Chapter 5: Parting Spin
The slow stroke of Arjun’s thumb was a metronome counting out the frantic beats of Rohan’s heart. That flicker of awareness in Arjun’s eyes didn’t fade; it solidified, turning the casual dominance into something deliberate. His gaze dropped to Rohan’s mouth.
“You’re shaking,” Arjun said, his voice hushed.
Rohan couldn’t form words. He just nodded, a tiny, jerky motion. His glasses were slightly askew.
A slow, easy smile spread across Arjun’s face. It wasn’t his usual campus-wide grin. This was smaller, more private. “Okay,” he murmured, as if answering a question Rohan hadn’t asked.
In one fluid, impossible motion, he shifted. The pinning hand left Rohan’s chest, only to slide under his back. The other hooked under his knees. Before Rohan could gasp, the world tilted and he was up, cradled against the solid wall of Arjun’s chest. It was so effortless it felt like a magic trick, gravity itself being defied.
“What are you doing?” Rohan finally managed, his voice thin. His arms instinctively looped around Arjun’s neck for balance. The fabric of Arjun’s hoodie was soft against his wrists.
“Just… wanna see,” Arjun said, his breath stirring Rohan’s hair. He wasn’t even straining. He held Rohan as if he were weightless, a stack of papers instead of a person. He took two slow steps, turning them in a small, lazy circle in the middle of the cluttered room. The motion was dizzying, intimate. Rohan could feel the coiled power in Arjun’s shoulders and arms, a steady, humming vibration.
Arjun looked down at him, his expression unreadably soft. He dipped his head and pressed his lips to Rohan’s forehead. The kiss was warm, dry, and lingered for a heartbeat too long. It wasn’t a romantic gesture from a movie; it was a brand, a claiming. A simple, devastating fact.
Then he was moving again, carrying Rohan the few steps to the doorway. The space was narrow, the frame chipped and painted over too many times. Arjun didn’t put him down so much as he arranged him, leaning him back gently against the wood until his shoulders met the surface. The coolness of the doorframe seeped through his t-shirt, a stark contrast to the heat blooming everywhere Arjun had touched.
Arjun kept one arm around him, a solid bar of support, while his other hand came up to cradle the side of Rohan’s face. His thumb stroked the arch of Rohan’s cheekbone.
“See?” Arjun whispered, his face so close their noses almost touched. “You fit right here.”
He leaned in again, bypassing his lips, and pressed a final, searing kiss to the fluttering pulse point at the base of Rohan’s throat. It was a direct echo of his thumb’s earlier exploration, but amplified, a hundred times more intense. Rohan’s head fell back against the door with a soft thud, his eyes squeezing shut. Every nerve ending was on fire.
Arjun pulled back just enough to look at him. Rohan was pinned, not by force, but by the sheer, overwhelming reality of the moment. He was breathless, wrecked, supported by the doorframe and Arjun’s steadying arm.
A loud, rattling cough echoed from the hallway, followed by the slam of a distant door.
The spell shattered.
Arjun blinked, the intense focus in his eyes receding like a tide. He slowly, carefully, withdrew his arm, letting Rohan find his own footing against the doorframe. Rohan’s legs felt like wet paper.
“I should…” Arjun hooked a thumb towards the hallway, his usual affable demeanor returning like a mask slipping back into place. But his voice was a little rough. “I’ve got that… thing. Rugby thing.”
Rohan just nodded, not trusting his voice.
Arjun gave him one last, long look, then turned and walked down the hall, his footsteps echoing with a finality that made Rohan’s stomach clench. He didn’t look back.
The moment the heavy main door at the end of the corridor swung shut, Rohan’s knees gave way. He slid down the doorframe until he was sitting on the worn welcome mat, his back against the cool wood. He pulled his knees to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. The hum of his computers was the only sound. He could still feel the ghost of Arjun’s hands on his skin, the pressure of his lips on his throat.
He sat there for a long time, in the dim, flickering light of the hallway bulb, trying to remember how to breathe.