A few kisses won't ruin our friendship

by Anonymous

Summary:

Tutor and Yim are best friends... at a party at their house, a childish game of seven minutes in heaven was played with updated rules... the bottle lands on Tutor and Yim and they locked in the closet and things heat up quickly

Chapter 1

The bass from the speaker thumped through the floorboards, a steady rhythm to the chaos of their shared living room.

Empty beer bottles and chip bags littered every surface, a testament to a Friday night well-spent. Tutor leaned against the doorframe, a fond smile on his face as he watched his friends argue over a board game.

It was Yim who proposed the nuclear option.

“This is boring!” he announced, slamming his cards down on the coffee table. “We’re adults acting like we pay taxes for fun. Let’s play something real.”

A chorus of “What?” and “Like what?” echoed around him.

Yim’s eyes, bright with mischief and a few too many beers, scanned the room. They landed on the hall closet, the big one that held winter coats and forgotten luggage. A wicked grin spread across his face. “Seven minutes in heaven.”

The room erupted. Laughter, protests, a thrown pillow that hit Yim square in the chest.

“We’re twenty-five, not fifteen Love cried, though she was already scooting closer to the circle.

“Exactly!” Yim retorted, standing up. “Which means we can play it properly. No pecks on the cheek. Real rules. You get drawn, you go in. Whatever happens, happens. No judgment.”

Tutor felt a familiar twist of anxiety in his gut. This was a terrible idea. He’d had a low-grade, soul-crushing crush on his best friend Yim for approximately three years.

The idea of being locked in a dark, confined space with him, with this particular group of friends egging them on, was a special kind of torture.

His protest died in his throat as Yim found an empty bottle and placed it in the center of the circle.

“Come on, live a little, Tutor,” Yim said, catching his eye. The challenge in his gaze was playful, but it sent a jolt straight through Tutor. “Unless you’re scared?”

And that was that. Tutor couldn’t back down from a challenge, especially not from Yim.

The first few spins were harmless. Love and Milk ended up in the closet, emerging seven minutes later with Milk’s lipstick smudged and Love’s face bright red.

Next was Por and Teetee, who came out laughing, claiming they’d just spent the whole time complaining about their bosses.

Tutor’s heart hammered against his ribs with every spin. He willed the universe to let it land on anyone else. Anyone but him and Yim. Or, a traitorous part of his brain whispered, only on him and Yim.

The universe, it seemed, was in a mischievous mood.

Yim gave the bottle a fierce spin. They all watched, breath held, as it slowed, wobbled, and pointed definitively at Tutor. Before he could even process it, the bottle continued its dying rotation and settled squarely on Yim.

The room exploded. This was the jackpot. The pairing everyone low-key wanted to see but never spoke about.

“NO WAY!” Teetee yelled, already shoving Tutor toward the closet.

Yim just laughed, that loud, unselfconscious bark that Tutor loved. He got up, a swagger in his step, and let himself be pushed along. “Looks like you’re mine, Tutor,” he teased, and Tutor’s brain short-circuited.

The closet door was yanked open. They were shoved inside, a tangle of limbs, and the door slammed shut behind them. The click of the lock was deafening.

Darkness. Total, suffocating darkness. The thump of the music was muffled here, replaced by the sound of their own ragged breathing. The air was thick with the scent of old wool and cedar.

“Well,” Yim’s voice came from a few inches away, laced with amusement. “This is… cozy.”

Tutor could feel the heat radiating from Yim’s body. The closet was smaller than he remembered. Their shoulders were touching. “Yeah. Cozy.”

An awkward silence descended, punctuated by the muffled catcalls of their friends from the other side of the door. Tutor was hyper-aware of every point of contact, every shift of fabric.

“We don’t actually have to do anything, you know,” Tutor mumbled, trying to sound casual. “We can just wait it out.”

Yim was quiet for a moment. Tutor could almost hear him thinking. “They’ll know,” he said softly. “They’ll give us shit for eternity if we come out and nothing’s even rumpled.”

“So what? Let them.”

Another silence. Then, Yim shifted. Tutor felt a hand brush against his arm in the dark, sending a spark of electricity up his spine. “It’s just seven minutes, Tutor. It’s not a big deal. It’s just a game.”

Tutor’s breath hitched. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying…” Yim’s voice was closer now, a low murmur right by his ear. “A few kisses won’t ruin our friendship. Right?”

The words were a permission slip Tutor never knew he needed. All the repressed want, the years of stolen glances and ‘friendly’ touches that lingered a second too long, came rushing to the surface.

