Reo lay on his back, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting warm hues over the room. Nagi hovered above him, his silver hair falling like a curtain as he pressed a series of slow, tender kisses to Reo’s jawline.

The moment was quiet, intimate—Nagi’s hands carefully tracing patterns along Reo’s sides, his touch light and nonintrusive. For a brief second, Reo let himself sink into the comfort of it, his fingers curling into the fabric of Nagi’s shirt.

But then, the warmth shifted.

The brush of Nagi’s hand against his hip sent a flash of memory tearing through Reo’s mind, unbidden and sharp. A voice that wasn’t Nagi’s. A touch that was too rough, too demanding. The air in the room felt heavier, the walls closer, and suddenly he couldn’t breathe.

“Reo?” Nagi’s voice broke through, soft but concerned. He’d stopped moving, his gray eyes scanning Reo’s face with quiet worry.

Reo’s chest heaved as he tried to catch his breath. His fingers had frozen against Nagi’s shirt, gripping tightly, his knuckles pale.

“I—I can’t,” Reo stammered, his voice trembling. “I’m sorry, Nagi, I—”