooh mutters something under his breath but pushes the door open first. The store is quiet, soft music humming through tired speakers, refrigerators buzzing along the back wall. A woman studies instant noodles near the entrance. An older man stands by the drinks fridge flipping through a newspaper. Just normal people whose lives have intersected by coincidence on one fateful night.
Pooh grabs a basket. “Five minutes,” he repeats pointedly to Pavel.
“Five minutes,” Pavel echoes, already drifting toward another aisle.
Pooh heads straight for the basics, eggs, butter and milk. He hesitates in front of the milk cartons, frowning slightly as he reads the labels. A voice appears at his shoulder. “Not the one.”
Pooh startles despite himself. “Why are you like this?”
Pavel reaches past him, close enough that their sleeves brush, and swaps the carton for another. “You always grab the wrong one.”
“You said separate,” Pooh whispers under his breath, even though no one is in the aisle except for them.
“I changed my mind,” Pavel says absentmindedly, still looking at the milk cartons.
Pooh narrows his eyes but lets it go. He turns toward the snacks aisle, scanning lazily. He picks up a bag of crisps, considers it, but puts them back.
“Spicy,” Pavel murmurs again, somehow beside him.
“You’re haunting me,” Pooh says, turning to Pavel.
“It’s efficient,” Pavel shrugs.
Before Pooh can respond, the door chimes. Both of them go still. Two teenagers walk in, loud and distracted, laughing at something on their phone. One of them looks up briefly, scanning the store, then looks again, slower this time. Pooh instinctively angles his body away, Pavel shifts half a step back, putting a bit more distance between them like muscle memory. The teenagers drift toward the drinks fridge.
Pavel lowers his voice, “See?”
“You’re dramatic,” Pooh mutters, though his pulse has picked up slightly.
They move toward the checkout separately. Pooh sets his basket down first, trying to look bored. Pavel appears a few seconds later with bread and strawberries, placing them on the counter as if they are unrelated purchases.
The cashier glances between them. “Together?”
There’s a split second of silence. Pooh opens his mouth but Pavel speaks first. “Yes.”
Pooh feels his lips twitch beneath his mask. Behind them, one of the teenagers whispers something. The other squints like he’s trying to place a face from somewhere before. Pavel notices. His posture changes, subtle but deliberate, shifting just enough to stand slightly closer to Pooh without touching him. Not obvious, just near enough to block the line of sight.
The cashier bags the groceries. “Have a good evening!”
“You too,” Pooh says lightly.
They step outside when the bell chimes again. They do not speak until they are both in the car, with the bags in the back, masks off, and Pooh has locked the doors. There is a beat of silence, then Pooh starts to laugh. “You said five minutes,” he says, breathless as he starts the engine.
“It was five minutes actually,” Pavel argues, fastening his seatbelt.
“You panic every time the door opens,” Pooh points out.
“You grabbed the lactose-free milk.”
Pooh freezes mid-gear shift. “I did not.”
Pavel reaches behind him and holds up the carton triumphantly. There is a pause, then they both break into laughter, the kind that lingers and makes your stomach hurt.
Pooh pulls out of the parking lot, turning back onto the dim street that leads toward the apartment building. The city feels softer now, less like something watching them and more like something letting them pass. The comfort lets them fall back into their earlier state, hands intertwined below the dashboard.
“Next time we order delivery,” Pooh says, eyes on the road.
“Next time,” Pavel agrees easily.
The apartment building comes into view at the end of the street, familiar and steady. Pooh pulls into his usual spot and cuts off the engine, the quiet settles again, but this time, it feels lighter, like they are both in on the same joke. For a few seconds, neither of them move, they sit and soak up the peace.
Then Pavel squeezes Pooh’s hand once, quick and warm. “Five minutes,” he repeats lightly, laughing.
Pooh shakes his head, smiling as he reaches over and grabs the grocery bags. “Get out of my car!”
Pavel grabs one of the grocery bags before Pooh can reach it. “You brought the wrong milk,” he reminds him.
Pooh groans. “You are never letting that go.”
A small, private smile passes between them. Pavel reaches out, brushing his fingers across Pooh’s smile lines, treasuring them, saving them for a rainy day. “Race you upstairs?”
Pooh arches a brow. “You’d lose.” Staring at Pavel restores something in Pooh that he did not know he needs. Child-like playfulness, maybe? Whatever it was, he could not help but transform into his younger self that would run and play for hours in his back garden. Now looking at Pavel, he sees that Pavel is grinning from ear to ear, like he himself is a child and ready to win. Instinctively, without realising, Pooh smiles wider. “Confident?...I know you!” With every second Pooh is around Pavel, his happiness increases, as if his heart was stretching to hold it.
