#post argument

It felt like getting caught in the rain. Too sudden. Too honest.

You both looked away at the exact same time.

“Damn it,” you muttered under your breath, staring at the wall. You debated pulling your feet free, reclaiming your space, proving a point you were not even sure still mattered. Your pride urged you to move. Your heart hesitated.

Before you decided, you felt him shift.

Keeho’s leg slid closer, deliberate but gentle, his foot hooking more securely around yours. His back pressed into yours, heat spreading through the thin barrier of fabric. You stiffened, breath catching, every nerve lighting up.

He pulled you in tighter.

Not rough. Not forceful. Just enough to say something without saying anything at all.

You stayed quiet. So did he. Stubbornness was a language you both spoke fluently.

Your thoughts raced anyway. About how mad you were. About how unfair it felt. About how tired you were of being mad. You considered saying his name. You considered pulling away again. You considered pretending to still be asleep and letting the moment pass.

Instead, you felt his hand move.

Slowly, carefully, like he was giving you every chance to stop him, Keeho reached back. His fingers brushed your wrist once, barely there. You did not pull away. He took that as permission.

His hand found yours.

He did not lace your fingers right away. He just held your hand, palm to palm, thumb resting against your knuckles like a question. Your chest tightened, something soft and fragile blooming behind your ribs.

You let him.

Your fingers curled into his, fitting like they had always known how. His grip warmed, steady and grounding, like an anchor dropped quietly between you.

Neither of you spoke.

You felt his shoulders relax. You felt your own tension ease, just a little. The fight did not disappear. The words still waited somewhere between the sheets and the daylight. But this felt like a pause, like a breath taken together before the next sentence.

A small smile tugged at your lips before you could stop it.

You felt it when his thumb brushed your hand, a subtle movement that carried a smile of its own. You did not turn around again. Neither did he.

You stayed back to back, hands joined, feet tangled, sharing a silence that finally felt gentle instead of sharp.

Talking could wait.

For now, this was enough.

Theo

You woke up warm.

That was the first thing you noticed, before your thoughts caught up, before the memory of last night crept back in. Your arm was draped over a solid shape in front of you, your cheek pressed between his shoulder blades, your body curved perfectly to his back like you had planned it that way.

Theo.

Your breath hitched, just slightly. You blinked, still half-asleep, and for one dangerous second you let yourself enjoy it. The way his back rose and fell under your arm. The way his warmth soaked into you, familiar and grounding. The quiet morning air wrapped around you like a secret.

Then the fight came rushing back.

The sharp words. The frustration. The way neither of you had apologized. The way you had turned away from each other in bed, stubborn and hurt, pretending sleep would fix what pride refused to touch.

Your jaw tightened.

You had no idea how you ended up like this, clinging to him in your sleep like nothing was wrong. It made your cheeks heat with embarrassment, even as your heart betrayed you by softening.

You loosened your arm slowly, carefully, as if sudden movement might wake him and make everything worse. You told yourself you were still mad. You reminded yourself of everything you had not said. You shifted your weight back, inch by inch, pulling away from his back.

That was when his hand closed around your arm.

Firm. Certain.

You froze.

Theo stirred, just barely, his voice rough and low with sleep as he tightened his grip. “Don’t even think about it,” he mumbled, words slurred but intention crystal clear.

Before you could react, he pulled you back in.

Your chest pressed against his back again, your arm trapped comfortably against him as he tucked it closer, claiming the space you tried to abandon. His body shifted, settling deeper into the mattress, like this was exactly where you belonged.

You swallowed.

You considered saying something. Anything. His name. A complaint. A reminder that you were still upset, still hurt, still very much in the middle of something unresolved.

But the words stayed lodged in your throat.

Instead, you let your forehead rest against his shoulder. You adjusted your arm, not to escape, but to hold him properly this time. Your fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his shirt, breath evening out as you inhaled his scent. Clean laundry. Sleep. Something unmistakably him.

Theo exhaled slowly, a sound that felt like relief more than sleep.

Neither of you moved after that.

The anger did not vanish, but it dulled at the edges, softened by the steady rhythm of his breathing and the warmth of his body against yours. You were still mad. You knew you would have to talk later. You knew apologies were waiting somewhere in the morning light.

