He wanted to hold onto it. Wanted to stretch it out, let it last.
"Hey." His voice came out soft, still a bit unsteady. He reached out without really thinking, fingertips brushing Zach's wrist. The skin there was warm. "You don't have to go yet."
Zach stilled for a second. Just long enough for Adriel to notice. Just long enough for something to flicker across his face before it smoothed over.
"I do. Early morning, remember?"
He stepped out of Adriel's reach, easy and unhurried, and grabbed his shirt from the back of the chair. His tone was casual. Almost bored.
Adriel sat up a little, the sheet clutching awkwardly to his chest. The room felt too quiet now. The air heavy, pressing in.
"I just thought maybe you could stay." He tried to make it light. "It's late."
Zach exhaled. He buttoned his shirt without looking at him, jaw set.
"You get really clingy after," he said. "You know that?"
The word hit harder than Adriel expected.
Clingy.
It landed somewhere in his chest, sharp and cold, like a stone dropped into still water. He felt his face heat. His throat close up.
"I…" He swallowed. "I didn't mean…"
Zach looked at him then, expression tight.
"It's fine. I have to go, I told you already."
Adriel nodded immediately. Too fast. "Yeah. Of course. Sorry."
Zach grabbed his jacket from the desk chair. Already moving toward the door.
Adriel watched him go. The broadness of his back. The easy way he moved. The hand reaching for the doorknob.
"Just… Don't make this a thing, okay?"
Directed at the door. At the handle. At anything but Adriel.
Adriel shook his head even though Zach couldn't see it. "I won't." His voice came out smaller than he wanted. "I promise."
Zach paused with his hand on the handle. The room was completely still. Adriel held his breath, waited for something; a look, a word, a sign that this wasn't what it felt like.
"Good night."
The door opened. Closed.
Adriel sat there for a while. Staring at the place where Zach had been. At the empty space by the door, the chair with his jacket no longer on it, the bed that suddenly felt too big, the sheets cold where another body had been.
The streetlamp cast pale stripes across the floor. Somewhere in the building, a door opened and closed. Footsteps in the hallway, fading.
He lay back down eventually. Curled onto his side, facing the empty half of the bed, and pulled the blanket tight around himself. Up to his chin, tucked in close, as if that might make the ache in his chest smaller.
He told himself he overreacted.
Zach was right. It had been late. People had things to do. That was normal. That was fine. He was the one who'd made it weird.
He told himself this was how things worked.