Pavel opens the door, stepping out first. “Yeah”, he says over his shoulder, voice softer but still playful. “You do!”
“Good. Let's be quick, I'm starving!” Pooh laughs.
Pooh watches Pavel walk towards the stairs, shaking his head with a quiet smile before following a careful step behind, just enough space to look normal. But what is normal?
✹✹✹✹✹
The apartment is dark when Pavel unlocks it, winning their contest in grand victory. He steps inside first, dropping his keys into the ceramic bowl by the door, the one Pooh had brought because he said it made the place feel “less like a bachelor pad and more like home”. Pooh trails behind him, closing the door with his foot once inside. The sounds of panting and heavy breathing fill the space after they run up multiple flights of stairs trying to be the first to reach the apartment.
And just like that, the distance they held all day on set dissolves. On set, they had to be careful, close enough not to arouse suspicion about the change in circumstances, but distant enough not to give themselves away. They had to keep their touches minimal but choreographed, intentional, explainable. Laughing with everyone, if with each other, it needed to be mutual. If a hand lingered too long, someone would notice. If a glance softened too much, people and cameras alike would catch it. Here, there are no cameras.
Pooh kicks off his shoes and lets out a dramatic groan, collapsing onto the sofa, groceries still in hand. “I cannot do another emotional scene to that degree in our next series,” he mutters.
Pavel laughs, the low, private kind he never uses in public. He pulls off his cap and tosses it aside, running a hand through his hair, no stylists to fix it now. “You did fine,” he says, stepping closer. “You always overthink it.”
The room goes quiet. The air shifts, the way it always did when the performance dropped and it was just them. Pavel reaches down, picking up the groceries and putting them aside, his fingers turn their attention to Pooh’s wrist, brushing them, then threading his fingers through his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world. No hiding. No pretending it was fanservice. No staff hovering nearby. Just warmth. Pooh stands, closing the small space between them, forehead pressing lightly against Pavel’s chest. The exhaustion from twelve hours under lights melts into something softer. Safer.
“At least the filming's over.” Pavel says optimistically.
“Yeah, until we’re called in for reshoots,” Pooh murmurs.
“I know.”
“Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you’re not pretending.” Pooh replies in a low, tired tone.
Pavel’s arms slide around him fully now. “Then don’t make me pretend.”
Outside, the city carries on, cars passing, distant laughter, neon lights flicker across high-rise windows. Online, fans are probably clipping moments from interviews and behind the scenes videos, analysing every glance and every touch. They could speculate all they wanted. Inside the apartment, away from interviews, scripts and carefully measured skinship, there is no audience. No marks taped to the floor. No director calling cut. Just two heartbeats, finally allowed to beat in sync without anyone watching.
Pavel was the first to pull away, reluctantly. “If we stand here any longer,” he murmurs against Pooh’s hair, “we’re going to fall asleep.”
Pooh tightens his arms around Pavel’s waist instead. “That sounds perfect!”
“You said you were starving not even ten minutes ago.”
“I can be starving and sleepy.” Pooh protests, refusing to let Pavel go.
Pavel huffs a quiet laugh and gently untangles himself. “Sit. I’ll cook.”
Pooh blinks. “We can order.”
“No, we agreed to order next time.”
“Oh come on, really? You cooked yesterday.” Pooh whines, hoping to save Pavel the trouble of cooking for the both of them, especially when they are exhausted.
“And?” Pavel asks, slightly confused as to why him cooking for them is a problem for Pooh.
“And… I can cook too.” Pooh smiles, hoping today he will be able to repay Pavel for all the times he cooked for them.
Pavel, grocery bags in hand, was already halfway to the kitchen. “I’m aware. That’s exactly why you’re not touching my stove!”
Pooh gasps dramatically, one hand resting on his heart, following Pavel anyway. “Rude!”
The kitchen lights flick in, bathing the apartment in a sudden warm glow. The space still carries small pieces of them, the ceramic bowl by the door, mismatched mugs, and a hoodie draped over a chair that definitely did not belong to Pavel. Pavel rolls up his sleeves tidies away their rewards from their little detour, then opens the fridge, scanning its contents with practiced efficiency. Pooh leans against the counter, watching. Not subtle about it.
“What?” Pavel asks without turning.
“Huuhhh, you’re bossy…” Pooh sighs in response.
