Yash was wearing Shubman’s hoodie again.
It hung loose on him, the sleeves slightly too long, the scent of Shubman faint in the fabric — something between citrus, salt, and sandalwood.
He was pacing around the room barefoot, humming something under his breath, occasionally glancing at Shubman, who lay sprawled on the bed, watching like he couldn’t believe the view was his.
“Pacing again,” Shubman teased, propping himself on one elbow.
“Thinking,” Yash replied.
“Dangerous.”
Yash grinned, but his eyes flicked down, unsure. “Not when I’m thinking about you.”
They hadn’t touched each other in that way since the night in Yash’s room — the night of apologies and truth. It wasn’t fear that stopped them now. It was something gentler.
They were learning how to want without rushing.
But tonight…
Something shifted.
Shubman stood and walked over.
His hands slid to Yash’s waist, pulling him close. “You’ve been wearing this hoodie all day.”
“Smells like you,” Yash said, quiet.
Shubman smiled. “You could’ve just asked for me instead.”
“I’m asking now.”
He kissed Shubman — slow, but not shy.
It started soft. Familiar.
Then it deepened.
The hoodie was tugged halfway off.
Shubman’s hands explored bare skin — the dip of Yash’s back, the curve of his waist. His mouth moved to Yash’s neck, then lower.
He dropped to his knees without a word, looking up.
But the second his fingers touched the waistband of Yash’s pants—
Yash flinched.
Hard.
Not theatrical.
Real.
Shubman froze.
Yash stepped back quickly, breath uneven, hand gripping his own wrist like he was grounding himself.
“I—sorry. I’m sorry—”
“Hey,” Shubman said, gently standing. “No. Don’t apologize.”
“I didn’t mean to kill the moment, I just—”
“You didn’t kill anything.”
Yash looked like he didn’t believe him. His chest rose and fell in shallow pants. His eyes didn’t meet Shubman’s.
Shubman reached out but stopped just short. “Can I touch you?”
Yash nodded.
So he did — hands light on Yash’s arms, steadying.
“I’ll wait,” Shubman whispered. “As long as you need. I’m not here for that if you’re not ready. I’m here for you.”
Yash closed his eyes.
Let himself lean into Shubman’s chest.
And for a while, they stood like that.
No kisses.
No hands wandering.
Just holding.
Later that night, they lay side by side in bed again, feet tangled, everything else quiet.
VOCÊ ESTÁ LENDO
Not In The Script...
RomanceIt was supposed to be fake. But the jealousy felt a little too real. When a staged romance between Shubman Gill and Yashasvi Jaiswal explodes across headlines, they're forced to play along. But as the lines blur, feelings twist into something neithe...