“Right,” Tutor breathed, the word barely a whisper.

He didn’t know who moved first. Maybe they both did. Suddenly, Yim’s lips were on his.

It wasn’t tentative. It wasn’t a joke. It was hungry and deep, a collision of pent-up everything. Yim’s hands came up to cradle Tutor’s face, his thumbs stroking his jawline.

Tutor groaned, his own hands finding Yim’s hips, pulling him flush against him until there was no space left between them, until Tutor could feel the frantic beat of Yim’s heart against his own.

This was not a game. This was a revelation.

Yim kissed like he did everything else—with full, reckless abandon. His tongue swept into Tutor’s mouth, tasting of beer and something uniquely, addictively Yim.

Tutor gave as good as he got, his fingers digging into the soft fabric of Yim’s shirt, anchoring himself as the world tilted off its axis.

They broke apart, gasping for air in the stifling dark.

“Yim…” Tutor started, his voice ragged.

“Shhh,” Yim whispered, connecting their mouths again. This kiss was slower, more exploratory, but no less intense.

It was a kiss that asked questions Tutor was terrified to answer. Yim’s body pressed him back against the wall of coats, the hangers rattling softly with the movement. Tutor let himself be maneuvered, his head spinning.

He slid his hands under Yim’s shirt, splaying his fingers across the warm, smooth skin of his back. Yim shuddered against him, a broken sound escaping his throat that went straight to Tutor’s core. This was crossing a line. They were burning the whole map.

Yim’s mouth left his, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down his jaw, his neck, nipping at the sensitive spot just above his collarbone. Tutor’s head fell back against the wall with a soft thud, a moan torn from his lips.

“They’re going to hear,” he gasped, even as he tilted his head to give Yim better access.

“Let them,” Yim growled against his skin, echoing Tutor’s earlier sentiment but with a completely different, devastating meaning.

The handle of the door jiggled violently. “TIME’S UP!” someone, probably Love, yelled. “Come out, you animals!”

They froze, panting in the dark, their foreheads pressed together. The real world came crashing back in, harsh and blinding.

Yim pulled back first. Tutor heard him smooth down his shirt, take a steadying breath. Tutor did the same, his hands trembling. He could still feel the brand of Yim’s lips on his, the ache of his stubble on his skin.

The door swung open, flooding the closet with light. Tutor blinked, his eyes stinging. Their friends’ grinning faces peered in, ready with jokes that died on their lips.

The atmosphere was too charged. The air too thick. They looked… ravaged. Tutor’s lips were swollen, Yim’s hair was a mess, and both their shirts were crooked.

“Whoa,” Por said his eyes wide. “You guys… really played the game.”

Yim was the first to recover. He forced a laugh, slinging an arm around Tutor’s shoulders. It felt like a brand. “Told you we would,” he said, his voice impressively steady. “Nothing we can’t handle. Right, bestie?”

He looked at Tutor, and for a split second, Tutor saw it—the same wild, terrified confusion that was currently shredding his own insides. Then the shutters came down, and Yim’s expression was all easy-going charm again.

“Right,” Tutor said, the word ash in his mouth. “No big deal.”

But it was a very big deal.

That night, things were never the same again. The easy camaraderie was gone, replaced by a tense, electric current that crackled between them every time they were in the same room.

A casual touch now felt like a lightning strike. A held glance lasted a moment too long, filled with unspoken questions and the searing memory of seven minutes in the dark.

Their friendship hadn’t been ruined. It had been set on fire. And Tutor had no idea if they could ever put it out, or if they were both just going to let it burn.

Chapter 2

Notes:

Well since you guys wanted more.... here's more.. thank you for your suggestion Ann_Dovan and thanks yall for liking and reading ☺️ ☺️

The morning after was a special kind of agony.

Tutor woke up with a pounding headache that had very little to do with alcohol and everything to do with the phantom sensation of Yim’s lips on his.

The memory played on a loop behind his eyes the shocking softness of his mouth, the scrape of stubble, the desperate, clutching grip of his hands. The sounds he’d made.

He stumbled into the kitchen, hoping for water, aspirin, and solitude.

Yim was already there.

He was leaning against the counter, nursing a glass of water, staring blankly at the coffee machine as if it held the secrets of the universe.

He looked up as Tutor entered, and for a single, unguarded moment, his eyes widened with a flash of pure, undiluted panic. It was there and gone so fast Tutor almost thought he’d imagined it.

“Hey,” Yim said. His voice was rough, like he hadn’t used it yet.