“I’m capable.” Pavel defends. He knows Pooh can cook, anyone can. But Pooh has his specific areas of expertise like breakfast making and smoothie making, although he sometimes struggles to operate his smoothie machine. According to Pooh it is “way more difficult to operate” compared to Pooh’s own one at his place.
“That too.” Pooh responds with a small smile.
Pavel pulls out ingredients, setting them on the counter, ready to be used. “You nearly set a towel on fire last time!” He laughs at the absurdity of it.
“That was one time!!” Pooh exclaims in defense, making sure to cross his arms for the added effect.
Pavel momentarily shifts his focus to look at Pooh with sharp but somewhat caring eyes. “It was yesterday.”
Pooh pushes off the counter and steps closer. “I was experimenting.”
“With what? Arson?” Pavel laughs under his breath, shaking his head to focus back on his cooking, he chops vegetables with quick, precise movements. The sound of the knife hitting the cutting board fills the room. Pooh watches his hands for a moment, then he steps behind him. Slowly. Carefully, as if approaching a skittish cat. His arms slide around Pavel’s waist, loose at first, giving him room to protest. Pavel doesn’t.
Pooh rests his cheek between Pavel’s shoulder blades. “You look very domestic right now.”
“I am domestic.” States Pavel as it was a knowing fact.
“You’re aggressively domestic.” Laughs Pooh, remembering the times he’s seen Pavel aggressively cleaning like the objects in his apartment had personally wronged him in some way.
“I’m cooking.”
“You banned me from cooking.” Pooh declares, stating that their little world would be easier if he was not banned from cooking them dinner.
“Yes.” Pavel states matter of factly.
Pooh shifts closer, pressing fully against his back now. He rests his chin on Pavel’s shoulder, peeking at what he was doing. “You don’t trust me.”
“I don’t trust your attention span.” Pavel corrects, putting the vegetables in a pan with some ready made broth.
“I can focus!”
“You burned garlic!” Pavel exclaims in a light-hearted, playful tone.
“It was golden” Pooh defends, pretending to sulk against Pavel’s back.
“It was black.” Pavel corrects.
Pooh smiles against his shoulder, arms tighten just slightly. His voice softens. “You’re warm.”
Pavel’s movements slow, just a fraction. “The stove is on.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Pooh laughs as he gives one of Pavel’s shoulders a quick, playful smack.
A small silence settles between them, but this one is easy. Pooh adjusts, properly resting his head on Pavel’s shoulder now. The weight is gentle, familiar. Pavel shifts instinctively to balance them both, one hand still stirring the pan while the other comes to rest over Pooh’s forearm.
“You’re clingy.” Pavel murmurs.
“You like it.” Pooh says, smiling into the nape of Pavel’s neck.
“I tolerate it.”
Pooh presses a quick kiss against the side of Pavel’s neck, brief, teasing. “Liar!”
Pavel’s jaw tightens, but he does not move away. “If you distract me and I cut myself, or if you leave a mark, you’re going to explain it to my mum tomorrow when I facetime her!”
“I’ll say you were thinking about me!” Pooh teases.
“I am thinking about you. I’m thinking about how you’re in my way.”
Pooh laughs softly, breath warm against Pavel’s skin. “You love that I’m in your way.”
Pavel turns his head slightly, just enough for their temples to brush. “Yeah,” he admits quickly. “I do.”
When Pavel reaches blindly for something to wipe his hands, Pooh loosens one arm just long enough to grab a towel from the cupboard above the sink and places it into his hand before settling back against him.
“See?” Pooh mumbles. “Useful.”
Pavel glances at him, amused. “Don’t let it get to your head.”
The pot boils. The city lights flicker through the kitchen window. Somewhere below, a motorbike passes. Pooh stays exactly where he is, arms around Pavel, head on his shoulder, watching him cook like it was the most fascinating thing in the world. No cameras. No staff. No fans. Just Pavel refusing to let him near the stove. And Pooh refusing to let go.
✹✹✹✹✹
The apartment feels different tonight. Not just quiet, but finished. No alarm set for an early call time. No half-memorised lines echoing in the backs of their minds. No sitting in the makeup chair. Filming is done. For now.
The dishes are drying in the rack by the sink, the faint scent of soap lingering in the warm kitchen air. Pavel turns off the kitchen light, leaving only the soft glow from the living room lamp. Pavel insists on washing, while Pooh insists on “supervising”, which mostly means leaning against the counter and occasionally bumping his hip into Pavel just to be annoying.
Pooh stretches, arms raised above his head, shirt lifting slightly. “I’m exhausted.”
“You said that three hours ago,” Pavel replies, wiping his hands on a towel before tossing it over the chair.
