Through the wall

VII

They walked into the hallway completely drenched. The rain was pouring down outside. Gun tried the light switch, but nothing happened.

"It's probably because of the storm. Wait here, I'll get some towels," he said, heading towards the downstairs bathroom.

He returned with two towels and handed one to Off. The room was dimly lit, their faces only visible when a distant flash of lightning lit up the sky. His neighbour took the towel he was offered and, to Gun's surprise, started drying his hair.

"Shh, stay still. You're soaked. If you don't dry off, you'll get sick," Off said as he began gently massaging Gun's head with the towel. Gun lifted his face and stared at him, feeling as if he were hypnotised. Time seemed to stand still; he couldn't even hear the rain anymore. It was just the two of them in the dark hallway.

A nearby lightning strike jolted him out of his trance. The windows, he remembered; he needed to close the windows.

"The windows, I have to close them," he muttered softly, still looking at Off. He turned and started up the stairs. At the foot of the staircase, he suddenly stopped and Off bumped into his back.

"Sorry, I can't see anything. I just wanted to go with you," Off explained.

"It's fine," Gun replied. He took Off's hand and placed it on the bannister, then grabbed his other hand and placed it on his shoulder. "Follow me carefully. Don't fall."

They walked up the stairs in silence, heading first to his sister's room, where they quickly closed the windows. They did the same in the hallway before moving to Gun's bedroom. The rain was hammering against that side of the house, so the floor was a bit wet near the French doors leading to the terrace—the same terrace that could be seen from Off's room. The storm was moving away, and the humid heat that usually followed a storm was already settling in.

Gun closed the French doors and turned around. He could see Off's silhouette in the dim light, standing on the carpet in his room. His heart started pounding again. He mumbled something about getting a cloth to wipe the floor and tried to make his way to the bathroom, but Off's hand caught him as he passed. He stopped, unsure of what to say. He hoped his instincts weren't betraying him; it felt like Off was flirting with him. No, Off was drunk and grieving. The best thing to do was to get out of the situation with as little damage as possible. Off would probably feel mortified the following day if he even remembered what had happened.

"No," was all Gun managed to say.

"No?" Off asked. In the dim light, Gun could see the hurt look on his face. He didn't want Off to think he wasn't interested. That couldn't be further from the truth—he just didn't want to take advantage of him in this state.

"I didn't mean it like that. Yes, yes I w—" The words never made it out. Off hugged him, lifting him off the floor to bring his face level with his. His breathing was heavy.

"I've wanted to do this since we walked into this house," Off's voice was deep and dark.

Gun felt his bones melting inside his body. He had never felt anything like it. Instinctively, he wrapped his legs around Off's waist as he began kissing him passionately. He couldn't think; the fever was flooding him. He felt Off pressing him against the wardrobe door and slipping his hand under his shirt, leaving a trail of fire wherever he touched. Gun responded by grabbing his neck with one hand and undoing the buttons of his Hawaiian shirt with the other. He needed to touch him, feel the warmth of his body; he wanted to bite him. His breathing grew increasingly ragged, in sync with Off's. He felt a yearning he had never experienced before.