“Hey,” Tutor replied, his own voice just as gravelly.

The air between them was thick enough to chew. Tutor busied himself getting a glass, hyper-aware of Yim’s every movement just a few feet away. The silence was a living thing, pulsing with everything they weren’t saying.

Did that really happen? Why did you kiss me like that? Do you feel this terrifying chasm between us now too?

“So,” Yim finally said, clearing his throat. “Last night was… something.”

Tutor’s grip tightened on his glass. “Yeah.”

“The guys won’t shut up about it. My phone’s been blowing up.” Yim gave a weak chuckle that didn’t reach his eyes. “Teetee asked if we need to schedule a wedding.”

Tutor forced a smile, a hollow imitation of his usual ease. “Hilarious.”

Another agonizing silence. Tutor could feel Yim’s gaze on him, but he couldn’t bring himself to meet it. He just stared at the sink.

“Look,” Yim said, pushing off the counter. “It was a game. We got a little… carried away. But it’s us. You and me. We’re cool, right?”

It was the script Tutor had been hoping for. The easy out. The dismissal that would let them slide back into normalcy. So why did it feel like a punch to the gut?

“Right,” Tutor said, nodding a little too vigorously. “Of course. It was nothing.”

The word nothing tasted like ash.

“Exactly.” Yim clapped him on the shoulder.

The contact was a jolt of lightning. Tutor flinched, and Yim snatched his hand back as if he’d been burned. They both stood frozen for a second, the simple, friendly gesture now loaded with unspoken tension.

“I’m gonna… go shower,” Yim muttered, quickly walking out of the kitchen.

Tutor let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. Cool. Nothing. Us.

It was the biggest lie they’d ever told.

The attempt at normalcy was a spectacular failure. Every interaction became a minefield.

---

A week later, they were on the couch, watching a movie with Teetee and Por. It was a usual Friday night, but nothing felt usual.

Tutor was painfully aware of the few inches of space between his leg and Yim’s. The casual way Yim usually threw his arm over the back of the couch felt like a threat now, a promise of contact that never came.

During a quiet scene, Yim reached for the bowl of popcorn in Tutor’s lap. His fingers brushed against Tutor’s thigh.

It was an accident. Innocent.

Tutor’s entire body went rigid. His breath hitched. Yim’s hand stilled, his fingers resting on Tutor’s jeans for a fraction of a second too long.

Tutor dared to glance over. Yim wasn’t looking at the popcorn. He was staring at his own hand on Tutor’s leg, his expression unreadable.

He slowly retracted his hand, as if moving through syrup, and didn’t take any popcorn.

Tutor spent the rest of the movie achingly hard, every nerve ending on fire from that tiny, accidental touch.

The tension wasn't just awkward, it was deeply, unbearably sexual. It was in the way Tutor would catch Yim staring at his mouth during conversations, only for Yim to quickly look away, his ears turning pink.

It was in the way Yim’s laughter would sometimes die in his throat when Tutor entered a room, his eyes doing a quick, sweeping scan of Tutor’s body before he consciously stopped himself.

It was in the dreams. Tutor started having vivid, wrenching dreams that would leave him sweating and gasping awake, the sheets tangled around his waist.

Dreams of that closet, but without the locked door. Dreams of Yim’s hands not on his face, but elsewhere.

One afternoon, they were in the gym in their building, the only two there. Tutor was spotting Yim on the bench press.

It was a routine they’d done a hundred times. But now, standing over him, his hands hovering near the bar, Tutor was mesmerized.

He watched the sweat track down Yim’s temple, the strain of the muscles in his neck, the way his t-shirt rode up, exposing a strip of taut stomach with every press.

Yim finished his set and sat up, breathing heavily. He caught Tutor staring. Instead of making a joke, he just… held his gaze.

The air in the empty gym grew heavy and hot. Tutor’s eyes dropped to Yim’s mouth. He saw Yim’s tongue dart out to wet his lips.

The desire to kiss him again was a physical ache, a pull deep in Tutor’s gut. He took a half-step forward.

The clang of the weight bar settling back into the rack broke the spell. Yim looked away, wiping his face with a towel. “I think I’m done,” he said, his voice strained.

“Yeah,” Tutor agreed, his own voice tight. “Me too.”

They were drowning in it. The unspoken thing. The memory of those seven minutes was a ghost that haunted every room, every glance, every accidental brush of hands.

They were trying to act normal, but the foundation of their friendship had been cracked wide open, and pouring out of it was a raw, hungry tension that neither of them knew how to handle.