“And yet, here I am. Still exhausted.” Pooh whines with a sigh.
Pavel steps closer, brushing a loose strand of hair off Pooh’s forehead before turning back to the counter. “Go shower first.”
Pooh does not move from his position on the counter, watching him.
“Did you hear me? Or are you just going to keep looking at me like that?” Pavel says without turning away.
“Like what?”
“Like we just graduated.” Pavel says, the words slipping out through a breathy chuckle.
Pooh smiles faintly. “Didn’t we?”
Pavel faces him then. For a second, neither of them joke. Months of long days. Careful touches. Shared glances under bright lights. And now… nothing scheduled. No immediate reason to stand apart and pretend everything was just like before.
“You’re proud,” Pavel says quietly.
Pooh steps closer. “So are you.”
Pavel smiles. “Obviously.”
Pooh laughs softly, then reaches up, tugging lightly at the top of Pavel's hoodie. Not enough to pull the zip down, but just enough to feel the warmth underneath.
“You don’t have to go home early tomorrow,” Pooh murmurs.
“I live here.” Pavel replies slightly confused.
“Exactly.” Pooh says through a smile.
That look passes between them again, the one that had been cut short on set every time someone walked too close. Pavel reaches up and slides his hand along Pooh’s waist, slow and deliberate. Not rushed. Not shy. “You’re clingier when you’re relieved,” Pavel notes.
“And you’re worse when you’re trying not to be.”
Pavel’s thumb pressed slightly into Pooh's hip, grounding him. “Filming’s over.”
Pooh moves his eyes across his man. From his shoulders, neck, lips, the soft curve of his nose, then landing at the eyes he dreams about every night. “Mm.”
“No cameras.”
“Mm.”
“No staff.”
Pooh’s voice drops just slightly. “No pretending.”
That did it. Pavel’s hand moves from his waist to the small of his back, pulling him fully in. Not playful now. Not teasing. Close. Pooh inhales sharply but does not step away. Instead, his hands slide up Pavel’s chest, fingers curling into the fabric like he needed something steady.
“You were impossible today,” Pooh mumbles.
“You kept staring,” Pavel smiles, slightly tightening his grip on Pooh’s waist.
Pooh’s gaze sharpens. “You kept looking back.”
Pooh leans in, their foreheads brushing first, the way they always do when neither of them wants to rush what comes next. “Careful,” Pavel whispers, though there was no one there to hear.
Pooh smiles against his mouth. “Old habits.”
They kiss slowly, less teasingly than their usual banter, deeper in a way that comes from knowing, not urgency. Hours of restraint unwinding in small, controlled ways. When they pulled apart, it was not far. Pooh rested his forehead against Pavel’s collarbone, breathing steadying.
“Stay,” he says quietly, looking up at Pavel with dark eyes as he slowly unzips his hoodie, letting it fall to the floor.
Pavel’s hand moves up into his hair, fingers threading through strands of hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Pooh does not answer this time. Instead, he rises just enough to close the distance again, slower now, more certain, giving Pavel every second to feel it coming. His lips brush the corner of Pavel’s mouth first, almost absentmindedly, before settling fully against his. Not asking. Not teasing. Claiming. Pavel exhales softly against him, one hand tightening at Pooh’s waist as the kiss deepens, into a heavier sensation. Familiar mouths fitting together like they have done this a hundred times, but never quite like this. They move towards the bedroom without breaking contact, unwilling to create distance. Pooh’s fingers slide from Pavel’s chest to the back of his neck, guiding him gently as they move, one slow step, then another, until the back of Pavel’s knees meet the edge of the hallway wall.
The room is dim, city lights slipping through the curtains in soft blue streaks. Pooh sits on the edge of the bed first, looking up as Pavel steps between his knees. That charged quiet returns, thicker now.
Pavel reaches down, brushing his thumb along Pooh’s jaw. “You’re thinking again.”
“Just… feels different tonight.” Pooh says, head hanging low.
Pavel smiles to the side while looking down at this lost puppy. “Because it is.”
Pooh’s hands slid to Pavel’s hips this time, holding him there. “We don’t have to wake up early.” He gives a smirk at the sudden realisation as he looks up at Pavel.
Pavel smirks faintly. “That’s what you’re focused on?”
“It’s important!”
Pavel leans down slowly, pressing another kiss to Pooh’s mouth, softer this time, but lingering. His hand trails from jaw to neck, to shoulder. Unhurried. Intentional. Pooh’s breath gets caught, not by surprise, but from familiarity. From knowing exactly what that touch meant. When they finally pull back, Pavel rests his forehead against Pooh’s again.
