They barely made it through Cleo's door before Riz pressed him against it.
The click of the lock was still echoing in the air when their mouths found each other again—messy, breathless, magnetic. Cleo's fingers gripped the back of Riz's neck, anchoring him as they kissed like they'd been holding back for years. And in a way, they had.
The dorm was dim, late sun pooling through the window blinds, casting long golden slashes across the floor. Neither of them moved to turn on the light. The low hush of the hallway faded behind them, replaced by the soft sound of lips, of breaths that shivered and quickened with every second they stayed tangled.
Cleo broke away first, just enough to whisper, "Stay the night."
Riz looked into his eyes—really looked. "Only if I can stay every night."
And that did something to Cleo, deep in his chest. He nodded once.
Riz kissed him again, slower this time, hands skimming under the hem of Cleo's shirt as if to memorize the warmth of his skin. "You're shaking," he murmured.
"You're not exactly calm either," Cleo whispered, lips brushing Riz's jaw.
They moved together, stumbling toward the bathroom in a blur of hands and heat, leaving shoes and jackets in their wake. The bathroom light was soft and warm when Cleo flipped it on, casting them in golden glow.
Riz leaned against the sink, watching Cleo approach like he was something out of a dream.
"You sure about this?" Riz asked, voice low.
Cleo stepped between his legs and rested his hands at Riz's hips. "I've never been more sure of anything."
Fingers worked at buttons, at zippers. Layers came off slowly, carefully—like the moment demanded reverence. Their eyes stayed locked through every inch of skin revealed. When Cleo's shirt hit the tiled floor and Riz's hand ghosted over his chest, they both went still.
The kiss they shared next was deeper. Softer. Like a promise.
They stepped into the shower together, steam curling around them like smoke. Cleo's fingers were in Riz's hair, lips tracing down his throat, across his shoulder. Water slid over their skin, mixing with every breath, every shiver. Water poured down over them in rivulets, tracing the curves of their bodies, and Cleo watched as droplets slid along Riz's collarbone, catching on the line of his jaw.
"You're beautiful," he said softly, the words slipping out before he could second-guess them.
Riz's breath caught. He blinked once, then let out a soft laugh—nervous, touched, overwhelmed.
"You've never said that to me."Riz said.
"I've never let myself look at you like this," Cleo admitted. "But I've always known."
He moved closer, brushing their foreheads together as the warm water cascaded around them. Riz's hands came to rest on Cleo's chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
"Touch me like you mean it," Riz whispered.
Cleo did.
He kissed Riz under the water, slow and consuming. His hands skimmed along slick skin, across ribs, down a spine that arched into him. They moved like they were dancing—pressing close, shifting with instinct. The steam fogged the mirror behind them, cloaking the moment in privacy and heat.
Riz tilted his head back under the stream, water running through his hair as Cleo's mouth found the side of his neck. His breath hitched—sharp, involuntary.
"Cleo..."
It wasn't a question. It wasn't a warning.
It was an invitation.
And Cleo answered it, not with words, but with reverence in every touch.
They washed each other slowly, tenderly—like exploring one another was something sacred. Fingertips mapped collarbones, stomachs, shoulders. Lips followed. The world narrowed to water and warmth and breath.
By the time they stepped out of the shower, wrapped in towels and flushed from more than just the heat, Cleo's hands hadn't left Riz's skin for more than a few seconds. And Riz never stopped smiling—soft and stunned like someone who'd finally found home.
Cleo led him to the bed, peeling away the last of the barriers between them. The sheets were cool against their damp skin, the lamp casting soft, golden light across the room.
When their bodies met again, it was with no fear.
Only certainty.
Only fire.
---
The bed dipped beneath their weight as they fell into each other again, still damp, still breathless, still reeling. Cleo's fingers threaded through Riz's hair as they kissed with more certainty now—less hesitation, more intent. The storm had passed. What remained was heat. Gravity. Want.
Cleo hovered over Riz, gazing down at him like he still couldn't believe he was real.
"You're staring," Riz said, voice soft and amused, fingers tracing slow lines along Cleo's bare back.
"I know." Cleo kissed the corner of his mouth. "I've never wanted anything the way I want you."
Riz reached up, brushing his thumb over Cleo's cheek. "Then have me."
The words struck something deep in Cleo's chest. He leaned down and kissed him again, deeper, with his whole body this time. Their legs tangled in the sheets, their hands wandered freely, memorizing every inch they'd only dreamed about until now.
There was no rush. No pressure.
Just the steady build of trust and desire and emotion, all tangled into every kiss, every sigh, every whispered word between them.
"You feel like home," Riz murmured into Cleo's neck.
Cleo stilled. The words wrapped around his heart like a tether.