They were trying to pretend it was nothing. But it was everything. And the longer they pretended, the more volatile it became. Something had to give.

Notes:

Sorry it's short guys.... The final chapter might be posted tomorrow and would be longer than this one...

Chapter 3

Notes:

This is guys... thanks for reading and liking and commenting... they make me so happy 😊

The breaking point came, as they often do, on a completely ordinary and random Tuesday.

It had been three weeks. Three weeks of stolen glances that felt like accusations, of casual touches that sizzled like live wires. 

Three weeks of Yim diligently following their unspoken script It was nothing. We’re cool. It’s us.

But it wasn’t nothing. They weren’t cool. And Tutor had no idea who us was anymore.

The catalyst was insignificant. Yim was stretched out on their living room floor, trying to fix the leg on a wobbly side table.

He was on his back, a screwdriver in hand, his tongue poking out in concentration. His shirt had ridden up, exposing a smooth, tan strip of his abdomen and the trail of dark hair that disappeared into the waistband of his low-slung sweats.

Tutor was frozen in the doorway, a bag of groceries forgotten in his hands. He watched the play of muscle under Yim’s skin as he worked, the way his sweatpants hung precariously low on his hips.

The memory of that closet, of Yim’s weight against him, of the taste of his mouth, slammed into Tutor with the force of a physical blow. It was so vivid, so visceral, he could almost smell the cedar and wool.

He couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t live in this purgatory of pretending.

Yim noticed him standing there. He lowered the screwdriver, an easy, familiar smile on his face. The best friend smile. The one that was now a lie. “Hey, you’re back. Can you hold this for a sec?”

It was the smile that did it. That casual, effortless return to normalcy while Tutor was slowly dying inside.

The bag of groceries hit the floor with a thud. A tomato rolled out, coming to a stop near Yim’s foot.

Yim’s smile faltered. “Whoa, you okay?”

“No,” Tutor said, his voice low and rough, foreign to his own ears. “No, Yim, I’m not okay.”

Yim pushed himself up on his elbows, his expression shifting to concern. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?”

“You happened!” Tutor exploded, the words tearing out of him. He took a step forward, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. “This happened! That fucking game happened!”

Yim’s eyes widened. He scrambled to his feet, holding his hands up placatingly. “Tutor, come on. We talked about this. It was just–”

“Don’t!” Tutor cut him off, his voice cracking. “Don’t you dare say it was nothing! Don’t you dare tell me we’re cool! I can’t… I can’t fucking breathe around you anymore!”

The confession hung in the air, raw and bleeding. The false concern melted from Yim’s face, replaced by something guarded and wary. “What are you talking about?”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about!” Tutor gestured wildly between them. “This… this thing! This tension! You look at me and I feel like I’m going to spontaneously combust. You brush against me and it feels like a brand. I can’t sleep. I can’t think. All I can see is you in that fucking closet!”

Yim took a step back, his back hitting the wall. He looked cornered. “It was a kiss, Tutor. It got a little heated. It doesn’t have to mean–”

“It meant everything!” Tutor shouted, finally closing the distance between them. He didn’t touch Yim, but he crowded into his space, forcing him to look up, to see the truth burning in his eyes. “It meant everything to me! And you know it! You felt it too, don’t you fucking lie to me!”

He was breathing heavily, his chest heaving. He was laid bare, completely exposed, every ounce of his three-year crush and three weeks of agony poured out at Yim’s feet.

Yim stared at him, his own breath coming in short pants. The carefully constructed walls behind his eyes were crumbling, and Tutor could finally see it—the same want, the same fear, the same desperate, clawing need. He saw the moment Yim gave up pretending.

“What do you want me to say, Tutor?” Yim whispered, his voice strained. “Huh? That I think about it too? That I can’t forget what you taste like? That it’s driving me insane?”

“Yes!” Tutor pleaded, his voice dropping to a broken whisper. “God, yes. Just… acknowledge it.”

The air crackled. The space between them was infinitesimal. Tutor could feel the heat from Yim’s body, could see the rapid flutter of his pulse in his throat.

Yim’s eyes dropped to Tutor’s mouth. His own lips parted. The denial was gone, replaced by a naked, hungry want that mirrored Tutor’s own.

But still, Yim hesitated. The fear was still there, holding him back.

Tutor had broken first. He would have to be the one to end it.

He didn’t step back. He surged forward.

He crashed his lips against Yim’s, not with the desperate heat of the closet, but with a fierce, determined finality. This wasn't a question. It was an answer.