“You’re staying,” Pooh repeats, softer now.
Pavel’s answer is not verbal. He pushes Pooh gently back onto the mattress, climbing over him just enough to cage him in without weight. Not possessive, protective. Close enough that Pooh’s hands automatically slide up his back. The tension wasn’t explosive. It was simmering. Domestic, intimate, and earned.
After a long moment, Pavel rolls slightly to the side instead, pulling Pooh with him until they were tangled under the sheets, legs intertwined, hands still roaming absentmindedly, unwilling to settle just yet.
Pooh traced lazy patterns along Pavel’s spine. “We did well,” he whispers.
Pavel presses a slow kiss to his shoulder. “We did.”
Outside, the city carried on. Inside, filming was over, and for the first time in months, they did not need to wake up and become someone else in the morning. They could just stay like this. The thought lingers between them.
Pooh shifts beneath him, hands sliding from Pavel’s back to the hem of his shirt. “Take it off,” Pooh murmurs softly.
Pavel raises an eyebrow. “Bossy.”
“You started it.”
Pavel did not argue. He sat up just enough to pull his shirt over his head, tossing it somewhere onto the floor without looking. Pooh’s eyes track the movement, then focuses on his exposed man.
“Don’t look at me like that,” Pavel says quietly.
“Like what?”
“Like you’ve been waiting all day.”
Pooh swallows. “Maybe I have.”
That confession shifts the air again. Pavel leans down slowly, giving Pooh enough time to close the distance if he wanted to. Pooh did, fingers sliding into Pavel’s hair, pulling him into a deeper kiss. Pavel’s hands trace along Pooh’s waist, thumbs pressing into warm skin beneath soft cotton. Pooh arches slightly into the touch without thinking, breath catching against Pavel’s mouth, telling him he’s wanting more.
“I can hear you thinking,” Pavel grumbles against his lips.
“Shut up.”
Pavel smiles faintly and kisses him again. Pooh’s hands move down Pavel’s shoulders, along his chest, mapping something he already knew by memory but wanted to feel again anyway. The kind of touch that wasn’t for show, a kind of touch between them that no one could share. Just theirs.
The city lights cast shifting shadows across the walls as they rolled, trading places without breaking contact. Pavel’s hand slides beneath Pooh’s shirt now, warm against his stomach, grounding him. Pooh’s breath hitched.
“Still cautious?” Pavel whispers, burying his mouth in Pooh’s neck.
“Not tonight,” Pooh whimpers.
That was all the permission either of them needed. The kiss deepens again, softer somehow, even as it grew heavier. Familiar hands. Quiet gasps. Fingertips tracing along skin that no one else was meant to see.
The world outside their bedroom blurred into background noise, distant traffic, a motorbike passing, someone laughing somewhere down the street. Inside, the air grew warmer. Closer.
Pavel presses his forehead against Pooh’s for a moment, breathing in sync. Then his lips moved lower, slower, unhurried, intentional.
Pooh’s fingers tightened at his shoulders. “Stay,” he whispers barely above a breath, it was different somehow, begging Pavel with everything breath left in him.
Pavel answers by pulling him impossibly closer. The bedside lamp flicks off with a gentle click. City lights filter through the curtains, silhouettes shifting, sheets rustling, muffled laughter dissolving into quieter sounds. Their breathing syncs, stray noises emerge and fade, camouflaging the sound of the sheets falling on the floor. And then, the rest of the night belonged to only them.
✹✹✹✹✹
Morning arrives quietly, pale sunlight slipping through the curtains in slow, golden lines. Distant chatter from people on their morning walks comes and goes, the sounds of dogs' paws pattering on the ground not far behind.
Pooh wakes first, but he did not move right away. Pavel is still asleep beside him, one arm draped lazily across Pooh’s waist, fingers curled as if to keep Pooh there in case he left him in the middle of the night. Pavel’s face was half buried in the pillow and half buried in the crease of Pooh’s jaw and neck, his hair was a mess, softer in sleep, and there is a faint crease on his cheek from the sheets. His breathing was slow, like the rhythm of a lullaby.
Pooh smiles to himself, then props himself up carefully on one elbow, studying him. There was something disarming about seeing him like this, unguarded, not having the weight of expectations on his shoulders. Free. Just Pavel. His favourite version of him. Pooh lets his fingers hover for a moment before gently brushing a stray strand of hair away from his face. Pavel shifts faintly, brows furrowing before smoothing down again.
“You snore,” Pooh whispers softly, though there is no one to hear it.
