Definitely Romance

Fadel stepped out of the bar, the night air hitting his face like a slap he probably deserved.

He exhaled, slow and measured, like that would do anything to steady the mess inside him. It didn't. His pulse was still erratic, his skin still tingling with the ghost of a touch that shouldn't have meant a damn thing.

But it did.

He had felt it-the way Kant froze when he grabbed his wrist, the way his breathing shifted, the way his usual cocky, untouchable mask had cracked, just for a second. Fadel hadn't imagined it.

And that made this worse.

Because leaving was supposed to fix it.

But all it had done was sharpen something inside him, make it cut deeper when he finally saw Kant again. He had walked into that bar expecting irritation, maybe some mocking words, maybe even relief at confirming that Kant was still the same infuriating bastard he had always been.

Instead, he had been met with something else.

Something he couldn't shake.

His feet carried him aimlessly down the sidewalk, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, fingers twitching as if they still remembered the warmth of Kant's skin. He clenched his jaw, forcing himself to focus on the sounds of the city, the distant hum of traffic, the buzz of neon lights overhead. Anything but what had just happened.

"I shouldn't have come."

He had meant it when he said it.

But now, as the bar faded behind him and the space between them stretched again, he wasn't so sure.

Fadel walked without direction, his mind a tangled mess of thoughts he didn't want to be having. The night was quiet, the city moving in its usual rhythm, but all he could hear was his own pulse, his own damn breathing, and Kant's voice in his head.

That look.

That moment.

Kant had felt it too. Fadel knew it now. He wasn't just imagining things, wasn't just driving himself insane over nothing. Kant had looked at him like-like what? Like this whole thing was wrecking him just as much?

That thought alone made Fadel's chest tighten.

And that was bad.

Because Fadel had spent years keeping himself untangled, unbothered. He wasn't the kind of guy who sat around dissecting feelings. He wasn't the type to let someone get under his skin like this. Like Kant had.

And yet here he was, walking the streets like some lost idiot, replaying a moment that shouldn't matter.

Except it did.

With a frustrated sigh, he stopped, leaning back against the rough brick of a building, closing his eyes. He needed to shut this down. Forget it. Bury it.

But when he did, all he saw was Kant, still sitting on that couch, still staring at him like Fadel had just made things ten times worse by walking away.

And the worst part?

He wasn't sure if he regretted leaving... or if he regretted not staying.

Fadel stood there, caught in the chokehold of his own thoughts, the world blurring around him. The steady beat of his heart drummed in his ears, drowning out everything else, until he lost track of time altogether. The cool air did nothing to clear his mind, and each second seemed to stretch longer, as if the city itself was holding its breath along with him. He couldn't shake the image of Kant's face-the way he'd looked at him, the way his mask had cracked, even if only for a moment.

And just as Fadel thought he might finally get some clarity, his phone buzzed in his pocket, pulling him out of the haze. He glanced at the screen-Style.

He answered immediately, trying to shake off the unsettled feeling that had settled in his stomach.

"Yea?" Fadel said, trying to keep his voice steady.

But Style's frantic tone sent a chill straight through him.

"Fadel, where the hell are you?" Style's voice was sharp, panicked, and Fadel's stomach dropped. "Listen, a fight broke out at the bar. Bison and Kant got caught up in it-things got ugly."

Fadel's blood ran cold. His grip tightened around the phone. "What? Is everyone okay?"

"Shit, I don't know, man," Style's voice wavered. "Bison's fine, but Kant-Fadel, Kant's hurt."

The words hit him like a punch to the gut. He didn't know why, but hearing it-hearing Kant was hurt-sent a surge of panic through his veins that he couldn't shake.

"Wait, what the hell happened?!" Fadel demanded, his voice growing urgent.

"I don't know all the details, but..." Style hesitated, then dropped the bomb. "They're saying it's bad. You need to get back here."

Before Style could say anything else, Fadel ended the call. He didn't need another word.

His feet were already moving, turning him around, sending him back down the streets faster than he could think.

Back to that damn bar.

Back to the mess he'd tried to walk away from.

But this time, he wasn't walking away. This time, he was running.

Fadel's footsteps faltered as he stepped inside, the familiar hum of the bar making the tension in his chest feel more ridiculous by the second. The place was normal. The music played in the background, the chatter and clink of glasses filled the air, and everything looked exactly the same.

Bison and Style were sitting at their usual spot, chatting like nothing was wrong, as if Fadel hadn't just bolted halfway across town at the drop of a hat.

Fadel's confusion deepened, his mind spinning in circles. What the hell was going on? The frantic call, the panic, the urgency-it had all felt so real, so sharp. And now?

Nothing.

Fadel stood there for a moment, locked in place, staring at them both. Then, the frustration hit him, raw and fast. His hands clenched into fists at his sides.

"Are you kidding me?" he spat, his voice laced with disbelief as he stormed toward them. "You two-what the hell is this?"

Before he could get any closer, Bison stood up, moving quickly to place himself between Fadel and Style. He raised a hand, calm but firm. "Easy, Fadel."

Fadel barely stopped in time, still fuming, his chest heaving with anger. "You lied to me," he ground out. "You made me-"

But Bison cut him off with a slow, deliberate exhale, his voice taking on a more serious tone. "No, you lied to yourself."

Fadel blinked, thrown off by the shift in Bison's demeanor. He opened his mouth to argue, but Bison kept going, eyes piercing through him like they could see straight into his chest.

"Why'd you lose your shit and run here so fast if Kant didn't matter to you?" Bison's words hit harder than Fadel expected. "You think we couldn't tell? Why'd you jump at the first sign of trouble if you didn't care? It shouldn't matter. Right?"

The question hung in the air like a challenge, and for a moment, Fadel couldn't breathe.

It shouldn't matter. Right?

It should've been a simple thing-he'd gotten a call about a fight. It should've been a passing concern. He wasn't supposed to care this much.

But standing here, now, the silence between them pressing against him, Fadel couldn't avoid the truth any longer. He could feel the pulse of it in his veins-the fact that his reaction hadn't been about a fight at all. It hadn't been about Kant being in trouble. It had been about something deeper, something he couldn't hide anymore.

His frustration twisted inside him, his chest tightening in ways he didn't want to acknowledge. But he didn't say anything. He didn't need to. Bison had seen it. Style had probably seen it too, judging by the smirk on his face.

They both knew.

Fadel swallowed hard, trying to push past the mess of emotions that threatened to choke him. "This is a joke, right?" His voice came out hoarse, even to his own ears.

Bison shook his head slowly. "No joke, Fadel. You think we're just messing with you? No. We're trying to help you see something." He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "You need to figure out why you're acting like this. You need to stop running from it."

Fadel's mind reeled, his thoughts a blur of frustration, confusion, and something much rawer than he was ready to confront. He glanced toward the door, his pulse quickening again, but he didn't move.

He didn't know what to say. How could he?

He had just spent weeks trying to convince himself he didn't care. That Kant was just some distant, frustrating part of his life he didn't need to waste any more energy on. But now?

Now, standing here, with Bison and Style's knowing looks burning into him-he couldn't ignore it anymore.