We sit in the park for a while, doing nothing.
And sohow, it feels like everything.
Quiet settling between us like a blanket.
I lean back against the bench, eyes slipping shut. The night is cold, but gentle. The air brushes my face, quiet and clean. Deniz sits beside . I don’t need to look to know—he’s staring again.
A smile curls on my lips.
Without opening my eyes, I murmur,
"Deniz... are you admiring ?"
There’s a sharp inhale beside .
I feel it—the way he startles.
When I open my eyes, he’s already looking away, ears red, voice rushing out too fast.
"I-I’m not."
I chuckle softly. "Just kidding."
I straighten a little. His cheeks turn even redder. Cute. Dangerously cute.
He checks his watch like it can save him.
"It’s late," he says. "You should go. It’s getting colder."
He lifts my coat from his shoulders and drapes it back around , careful, gentle, like I might disappear if he’s rough.
He rises to his feet, glances down at once more, and repeats it—quiet, careful.
"Let’s go," he repeats.
Still, I stay.
I don’t move.
I just stare at him.
The night hums between us—cold air,
distant leaves, silence stretched thin.
Then, with the purest, most innocent tone I can manage—like a lost puppy asking for warmth—I say,
"Deniz... can I stay at your house tonight?"
He freezes.
Slowly, like the words need ti to land, he repeats,
"My... house?"
I blink at him. Once. Twice. Then nod.
Yes.
He stares at like the universe just glitched.
"H-how— You’re my—"
I tilt my head, genuinely curious.
"Why can’t I?"
He looks away, flustered, fingers tightening.
"Why do you want to stay...?"
"Because," I answer honestly, without thinking, "I don’t want to go back to the mansion tonight. And I don’t want to see my angry brother."
He imdiately pulls out his phone.
"I’ll book you a VIP hotel—"
I stand up and gently take the phone from his hand.
He flinches.
Our eyes et. His face is red. Nervous. Open.
I step closer. The world narrows—just the two of us under the dark sky.
Softly, I ask again,
"Why can’t I stay at your place?"
His gaze drops. His fists curl slightly.
"My place isn’t big... it’s not good. It’ll be uncomfortable for you."
I smile.
"We’re friends, aren’t we?"
He looks up. Our eyes lock.
"...Yes."
"Then what’s the problem?" I say lightly. "Outside the office, I’m not your boss. Not rich. Not anything special."
I grin.
"I’m just a normal human."
He looks completely confused now.
I take his silence as permission.
"So," I say sweetly, "let’s go to your place."
He flinches again.
Before he can recover, I reach out, take his hand, and start walking.
"Co on."
Then, casually—too casually—I add,
"Let’s go, my boyfriend."
His eyes widen.
"What are you saying?!"
I smile, innocent as sin.
"I didn’t say anything. You must’ve overheard."
"There’s no one here," he blurts. "It’s just us!"
I squeeze his hand gently.
"Deniz," I say softly, "be quiet."
I glance at him, amused.
"I want to relax."
Deniz and I step out of the car. The night is quiet here—clean, still. His voice drops instinctively as he lifts a hand and points ahead.
"Here’s my apartnt."
I tilt my head back, eyes following the height of it, then smile. A real one. Light. Unguarded.
Deniz looks at , hesitation flickering across his face before he speaks.
"Are you... sure you want to stay at my place?"
I tilt my head, eting his eyes with quiet curiosity. He looks away almost imdiately, gaze dropping as if the words weigh too much.
"I an—this place isn’t very comfortable," he adds after a pause. "And the people here..."
I don’t let him finish.
"I don’t care."
The words co out calm. Certain.
He falls silent.
"Let’s go. I’m starving."
I walk ahead with light steps, excitent bubbling in my chest. Tonight, I’m staying at my future wife’s place.
Deniz follows in silence.
We stop in front of the elevator.The lobby is small, lived-in. People pass by, their gazes lingering on —curious, asuring. I feel it on my skin.
Do I look strange...?
Why are they staring...?
I glance down at myself, then lean closer to Deniz and whisper,
"Deniz... do I look bad? Why are they staring at like this?"
He adjusts his glasses nervously and murmurs,
"Please don’t pay attention to anyone."
I straighten. Maybe he’s right. Why do I care what strangers think?
The elevator doors slide open. We step inside, followed by a rush of people. It’s crowded—too crowded. My back presses against the cool tal wall.
Deniz moves in front of without thinking.
Soone shoves from behind. Deniz stumbles half a step—and suddenly his chest ets mine.
My breath catches.
My eyes widen.
We’re too close.
Too close.
His scent reaches —clean, calm, Red Rose, familiar. My heart jumps sharply, painfully aware of every inch of space that no longer exists between us.
His cheeks turn red as he whispers,
"I’m sorry... the elevator here is always like this."
"It’s okay," I breathe, my voice unsteady.
He raises one arm, placing his hand against the wall beside my head. His body forms a barrier, shielding completely from the pressure of the crowd. Careful. Controlled. Protective.
Our eyes et.
Everything else disappears.
The hum of the elevator dulls. The presence of others fades. All I hear is my heartbeat—fast, loud—and the quiet sound of his breathing.
He’s close enough that I can feel his warmth, close enough that my face burns.
He doesn’t touch beyond what’s necessary. That restraint makes it worse.
The elevator slows with a soft clink.
The doors open, and people begin to leave. The air feels lighter, but my chest still feels tight.
Deniz steps back imdiately, straightening his coat, adjusting his tie like nothing happened. His cheeks are faintly red. He doesn’t look at .
I don’t move.
My gaze drops. My pulse refuses to calm. My face is warm, my thoughts scattered—caught in the echo of that closeness, that unspoken instinct to protect.
The elevator doors slide shut again.
And suddenly, the silence between us feels louder than anything else.
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