Saval said goodbye with one of those small smiles—the kind rarely seen but felt deeper than any words. Semiel watched him enter his house, smiling to himself.
He stood there a few seconds longer, motionless. The night's chill, the whispering wind, but most of all—the warmth Saval had left blooming in his chest.
—I'm okay, —he murmured to himself, pressing a hand to his forehead.
He couldn't pinpoint exactly what caused this feeling. Maybe the film. Maybe their hands brushing. Maybe their walk home together. Maybe all of it at once.
He started walking, slipping headphones on to play music.
Scenes flashed through his mind like bonus footage: Saval's fingers grazing his in the popcorn bucket, the warmth of his palm, the comfortable silence between them.
And most of all—the glances. Few but weighted, each saying what neither dared voice yet.
—I want to kiss him again, —he said under his breath, thoughtlessly.
What am I thinking—ah, but I really do want to feel that again.
A pang hit his stomach. Not nerves—longing.
He wanted that moment back. Not just the kiss. Everything around it: the trust, the calm, the connection. That certainty everything would be okay if they were together. Even without labels.
At home, he grabbed coffee and headed to his room. The air was cool but not uncomfortable—helping ground him.
He climbed the stairs quietly. His father already slept. The house stood silent.
Closing his bedroom door, he sat on the bed's edge and exhaled deeply.
—I like him more than I thought I would, —he admitted to the floor.
This wasn't just some years-old idealized image anymore. He knew Saval beyond screens, beyond stream laughter. Knew his silences. His doubts. His way of seeing things without saying them.
And somehow—maybe because of that—he wanted him more.
He lay back fully clothed, staring at the ceiling. Turning over everything still unspoken between them. The unanswered question hanging in the air.
Were they together? Was this a thing?
Maybe they didn't need labels yet. Maybe taking it step by step was enough.
But he still wanted to kiss him again.
Wanted it to not feel stolen or fearful. Wanted to cradle Saval's face and say I want to be yours, I'll stay right here for you. And that with each passing day, he wanted him more.
He closed his eyes. Recalled Saval's laughter at the cinema. How he'd leaned toward the screen like he wanted to absorb every detail. How their fingers had tangled without push or pretense.
He sighed. Smiled.
—This is real, —he told himself—. Not just in my head anymore.
He wanted to tell someone—but who? Mia might suspect. David probably guessed. But for now, he'd keep it close. A happy secret.
Rolling onto his side, he hugged a pillow. Felt his body relax gradually.
Tomorrow they could talk more. Watch another film. Maybe he'd even say something. Not everything—but something.
And if courage failed him, at least he could hold Saval's hand again. Because now he knew he could do that without fear.
—Thanks for staying, — he whispered, as if Saval could hear.
He drifted off with that final image: the two of them in the theater's dark, hands linked, hearts beating exactly where they should be.
And he slept smiling, all through the night.