But right now, wrapped around him, you chose quiet.

You snuggled closer, pressing your cheek into his back, letting your legs tuck in behind his. His hand loosened slightly but never let go, fingers resting securely around your arm like a promise he was not ready to speak out loud.

Theo shifted just enough to angle his head toward you, not fully turning, just acknowledging you were there. Still holding him. Still choosing to stay.

The silence between you felt different than last night.

Softer. Safer.

You closed your eyes again, breathing him in, letting the moment stretch. Words could come later. Fights could be unraveled piece by piece.

For now, being here felt like enough.

Jiung

You were warm when you woke up.

Not just comfortably warm, but held-warm, the kind that made you hesitate before opening your eyes. Your head rested against something solid, steady beneath you. For a brief moment, you stayed still, half-asleep, letting the feeling linger.

Then you realized where you were.

Your cheek was pressed to Jiung’s chest, his heartbeat slow and even beneath your ear. His arm was loose around you, not tight, but close enough to keep you there. You remembered the fight immediately. The ugly one. The one that ended with both of you turning away in bed, refusing to talk, refusing to even look at each other.

Your stomach tightened.

But still, you drifted off to sleep again.

Jiung’s eyes opened slowly, adjusting to the morning light. The first thing he registered was the weight on his chest. The second was you. Your hair was spread across him, your face relaxed in sleep, far too peaceful for someone who had been such a pain in the ass the night before.

He stared at the ceiling for a moment, the argument replaying in his head. Your tone. His frustration. The way neither of you had backed down. He remembered thinking you were impossible. Stubborn. Exhausting.

Then he looked down at you again.

You sighed softly in your sleep, the sound barely more than a breath. Without waking, you shifted closer, your body instinctively seeking him out. Your hand slid across his stomach and settled there, fingers relaxed, trusting.

You did not know it, but that was the moment his tension broke.

Jiung felt his chest loosen, shoulders easing as if someone had quietly untied a knot inside him. He studied your face, the way your lashes rested against your cheeks, the faint crease between your brows that never quite went away. You looked nothing like the person he had argued with hours ago.

You looked small. Soft. Safe.

He let out a quiet breath, something between a sigh and a laugh, the corner of his mouth lifting despite himself. Whatever anger he had clung to felt dull now, blunted by the warmth of you against him.

Carefully, he lifted a hand and brushed his thumb along your hairline. The touch was slow and gentle, more instinct than decision. You hummed quietly in response and snuggled closer, pressing your weight into him as if you belonged there.

Jiung smiled.

He leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head. It was light, careful, and full of everything he was not ready to say yet. The apology he had not voiced. The affection he never questioned. The reassurance that the fight had not changed what mattered.

You stirred slightly but did not wake.

He reached for the blanket and pulled it higher, tucking it around both of you. He made sure your shoulder was covered, that no cold air could reach you. When his arm slid around your back, it felt natural, like it had always been there.

You breathed evenly against him, unaware of the thoughts racing through his head.

The fight still existed. Jiung knew that. It waited somewhere ahead, something that needed words and honesty and effort. But right now, with you curled into him like this, it did not feel impossible anymore.

You shifted again, settling more comfortably against his chest.

Jiung rested his chin lightly against your hair and closed his eyes, holding you just a little closer.

Talking could come later.

For now, this was enough.

Intak

You woke up too close to pretend you did not notice.

Your forehead rested against his, noses almost brushing, breaths mingling in the quiet morning air. Your fingers were tangled with his, hands fitting together like they had never let go. For a second, you stayed perfectly still, afraid that even blinking might break the moment.

You woke up first.

Intak was still asleep, his face relaxed in a way he never let anyone see when he was awake. No teasing grin. No dramatic expressions. Just soft lashes against his cheeks and lips slightly parted as he breathed. He looked peaceful. Younger, somehow. It made your chest tighten.

You studied him quietly, hesitant, conflicted. Last night’s fight hovered in the back of your mind like a bruise you kept poking. You were still upset. Still stubborn. Still convinced you had every right to be mad.

