⚠️ Author's Note:
Before Goa, before the beach and the bruised hips and the moaning--there was a night in Delhi where something shifted, quietly, dangerously.
(Note: The characters now wear new names, Ishaan and Vikram. But the tension, the heat, the fall? Still exactly the same.)
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February 2020.
Third year of college. The world still felt wide open.
Classes were done for the week, and Delhi had begun to flirt with spring. The worst of the winter was behind them, but nights still had a bite. Ishaan's roommate Kunal had packed up after their Friday morning lecture, mumbling something about a cousin's wedding back home. He'd barely changed out of his jeans before hauling his backpack over one shoulder and heading out.
Which meant Ishaan had the dorm to himself. A rare luxury.
By late evening, Vikram landed up at Ishaan's room after lab, like always. Kunal wasn't around, so he just kicked off his slippers and stretched out on the other bed without saying much.
Ishaan didn't even pretend to be surprised when he opened the door and saw him standing there.
Ishaan barely glanced up. "Lab run late?"
"Yeah. Too lazy to walk back."
"So you are crashing here?" Ishaan asked, stepping aside without waiting for an answer.
"Obviously," Vikram said, walking in and tossing his phone and keys onto Kunal's empty desk like he owned the place.
They'd known each other almost since day one -- the two hottest, most visible freshers of their batch, always introduced at parties like a matching set. "You know Vikram, right? Oh, you have to meet Ishaan." One from Delhi, the other from Chandigarh. One wiry and fast-talking, the other broad and still. Where one led, the other followed -- and sometimes, it wasn't clear who was doing what. That first semester, they'd sized each other up like rivals. But somewhere between hostel ragging, late-night chai, and gym sessions that turned competitive, they just clicked.
Now, halfway through college, they were just... a unit. Room or no room, they'd shared too many nights together already -- post-party crashes, late assignment grinds, nights they couldn't sleep and just talked till morning.
This was normal. Expected. Easy.
Ishaan flopped back onto his bed, flicked on his laptop, and shoved aside a half-finished packet of Uncle Chipps. "I swear to God, if Netflix keeps showing me this scammy 'Top 10 in India' bullshit..."
"You're the idiot who watches everything halfway," Vikram said, already toeing off his sneakers.
"You wanna pick?"
"I'll judge everything you pick."
Ishaan grinned. "So what's new?"
They scrolled aimlessly for a bit, half-mocking trailers, until Ishaan gave up and switched tabs. "Fuck it. Let's just watch something dumb."
He pulled up a loud cricket highlights compilation on YouTube -- a throwback to Dhoni's last glory days. It turned into them yelling over stats, mocking commentators, and taking turns mimicking Ravi Shastri's voice. At one point, Ishaan tried to pause the screen to prove Kohli's foot was clearly behind the crease; Vikram insisted otherwise just to piss him off.
Soon, the verbal sparring turned physical.
Vikram lunged--forearms crashing, their muscles grinding under the strain. Sweat had already begun to film on their skin.
Ishaan's breath hitched as Vikram shifted his weight, pinning him down harder.
"You're done," Vikram grunted.
"You wish," Ishaan gritted, muscles tensing.
For a second, they were locked in position -- forearms flexed, breath held, each waiting for the other to give in.
Ishaan, straining, managed to twist and pull Vikram toward him instead, toppling him sideways onto the mattress with a victory laugh. "Gotcha, bitch."
"Oh really?"
That's when it escalated.
They wrestled. Not the kind of childish horsing around you outgrow in middle school, but the kind that still happened between guys who weren't afraid to throw their weight around. Shirtless, breathless, tangled -- it wasn't playful so much as competitive, like a secret scoreboard was always running in their heads.
Ishaan climbed on top, trying to pin Vikram's wrists down.
"You're not stronger than me," he huffed.
"Yeah?" Vikram smirked. And in one sharp, effortless movement, he bucked upward, tossing Ishaan off like he weighed nothing.
Ishaan landed with a thud on the other side of the bed, winded, blinking up at the ceiling.
For a second, there was only the sound of their breathing, rough and uneven.
"You been getting soft?" Vikram asked, amused, lying back with his hands behind his head like nothing had happened.
Ishaan rubbed his ribs, half-laughing, half-impressed. "Bro. You could probably crack a man's spine."
Vikram shrugged. "Leg day."
Eventually, the adrenaline wore off. Ishaan got up and started digging through his drawer for his sleepwear.
Ishaan stood now in just his black boxers -- lean, lithe, skin smooth like he didn't even grow body hair. He bent to fold his jeans, and Vikram, without meaning to, glanced over.
It was just a moment.
But the curve of Ishaan's ass caught his eye -- firm, round, too shapely for his otherwise sharp, masculine frame. That slim waist didn't help.
Vikram looked away. Thought nothing of it. Or told himself he didn't.
He stripped to his own boxers too -- grey ones that sat snug over his thicker thighs and heavier frame. As he folded his shirt and tossed it onto the chair, Ishaan gave a mock-wince.
"Bro, you're built like a gym instructor."
"Because I actually lift."
"Shut up."
"You still taking the right?" Ishaan asked, already moving toward the bed.
"Obviously."
"Good. Kunal's blanket's in the wash -- still damp."
"So we're sharing?"
"Unless you want to freeze."
Vikram snorted. "What a delicate princess."
"Say that again when you're clinging to me at 3 a.m.," Ishaan muttered, flipping the double blanket open.
They slid under the shared blanket, careful not to touch. The bed was technically two singles pushed together -- not unusual in hostels -- but still narrow enough to keep things close. The air was cool, the ceiling fan rotating lazily overhead. Outside, faint chatter drifted up from the corridor.
It was late. They should've just slept.
But they never did.
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At some point, the noise of the city slipped into the background. The room settled into a hush, the kind that arrives only when night has truly taken hold.
"Man," Ishaan said, adjusting his back against the headboard, "I could've been at eight by now."
Vikram turned his head lazily. "Eight?"
"Yeah. That NRI chick from last week? The one who wore the thigh-highs."
Vikram nodded. He already knew this--he'd seen the DMs and the picture Ishaan had triumphantly shared in the hostel group. But Ishaan kept going.
"Would've been eight if her roommate hadn't come back early. Had my pants halfway down, bro." He gave a regretful chuckle. "Fucking ruined it."