He kissed down Riz's chest, lingering, learning, loving with his mouth and hands. And when Riz's breath hitched—when he arched beneath him, fingers digging into Cleo's shoulder—Cleo smiled against his skin.
They moved together like music—slow, rhythmic, bodies in perfect sync. Touches turned into gasps, gasps into moans muffled in each other's skin.
It wasn't just about heat.
It was the way Cleo whispered Riz's name like it was something holy.
It was the way Riz clung to him, like he'd been waiting his whole life for this night.
It was the way they didn't need to speak to understand everything the other was feeling.
Time lost meaning.
When they finally collapsed into each other, skin damp with heat and affection, their hands never stopped moving—stroking, holding, grounding.
Cleo's head rested on Riz's chest, his arm draped over his waist. He could hear Riz's heartbeat, steady and strong beneath his ear.
"Still staying the night?" Cleo asked, a teasing smile in his voice.
Riz looked down, eyes glassy but soft. "I'm not going anywhere."
Cleo closed his eyes and let the warmth of Riz's body lull him into that soft space between wakefulness and sleep. His hand still rested against Riz's ribs, rising and falling gently with each breath. He could feel Riz's heartbeat—steady, soothing—like the rhythm of hom
The silence between them wasn't empty—it was full. Full of everything they had just said without words.
Cleo lay with his head resting on Riz's chest, fingers tracing lazy patterns across his side. Riz's hand moved slowly through Cleo's damp hair, their legs tangled under the sheets like they were afraid of drifting apart in sleep.
"You okay?" Riz asked after a moment, voice low and rough, like he hadn't spoken in hours.
Cleo nodded against his skin. "Better than okay."
Riz smiled, lips brushing Cleo's temple. "You're quiet. That's rare."
Cleo laughed softly. "I'm just... overwhelmed, I think. In a good way."
"Yeah?" Riz tilted his head, nudging Cleo gently so they could see each other better. "Tell me what's in that overthinking brain of yours."
Cleo propped himself up on one elbow, gaze open and unguarded. "I didn't think I'd ever get this. Not with you. Not with anyone. I thought I'd spend my life behind a screen, building circuits and designing systems, never really letting anyone in."
"You let me in," Riz said softly.
I didn't have a choice," Cleo replied with a crooked grin. "You kept showing up. You were always there—critiquing my projects, stealing my cafeteria seat, walking into my space like you belonged there."
"I did belong there," Riz said. "I do. I've always wanted to be where you are."
Cleo's throat tightened. "You liked me back then?"
Riz gave him a look. "Back then? Cleo, I liked you before I even understood what that meant. I used to ask my mom when we were going to visit yours just so I could see you."
Cleo blinked, stunned into silence for a second. "You never said anything."
You never looked at me," Riz said simply. "Not the way I looked at you."
"I was stupid," Cleo admitted.
"No," Riz said gently. "You were scared. I was too. But now..."
Cleo leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Riz's lips. "Now I'm here. With you."
Riz gave a small, relieved smile, brushing a thumb along Cleo's cheek. "I've wanted this—us—for so long. I still feel like I might wake up and realize I made it all up."
"You didn't," Cleo murmured. "I'm real. This is real."
"And tomorrow?" Riz asked, quietly. "What happens then?"
Cleo considered that for a moment. Then, with a small smile, he slid back down and rested his cheek against Riz's chest again. "Tomorrow, we get coffee. Maybe argue over what to watch on your laptop. You'll sketch something brilliant and call it 'a rough idea,' and I'll pretend not to be impressed."
Riz laughed softly. "You're always impressed."
Cleo smirked. "Okay, a little."
They both fell quiet again, the silence warm and full.
Then Cleo whispered, "Can I tell you something kind of ridiculous?"
"Always."
"I used to get jealous of your stupid pencils."
Riz blinked. "My... pencils?"
"You always carried them like they were precious. Like they knew all your secrets," Cleo said. "And I hated how close they got to you. You'd be sketching something with that look on your face, and I'd think, why doesn't he look at me like that?"
Riz's chest shook with quiet laughter. "Cleo, they were just pencils."
"Yeah, well, I was a dumb, jealous idiot."
"You were an adorable, oblivious idiot," Riz corrected, leaning down to kiss his forehead. "And now you're my adorable idiot."
Cleo smiled, eyes fluttering shut again. "Good. Because I'm not letting you go."
You don't have to," Riz whispered.
Sleep finally pulled at them in earnest now, limbs heavy, hearts full.
Wrapped around each other in the quiet safety of shared love, they drifted off—no longer rivals, no longer just friends.
But something deeper.
Something lasting.
---------------
End of Chapter Seven