And yet here you were, holding his hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your thumb twitched against his without meaning to. You froze immediately, heart jumping. He did not move. You let out a slow breath and relaxed again, eyes tracing the familiar lines of his face.

Then he stirred.

You felt it before you saw it. A subtle shift. A change in his breathing. Panic flared, irrational and quick. Without thinking, you shut your eyes tight, face carefully smoothing into what you hoped looked like sleep.

You felt his gaze on you almost instantly.

Intak opened one eye, then the other, taking in the scene in front of him. The way your lashes fluttered just slightly. The tension pulled tight across your brow. The way your grip on his hand was just a little too firm for someone supposedly asleep.

A grin tugged at his lips.

He chuckled quietly, the sound low and warm, vibrating between you. You felt it more than heard it. He leaned forward just enough for his lips to brush yours, soft and brief, barely a kiss at all.

“Dramaqueen,” he murmured fondly against your mouth.

Your eyes snapped open.

You huffed, annoyance flaring as you glared at him. “I am not,” you muttered, even though the heat creeping into your cheeks betrayed you completely.

His grin widened.

Before you could pull away or say anything else, his hand tightened around yours and he tugged you closer. His other arm slid around your waist, closing the small space between you until there was nowhere left to retreat.

“Gotcha,” he said softly, amusement dancing in his eyes.

You opened your mouth to argue. To remind him you were still mad. To bring up the fight and all the unresolved words sitting heavy on your tongue.

He did not give you the chance.

Intak leaned in and kissed you properly this time.

It was deeper, slower, nothing rushed about it. His lips moved against yours with a confidence that made your thoughts scatter, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles as if grounding you there. You resisted for half a second out of stubborn habit, then melted into him with a quiet sigh.

He smiled into the kiss.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours again, breath warm against your lips. His eyes were bright, playful, but softer now, something sincere hiding beneath the teasing.

“You can't fool me,” he whispered.

You rolled your eyes, but you did not pull away. Your hands stayed linked. Your body stayed close. You let your forehead rest against his again, even as you tried to hold onto your glare.

He laughed, wrapping you up completely, arms secure around you like he had no intention of letting go. He pressed another kiss to your temple, lighter this time, affectionate and familiar.

The fight had not disappeared. You both knew that.

But tangled together like this, hands intertwined and foreheads touching, it felt less like a wall and more like a bump in the road.

And for now, wrapped in his warmth and laughter, you let yourself stay.

Soul

You woke up wrapped in him.

Not neatly. Not politely. Soul’s arm was slung over your waist, loose but firm, like it had claimed you sometime in the night and never let go. His chest was pressed to your back, every breath warm against your shoulder. His head was buried in the curve of your neck, nose tucked just beneath your jaw like it belonged there.

For a second, you forgot everything.

You let your eyes stay closed and breathed him in. The warmth. The steady rise and fall of his chest. The way his arm tightened just a little when you shifted, instinctive and possessive in a quiet way. It felt safe. It felt familiar.

Then the memory of the fight crept in.

Your mood soured instantly. The words you had thrown at each other the night before echoed in your head, sharp and unresolved. You stiffened, the comfort suddenly feeling unfair. You were still mad. You had every right to be.

You started to pull away.

You moved slowly, careful not to wake him, inching forward like you could escape without being noticed. The arm around your waist loosened for half a second.

Then it tightened.

“No,” Soul murmured, voice rough with sleep.

He pulled you back against him, one smooth motion, tucking you closer until your back fit perfectly against his chest again. His face pressed deeper into your neck, breath warm against your skin.

You frowned, irritation bubbling up again. “But I’m still mad,” you whispered, voice quiet but firm.

“I don’t care,” he replied immediately.

There was no hesitation. No teasing. Just certainty.

“You stay here.”

You went still.

You thought about snapping at him. About reminding him why you were upset. About listing every reason he was being unfair and stubborn and impossible. Your pride urged you to push back, to prove a point.

Instead, you inhaled.

His scent wrapped around you, familiar and grounding. Clean and warm, mixed with something uniquely him. His body heat soaked into you, chasing away the chill you had not realized you were holding onto. His arm stayed steady around your waist, thumb brushing slow, absent circles against your side like he was anchoring you in place.