Pavel makes a quiet sound of protest in his sleep and shifts closer instead, causing Pooh to smile. Carefully, he lifts Pavel’s arm and replaces it with his pillow, inching out from under the warmth without waking him.
Pavel stirs, lashes fluttering. “Five more minutes…” he murmurs, voice deep and rough with sleep.
Pooh freezes, heart jumping, then relaxes when Pavel settles again. “I’ll be back,” he whispers.
He grabs Pavel’s shirt off the floor, the one he wore yesterday, slips the loose T-shirt on, nearly swallowing his torso, and pads quietly towards the kitchen. The apartment feels different in the wash of the morning light. Still. Safe. Loving. He keeps glancing towards the hallway, like he’s expecting Pavel to appear, hair a mess, pretending not to look for him after noticing the empty space beside him.
Pooh is not aiming for anything dramatic, just something simple. Eggs, toast, a little fruit arranged more neatly than necessary. He brews coffee the way Pavel likes it, not too strong, not too weak, just right. He moves softly, being as quiet as possible, but he cannot help but smile to himself when the toast pops out louder than expected. By the time he has finished, the tray looks… decent. But thoughtful, simple, intentionally so. He hesitates only a second before heading back down the hallway, nudging the door open with his food when he reaches the bedroom.
Pavel has rolled onto his back now, one arm thrown over his eyes to block the light. “Good morning,” Pooh says gently, as not to startle Pavel awake.
A low groan answers him. “What time is it?”
“Late.”
“It better not be,” Pavel whines.
Pooh sets the tray down on the nightstand before sitting on the edge of the bed next to Pavel. “You don’t have to wake up early.”
That seemed to register. Pavel lowers his arm slowly, blinking up at him, and then noticing the tray. His expression shifts. “You didn’t.”
Pooh shrugs, trying, but failing, to look casual. “Maybe.”
Pavel pushes himself up onto his elbows, eyes flickering from the food to Pooh, taking in the oversized t-shirt, the soft, glowing warm skin, the way Pooh is watching him a little too closely. “You’re ridiculous,” Pavel says quietly, still adjusting to the sunlight spilling into the bedroom.
“But you’re smiling,” Pooh adds with his own smile.
The room grows quiet. Pavel reaches up, fingers brushing along Pooh’s wrist before sliding into his hand, lacing their fingers together loosely. He brings Pooh’s knuckles to his lips and pressed a slow kiss there, warm and lingering. He does not need to say “thank you”, Pooh already knows. “You made coffee?”
“Obviously,” Pooh sarcastically scoffs.
“Then I’ll forgive you for waking me up,” Pavel says tenderly. Pooh hands him the mug first, watching carefully as Pavel takes a sip. The reaction mattered. Pavel hums in approval.
Pooh’s shoulders relax. “See? Worth it.”
“Definitely! But you don’t have to do things like this for me.”
Pooh smiles faintly. “I know.”
“Then why?”
Pooh hesitates, just long enough to make it honest. “Because I get to.”
Something in Pavel’s expression softens in a way that does not need commentary. Putting the mug down on the nightstand, he tugs gently, guiding Pooh down until he is half-lying against him, tray forgotten for a moment. Their foreheads brush first. “Come here,” Pavel murmurs.
“I’m literally on top of you,” Pooh laughs in amusement.
“Closer.”
Pooh laughs under his breath but shifts anyway, sliding a hand along Pavel’s jaw. The kiss this time is not sleepy or rushed. It was slow and deliberate, morning-soft but steady. Lips warm, unhurried. The kind that says more than it tries to take. Pavel’s hand moves to the small of Pooh’s back, holding him there like he had no intention of letting the morning steal him away again. When they pulled back, it was not far.
“You’re staying today,” Pavel says.
Pooh traces a lazy line along his collarbone. “I figured, I practically live here anyway.”
A faint smile washes over Pavel. “Exactly.”
This time when they kissed, it deepened into something much fuller, steadier. A quiet promise pressed into the start of the day. Pooh’s fingers slip into Pavel’s hair, and Pavel exhales softly against his mouth like he had been waiting for that exact same pressure.
Eventually, Pavel reluctantly leans back against the headboard. “Fine,” he sighs. “Give me back the coffee before it gets cold.”
Pooh hands him the mug, watching closely as Pavel takes another sip. Standing up, he feels Pavel’s eyes on him as he walks to the other side of the bed and places the tray in its centre. Instead of reaching for the food right away, Pavel holds the mug in his right hand and uses his left to pull Pooh back against his side. They share the tray between them, knees brushing under the sheets, shoulders touching.
