Don’t say it
You weren’t supposed to stay this long.
It was always an unspoken thing—show up late, leave before the morning hits too hard. But somehow you’re still in his bed, wrapped in his sheets, eyes locked on the curve of his bare shoulder glowing in the dim lamplight.
Yuta breathes slow, steady. He’s awake. You know he is.
“Why are you staring?” he mumbles, still facing the wall.
You roll your eyes and lie back. “I’m not.”
He turns over lazily, his skin brushing against yours, arm slung across your waist like he forgot it wasn’t allowed. “You always stare after,” he murmurs, lips dangerously close to your jaw. “What are you looking for?”
You swallow thickly. God, why did he always do this? Act like he could read your thoughts and then pretend it didn’t mean anything?
“I’m not looking for anything,” you lie.
He hums. “Liar.”
Then it happens—his hand slides beneath the sheets, over your bare hip, pulling you in like gravity. Your breath catches. He kisses you slow, like he’s trying to memorize your mouth, like you’re something he’s not ready to lose.
And that’s the problem.
He likes you.
He really, really does.
But he never says it. And neither do you.
Because you told yourself a long time ago that if he wanted you—really wanted you—he wouldn’t have started whatever this is with no rules, no labels, just hot nights and colder mornings.
You were never going to be the girl who begged to be chosen.
Even if every time he touched you, it felt like he already had.
Yuta presses his forehead to yours, breathing you in. “Why don’t you ever stay?” he asks suddenly.
You blink. “I’m here right now.”
“Yeah, but you always leave before I wake up.”
You freeze. It’s not like you never wanted to stay. You just didn’t know if he wanted you to.
“You’re the one who never asks me to,” you say quietly.
His hand stills on your waist. “That’s not true.”
You look away, already retreating into your shell. “It’s fine. I get it, Yuta. You don’t have to say anything.”
He sits up, brows furrowed. “What if I want to say something?”
“Don’t.”
Your voice cracks just a little. Because if he says the wrong thing, if he looks at you with pity, if he says this was never supposed to go there, you won’t recover. You’ve been through enough rejection to know better than to hope.
But then Yuta leans in, eyes soft but intense.
“What if I’ve been trying to tell you for months?” he says. “And I just didn’t want to scare you off?”
You blink. “You’re not serious.”
He laughs under his breath and cups your jaw. “I’m dead serious. I thought… maybe this was all you wanted. And I didn’t wanna lose even that.”
Your heart stutters. “You thought I didn’t want more?”
“I thought I’d ruin everything if I said it out loud.”
You stare at each other for a long beat—like something heavy just cracked open between you, but instead of it being messy, it feels relieving.
So you kiss him. This time not like you’re burning. But like you’re healing.
The next morning, Yuta wakes up to sunlight pouring into the room, your leg tangled with his, your face buried in his chest.
You didn’t leave.
He smiles against your hair, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
“Stay again tonight?” he whispers.
You nod, eyes still closed.
And just like that, everything shifts.
No labels. No pressure. Just two people who were too scared to say love—until it finally stopped being scary.
