Fluffy Oneshots

The Things We Never Said

It had been six years.

Six years since Win had last seen Bright.

Six years since they had stood in the same room, exchanged a few ordinary words, and walked away pretending that leaving was easy.

Win had gotten very good at pretending.

He had a good job now. A small apartment. Friends who knew him well enough to notice when he was quiet but not well enough to know why.

And he had stopped checking Bright's social media.

Mostly.

So when Win walked into the hotel conference room that afternoon and saw him standing near the windows, his first thought was absurdly simple.

He's still beautiful.

Bright turned at almost the exact same moment.

Their eyes met.

For a second, neither moved.

Then Bright smiled.

Not the polite smile he gave strangers.

The familiar one.

The one that made Win remember things he had spent years trying not to remember.

"Win?"

Win swallowed.

"Bright."

A pause.

"Long time."

"Yeah."

Bright looked him over briefly.

"You haven't changed."

Win gave a small laugh.

"That's a lie."

"Maybe a little."

"You look exactly the same."

Bright's smile widened.

"Still lying, I see."

Win laughed.

And somehow, just like that, six years disappeared.

They spent the rest of the afternoon surrounded by other people.

They talked about work.

About old colleagues.

About how the company had changed.

About people they hadn't spoken to in years.

Everything except the one thing both of them were thinking about.

At one point, Win reached for a cup of coffee at the same time Bright did.

Their fingers brushed.

Both immediately pulled away.

"Sorry."

"Sorry."

They looked at each other.

Then laughed.

"Still awkward," Bright said.

"You're the awkward one."

"Me?"

"Definitely."

Bright shook his head.

"Some things really haven't changed."

Win smiled.

But his eyes dropped to the coffee cup.

Because there were too many things that hadn't changed.