Sunlight pools across the bed. The city hums faintly below. Inside, calm settles over them, broken only by quiet giggles and the sound of their breathing.
Pavel finally picks up a piece of toast and holds it towards Pooh instead. “You first.”
Pooh blinks. “It’s for you.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
Pooh leans forward, looking Pavel in the eyes as he takes a bite from the toast in his hand, smiling around it.
The morning stretches ahead of them, wide open and unclaimed, with slow kisses between bites and the quiet certainty of staying.
✹✹✹✹✹
The television plays quietly in the background, something neither of them is really watching. Pooh sits curled into the corner of the sofa, socked feet tucked under Pavel’s thigh while he turns off whatever is playing, and scrolls lazily through the streaming menu with the remote. Pavel leans back against the cushions, one arm draped along the backrest behind Pooh’s shoulders, the other resting loosely over Pooh’s knee. Every now and then his thumb shifts, brushing lightly against Pooh’s leg in a way that feels absentminded but never quite accidental.
They had changed hours ago into soft, worn clothes, Pooh in loose shorts and an oversized hoodie (that definitely did not belong to him), Pavel in an old T-shirt and grey sweatpants that hang low on his hips. Comfort clothes, stay-in-all-day clothes.
Pooh clicks through another show. “Didn’t we try this one already?” Pavel asks.
Pooh squints at the screen. “... Maybe.”
“You fell asleep.” Pavel turns to smile at Pooh with slight furrowed brows.
“I did not.” Pooh gasps.
Pavel laughs. “You were snoring.”
Pooh turns his head slowly. “I don’t snore.”
Pavel lifts an eyebrow, Pooh throws a cushion at him in retaliation. Pavel catches it easily, laughing under his breath, and in the process his arm slides fully around Pooh’s waist. Pooh lets himself fall back against him with exaggerated annoyance that lasts all of three seconds before he relaxes completely, his back fitting naturally against Pavel’s chest.
The show finally starts, but neither of them pays attention. A minute passes. Pavel’s thumb starts tracing slow circles against the side of Pooh’s hoodie, absentminded at first, the kind of touch that comes from habit more than intention. Pooh stills, then clicks the remote again.
“Hey!” Pavel protests.
“You said you weren’t watching.”
“That doesn’t mean you can sabotage my viewing experience.” Pavel argues.
“You were staring at my face in the reflection of the screen,” Pooh says, moving away from the touch of Pavel’s shoulder.
Pavel pauses. “... That’s an unproven accusation.”
Pooh tilts his head. “Pavel.”
“Yes?”
“You’re literally still doing it.”
Pavel does not even bother denying it this time. Instead he shrugs, looking mildly unapologetic.
Pooh exhales dramatically. “This is why we can’t watch things together.”
“Oh?” Pavel murmurs.
“Because you…” Pooh gestures vaguely toward him and his hand on his shoulder. “... do that.”
“What am I doing?” Pavel asks, as if teasing Pooh more than he should.
Pooh turns enough to glare at him. “You know what you’re doing.”
Pavel’s mouth twitches. “I’m sitting.”
“You’re distracting.” Pooh corrects, patting Pavel’s chest, in almost sympathy.
“That sounds like a you problem,” Pavel smiles.
Pooh narrows his eyes. Pavel hums thoughtfully behind him, but his hand does not stop. The circles grow slower, gentler, fingertips pressing just enough through the fabric that Pooh can feel the warmth of them.
Pooh exhales quietly, his head tipping back until it rests against Pavel’s shoulder. A few minutes pass like that, quiet, warm, the glow of the television flickering softly across the room.
Then Pooh tilts his head back slightly. “Pavel.”
“Hmm?”
Pooh turns his head just enough that their noses nearly bump. “You’re still doing it.”
“Doing what?” Pavel says, paying more attention to the eyes looking directly at him. Oh how he could stare at them for eternity and never get bored.
“The…” Pooh gestures vaguely. “The… thing.” As he quickly pulls himself out of Pavel’s gaze.
“My hand?”
Pooh sighs, Pavel smiles. The remote slips from Pooh’s fingers onto the couch as he twists around, shifting his weight until he’s facing Pavel properly. One knee presses into the cushion beside Pavel’s hip, his other leg still half tucked beneath him.
“You’re impossible,” Pooh says.
“Yet you’re here.” Pavel responds, raising his eyebrows.