Your shoulders dropped.

You melted before you could stop yourself.

You leaned back into him, the resistance draining out of your body as you relaxed against his chest. His breath evened out behind you, a soft sound of satisfaction escaping him when he felt you give in.

“Good,” he murmured, almost to himself.

You huffed quietly, more tired than annoyed now. “You’re annoying,” you said, though there was no bite left in it.

Soul smiled against your skin. You felt it.

He pressed a gentle kiss to your neck, unhurried and warm, not asking for forgiveness, not offering explanations. Just there. Present. Certain.

You stayed quiet, eyes closing again as you let yourself be held. The fight did not disappear, but it softened, blurred at the edges by the steady rhythm of his breathing and the comfort of his touch.

His arm tightened just a little more, like he was afraid you might change your mind. You did not.

You rested your hand over his arm, fingers curling lightly into his sleeve. The gesture was small but enough. He relaxed behind you, chin resting against your shoulder.

Whatever needed to be said could wait.

For now, wrapped in his warmth and his certainty, you let yourself stay exactly where he wanted you.

Right here.

Jongseob

You woke up trapped.

Not uncomfortable. Just… firmly held. Jongseob’s arm was wrapped around your waist, tight enough to make it clear you were not going anywhere, even in your sleep. His hand rested flat against your stomach, fingers curled slightly like he had pulled you close and never bothered to let go.

You blinked, staring at the wall in front of you.

The memory of last night hit immediately. The ugly fight. The words that came out sharper than you meant them to. The way you had gone to bed angry, backs turned, convinced you needed space more than comfort.

And yet here you were.

You shifted just a little, testing his grip. It did not loosen. If anything, it felt more possessive than accidental, like some part of him had decided while asleep that distance was not an option.

You turned your head carefully to look at him.

Jongseob was still asleep. His face was relaxed, lashes resting against his cheeks, mouth slightly parted. He looked unfairly peaceful for someone who had argued with you like that just hours ago. The sight made your chest ache in a quiet, annoying way.

You sighed.

“I hate you sometimes,” you mumbled softly, more tired than angry now.

You leaned forward just enough to press a light kiss to his cheek. It was brief and gentle, barely there, the kind of kiss meant more for yourself than for him. An unspoken truce you were not ready to announce.

You started to pull away.

You had barely lifted your shoulder when his arm tightened suddenly, rougher than before. In one quick movement, Jongseob dragged you back against him, your back hitting his chest again, breath knocked from your lungs in surprise.

“Hey,” you started, startled.

“I hate you too sometimes,” he said.

His voice was low and sleepy, words slurred just enough to prove he had been awake longer than you thought. He did not open his eyes. Instead, he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to your cheek, right where you had kissed him moments ago.

The audacity made your jaw drop.

“You're awake?” you asked, half annoyed, half embarrassed.

“Mm,” he hummed. His arm stayed locked around your waist, fingers tightening like punctuation. “Don’t overthink it.”

You scoffed, trying to twist around to face him, but he only pulled you closer, chin resting against your shoulder now. His breath was warm against your neck, steady and familiar.

You opened your mouth to say something. To argue. To remind him that the fight was not magically gone just because he was being like this.

“Shut up,” he murmured, cutting you off before you could start. There was no bite in it. Just a lazy confidence. “And cuddle me.”

You froze.

“Jerk,” you muttered, but your body betrayed you immediately. You relaxed back into him, shoulders dropping, tension melting out of you like it had been waiting for permission.

Jongseob smiled against your skin. You felt it.

He adjusted his grip, pulling you even closer until there was no space left between you. His arm stayed firm around your waist, grounding and secure, like he was daring the world to try and take you away.

The fight still existed. You knew that. He knew that too. But right now, wrapped up in his warmth, with his quiet breathing behind you and his stubborn affection refusing to let go, it felt less overwhelming.

You reached down and rested your hand over his arm, fingers curling into his sleeve.

He sighed contentedly.

“That’s better,” he said softly, already drifting back toward sleep.

You rolled your eyes, but you stayed exactly where you were.

She hadn’t raised her voice. Neither had you. That wasn’t your way.

