Everything was suffocating.
From his erratic breathing to his tear-filled eyes that blurred his vision, and the tight embrace of someone whose weight pressed against him, he could hear the pounding of both their heartbeats.
Everything felt searingly hot— every inch of his body burned, especially the deepest part, a place he never imagined would pulse with such a churning warmth, as if it were melting his entire being from that molten core, the heat surging straight to his head, clouding any chance of clear thought.
Their heavy, panting breaths intertwined, punctuated by stifled, high-pitched moans that caught in his throat. He was lost, unsure of what he was supposed to do— unsure if his body was even his to command anymore. His hands clawed tightly into the other man's sturdy, quivering back, which trembled with every forceful thrust of his hips.
The sensation was all-consuming, a wildfire of heat and chaos. He was almost afraid that he was still conscious, terrified that this intensity might rob him of reason.
The musky scent of the other man's body, drawn in with every desperate gasp for air, intoxicated him further, dragging him deeper into a haze.
As the dizzying sensations melded into a single, overwhelming force, he found himself moving in sync with the other man's rhythm, his body instinctively yielding to the primal cadence of their shared motion.
'…Niel, Niel, does it feel good? Niel… I feel so good, so good, so … hug me more. Hug me harder than this.'
The man's whispered words grazed so close to his ear that they sent shivers rippling through him, the aching fullness in his lower stomach growing ever more unbearable— what did he say? Did it feel good?
He didn't know, he couldn't know… it was all so confusing, so suffocating, he could barely form a coherent thought, let alone words. Yet deep in his heart, he knew this shouldn't be happening.
The realization sank in like a blade, goosebumps prickling across his entire body.
This act. This sinful act. It shouldn't be happening… something so filthy, driven by raw human lust. He shouldn't be enjoying this.
Tears streamed down his face, and yet his hands gripped tightly, clinging to the other man's neck. He held onto those strong shoulders, belonging to a man even more powerful, whose embrace was fiercer as he pulled Niel closer.
He shouldn't feel good.
He shouldn't.
This wasn't something he should relish because…
'Ah, Niel… Niel… you can't do this with anyone else… you can't, because you hate sex, you hate this act that reminds you of someone else's sin… this isn't a sin, Niel… this isn't, this is normal…'
The low, panting words, punctuated by the man's lips pressing over and over against his neck, made Niel sob harder.
Wash it all away. Wash it. Everything. This sinful act. This sinful body.
His mind screamed it, but even so, Niel felt filthier still as electric sensations surged through his body. A long, obscene moan tore from his throat as he reached his climax, so intense that his vision flashed white.
The man above him slowed his movements, rocking his hips gently, his face pulling back just enough, as if savoring every flicker of pleasure etched across Niel's face, consumed entirely by this sin.
A soft chuckle escaped the man's lips, followed by words that sent a tremor of fear through Niel.
'You want this, Niel, so this isn't a sin.'
Niel's eyes snapped open, wide with panic. But now, it was the familiar ceiling staring back at him, not the man from his dream. He bolted upright, yanking the blanket that half-covered his body, and his worst fear was confirmed.
His pants were soaked with sticky fluid, his eyes widening as the blood drained from his face in shock.
Without a moment's hesitation, Niel scrambled to the bathroom. He scrubbed his pants furiously until they were clean, but it wasn't just the pants he washed. Turning on the shower, he let icy water cascade over his entire body, drenching him completely.
Why that dream?
Niel couldn't understand why it was happening again. Someone who rarely dreamed was once more haunted by echoes of the past. It wasn't just once or twice— sometimes, that man did slip into his dreams, especially when stress weighed heavily on his mind.
For someone who hardly ever dreamed, it felt as if his subconscious was intent on compounding the pressure already building inside him.
Out of habit, Niel scrubbed every inch of his skin, lathering himself with copious amounts of soap. When he finished showering, he glanced at the clock on the wall— it was well past midnight. His stomach growled, hollow from having slept too long since the afternoon, causing him to miss dinner entirely.
Hoping his stress might be partly due to hunger, Niel decided to fill his empty stomach by cooking something. He grabbed a pack of chicken nuggets from the small fridge and left his room, heading toward the kitchen. As he climbed the stairs— even at this late hour— he could hear the muffled chatter of men in the cafeteria watching television. But Niel had no intention of checking on them.
Instead, he made his way to the communal kitchen, turned on the stove, and fixed his eyes on the oil as it slowly began to heat.
Don't think about him. Don't think.
The man's face flickered across Niel's mind as his gaze landed on the pack of chicken nuggets— the brand that man bought in bulk, now cluttering his fridge. Niel mentally shook his head. Every time that man crossed his thoughts, it felt like standing at a crossroads where every path led to a dead end.
The confusion was suffocating, tightening in his chest like a knot. It was better to forget him.
He had managed to forget him once before, hadn't he? He'd tried for years— and it had worked. He kept himself busy, pouring all his time into work, always working. And whenever that man's face surfaced in his mind, Niel would shove the thought away without hesitation. If it worked back then, it should work now. It should work tomorrow. It should be easy.
He shouldn't be dwelling on something so futile just because he'd run into that man again. No matter how hard he thought about him, no matter how often, Niel knew it would still lead nowhere.
A dead end.
So don't think about it. Yes, it was better not to think of that man. Better to ignore him completely. He had to keep living, just as he always had.
The acrid smell of burning snapped Niel out of his daze, realizing he'd been lost in thought. The nuggets he was frying had turned a deep, overcooked brown, and he hurriedly switched off the stove.
"Ha, am I stupid… seriously, get a grip, Nathaniel."
Coughing, Niel flung the window open wider to let the burnt smell and smoke escape, then replaced the oil to fry the remaining chicken nuggets he had brought. Only six pieces were left, but that was fine— he didn't want to eat much anyway.
Tomorrow.
As Niel sat down, biting into a nugget and hissing because he forgot it was still scalding, he thought about what had just happened. More precisely, what had happened before he fell asleep.
Charles had told him to pack his clothes quickly before leaving with him, but Niel hadn't given it much thought since he didn't own many clothes. He didn't even need a suitcase— a small backpack would suffice. Niel wasn't the type to buy things, whether clothes or anything else. He hadn't packed yet, but it would take mere minutes to stuff his clothes into a bag. That is, if he decided to go.
He hadn't even made up his mind about whether he would go or not.