Pooh rolls his eyes but leans closer anyway. The kiss starts slow. Soft. Familiar. Their mouths meet gently at first, more of a lingering press than anything else, the kind of kiss that carries the weight of the whole day settling quietly between them. Pavel’s hand slides from Pooh’s waist to his back, fingers spreading against the hoodie as he pulls him closer. Pooh leans into it easily, the small space between them disappearing like it was never meant to exist.
Their noses brush, their mouths meet again. Pooh shifts again, this time settling more firmly over Pavel’s lap, one knee on either side of him, a reminder of nights like this before. The couch dips beneath their weight, the forgotten television continuing to murmur behind them. Pavel’s hands move instinctively to Pooh’s hips, steadying him there, thumbs resting just beneath the edge of the hoodie, stopping Pooh from getting too carried away with his movements. Pooh’s fingers curl into the fabric of Pavel’s shirt, tugging him closer even though there’s nowhere left to go.
The kiss deepens, more hurried now, more desperate for each other's taste, causing them to resurface for air. Pooh’s forehead rests briefly against Pavel’s, and for a moment neither of them moves. Then Pooh leans in again for more, slightly softer this time, brushing a kiss against the corner of Pavel’s mouth before finding his lips again. Pavel breathes out a quiet laugh against Pooh’s mouth when Pooh nudges him further back into the cushions. Pooh’s mouth finds its resting place at the side of Pavel’s neck.
“Oh, so now you’re bold,” Pavel whispers, catching his breath.
Pooh does not answer, but Pavel feels the smile against his neck as he leans back into the kiss. His hands slide up Pavel’s jaw, thumb brushing the edge of his cheekbone before tilting his head slightly to kiss him deeper and to feel the warm sensation of their tongues colliding. Pavel exhales softly and lets himself sink back against the sofa, one hand drifting up to Pooh’s back underneath his hoodie, fingers threading briefly into the hair at the nape of his neck. A moment later he is fully reclined against the cushions and Pooh is hovering over him, hair falling forward slightly, eyes dark with quiet amusement and something warmer underneath. Pavel’s hands moving up and down along Pooh’s spine, giving little scratches to Pooh, like answering an unspoken question.
“Careful,” Pavel says with a rasp of deep intent.
Pooh tilts his head. “Why?”
Pavel opens his mouth… and his phone rings. Both of them freeze. The ringtone echoes loudly across the apartment. Pooh blinks, Pavel groans. They both glance toward the coffee table where the phone vibrates against the wood. The screen lights up. Mum Calling.
Pooh immediately dissolves into silent laughter, dropping forward onto Pavel’s chest.
“No,” Pavel whines, dropping his head fully against the couch.
“Yes,” Pooh whispers.
“You jinxed it.” Pavel says firmly, a finger stretched out to Pooh.
“I did nothing!”
The phone keeps ringing. Pavel drags a hand down his face. “... I was supposed to call her.”
Pooh lifts his head slowly. “Weekly FaceTime?”
Pavel sighs. “Yes.”
The phone continues vibrating. Pooh slides off him reluctantly, though the grin on his face gives him away. “Answer it,” he says, nudging Pavel’s arm.
Pavel reaches for the phone like a man accepting his fate. He taps the screen. A moment later his mother’s face appears, bright and cheerful. “Pavel!” she says immediately. “I was wondering if you forgot about…”
She stops, her eyes narrow slightly. Pavel knows that look. “Hi, Mum.”
“Why are you out of breath?” She questions.
“I’m not.” Pavel says, trying to look at anything else but her.
“Mhm.”
Pavel rubs the back of his neck. Pooh, now sitting cross-legged on the floor between Pavel’s legs, presses his lips together to keep from laughing. Pavel’s mother’s eyes flick downward toward the bottom of the screen. “... Is Pooh there?”
Pooh looks up like a deer caught in headlights. Pavel sighs. “Yes.”
“I thought so.”
Pooh lifts his hands up into a prayer, with the tips of his thumbs resting under his chin. “Hi, Mum.”
She smiles knowingly. “Well,” she says lightly, “I see why you forgot to call me.” Pavel groans again.
Pooh just laughs softly and settles back against the sofa, shoulders resting against Pavel’s knees. The conversation continues, easy, familiar. Pavel talks, his mother talks. And Pooh sits quietly on the floor between Pavel’s legs, listening with a soft smile, occasionally glancing back at him. Watching the way Pavel laughs. The way his eyes crinkle. The way his hand absentmindedly drops to rest on Pooh’s shoulder, and to carefully stroke his hair. Pooh leans into the touch without thinking, Pavel’s hand stays there like it belongs.
The television still flickers in the background. The apartment is warm, and finally feels like home. And for the first time in a long while, everything feels simple.