But the silence after the disagreement had felt louder than any argument.

You needed time. You always did. The lights had been dimmed to your liking, sound filters active to muffle the city hum outside. The world was too much, and right now, so was she.

But even so... you hadn’t asked her to leave.

Robin stood and quietly removed her heels, letting the quiet of the room settle around her like a song waiting to be sung. Without speaking, she slid into bed behind you. She didn’t touch you at first—she knew better than to assume touch was okay without asking. But her presence was steady. Gentle.

A few minutes passed. The stillness was sacred.

Then you shifted slightly, your hand twitching behind you in a subtle reach. Robin caught it like a fragile note.

Her hand enveloped yours—soft, warm, grounded. Her thumb traced idle circles on your skin, no words spoken. She wasn’t trying to fix it. Not yet. You weren’t ready. She wasn’t sure if she was, either.

But in this moment, even without resolution, she offered you what she always did: resonance. A shared space. A heartbeat in harmony, even in dissonance.

“I’m here,” she whispered finally. “Even when we’re not okay.”

You squeezed her fingers in reply, and though your heart still hurt, you let yourself rest in the quiet rhythm of her breathing.

The argument had been about something stupid. At least, that’s what Himeko told herself. Maybe it wasn't stupid to you.

She had misunderstood your need for routine—dismissed your exhaustion as moodiness. When you tried to explain how disrupted you felt, she'd brushed it off without meaning to. The moment her tone changed, you shut down.

Now, the Astral Express hummed in the silence between you.

You’d locked yourself in your quarters for hours. When you finally opened the door, it was just to curl up on the lounge’s far end with your weighted blanket. You didn't look at her.

Himeko watched from across the room, heart aching. She was terrible at this—waiting. Sitting with guilt. Watching you stim quietly with your fingers, overwhelmed but too tired to explain again.

She crossed the room slowly, kneeling beside the couch. “May I sit with you?” she asked, voice low.

You didn’t answer, but you didn’t flinch either. So she sat. Close, but not touching.

Five long minutes passed.

Then you shifted the blanket to the side, just slightly, enough for her to understand. She moved under it carefully, mindful of space, of pressure. Her arm came around your shoulders like gravity—not heavy, not forceful, just... present.

Your breathing hitched. She felt you tremble.

“I messed up,” Himeko said quietly. “I wasn’t listening. I tried to fix instead of understand.”

Still no words from you. But your fingers found the edge of her jacket and clung there like a lifeline.

“We don’t have to talk it out now,” she said. “But I’m not going anywhere.”

The warmth between you wasn't resolution—but it was something. And for tonight, that was enough.

“You don’t trust me,” you’d said. “You think I’m fragile. Like I can’t handle being included in your choices.”

Aventurine had smiled too quickly. Deflected, as always. But you weren’t having it tonight.

So now? Silence.

You were on the suite’s floor with your headphones on, surrounded by comfort items and plush texture pillows. Aventurine leaned against the wall, arms crossed, chewing his inner cheek.

He hated this. The quiet wasn’t strategy—it was consequence. You were still hurting. And worst of all? He couldn’t smooth-talk his way out of this one.

He lowered himself to the floor with a sigh. Your eyes flicked to him but didn’t linger.

He stayed a few feet away, a deliberate gesture of respect.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel small,” he said, voice lower than his usual flippant tone. “I thought I was... protecting you. But I gambled with your autonomy. That was unfair.”

You turned your body away, but not completely. That tiny detail? He noticed.

“You don’t have to forgive me,” he added. “But I’d still like to be near you. Even if we’re not fine.”

After a long pause, you removed one side of your headphones and gave a small nod.

Aventurine moved closer, cautiously—like approaching a shy animal, or an injured friend. You leaned into his side. Not dramatically. Just a tilt of the shoulder.

His breath caught in his throat.

He slowly reached for your hand, his left this time—his unguarded hand. Vulnerable. Open.

And you took it.

No deal was struck. No apology was fully accepted. But as you leaned into him and he laid his head gently atop yours, the world softened for just a while.

Even in misalignment, you were still choosing closeness.

And for Aventurine… that was the rarest gamble of all.