For a heart-stopping second, Yim was rigid with shock. Then, a raw, shattered sound escaped his throat, and he was kissing him back. It was like a dam breaking.

His hands came up, not to push Tutor away, but to fist in his shirt, pulling him closer, anchoring himself as his knees seemed to buckle. The screwdriver clattered to the floor, forgotten.

This kiss was different. It wasn't a game. It was a confession. It was three years of longing and three weeks of torturous tension poured into a single, world-altering connection.

Tutor cupped Yim’s face, his thumbs stroking his jaw, pouring every unsaid word into the movement of his lips.

When they finally broke apart, gasping for air, they didn’t move far. Their foreheads rested together, their breaths mingling in the small space between them.

The silence in the room was no longer heavy with things unsaid. It was charged with the echo of what had just been said, loud and clear, without a single word.

Yim’s eyes were wide, dark pools of shock and dawning realization. He looked wrecked, and beautiful.

Tutor’s voice was a soft, ragged whisper against his lips. “No more pretending.”

Yim simply nodded, a slow, dazed motion. His grip on Tutor’s shirt tightened. “No more pretending.”

The silence after the kiss was profound. It wasn't the tense, brittle silence of the past three weeks. This was a thick, humming quiet, filled with the echo. The air itself felt different, charged with a new and terrifying potential.

Yim’s hands were still fisted in Tutor’s shirt, as if he was afraid Tutor would vanish if he let go. Tutor’s own hands had slid from Yim’s face to his shoulders, holding on just as tightly.

Their foreheads remained pressed together, a point of contact that felt more intimate than anything that had come before.

It was Yim who broke the silence, his voice a hoarse, wondering whisper. “Tutor.”

It wasn’t a question. It was an acknowledgment. A surrender.

Hearing his name like that, stripped bare of all pretense, shattered the last of Tutor’s control. He dipped his head and captured Yim’s mouth again, but this time it was slower, deeper, more deliberate.

Yim met him with a matching intensity, his grip loosening on Tutor’s shirt only to slide his arms around Tutor’s waist, pulling their bodies flush together.

The feeling was electric. Tutor could feel the solid warmth of Yim’s chest against his, the frantic beat of his heart a wild drum against his own.

This kiss was a conversation. It was Tutor saying I’ve wanted this for so long and Yim answering me too, god, me too.

It was the careful, tentative mapping of familiar territory made brand new. Tutor traced the seam of Yim’s lips with his tongue, and Yim opened for him with a soft sigh that went straight to Tutor’s core.

They stumbled backward, never breaking contact, until Yim’s legs hit the couch and he sank down onto it, pulling Tutor down with him.

Tutor followed, half-sprawled on top of him, caging him in with his arms. He finally broke the kiss, but only to trail his mouth along Yim’s jaw, down the column of his throat, tasting the salt of his skin, feeling the frantic pulse beneath his lips.

“Is this real?” Yim gasped, his head falling back against the couch cushions, his eyes squeezed shut. His fingers tangled in Tutor’s hair, holding him closer.

Tutor lifted his head, looking down at him. Yim’s face was flushed, his lips kiss-swollen and slick, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

He looked utterly debauched and completely beautiful. Tutor’s heart felt too big for his chest.

“It’s real,” Tutor murmured, his voice thick with emotion. He brushed a stray lock of hair from Yim’s forehead. “It’s finally real.”

Yim’s eyes fluttered open. The fear was still there, a flicker in the depths, but it was dwarfed by something else now wonder, want, a dazed kind of happiness.

He reached up and traced Tutor’s bottom lip with his thumb, a touch so tender it made Tutor’s breath catch.

“I was so scared,” Yim admitted, the words a soft confession.

“I know,” Tutor said, leaning into his touch. “Me too.”

“What… what does this mean?” Yim asked, his thumb stilling on Tutor’s lip.

Tutor took a slow breath. The easy answer was ‘I don’t know.’ The safe answer. But he was done with easy and safe. He’d already jumped off the cliff; he might as well fly.

“It means I’m crazy about you,” Tutor said, holding his gaze. “It means that kiss in the closet wasn’t a mistake. It was the best seven minutes of my life. It means I don’t want to be just your best friend anymore.”

He watched the words land, watched the flicker of fear in Yim’s eyes finally dissolve, replaced by a soft, brilliant light.

A slow, genuine smile spread across Yim’s face, the first real one Tutor had seen in weeks. It was a little wobbly, but it was breathtaking.

“Okay,” Yim whispered, his voice full of awe.

“Okay?” Tutor repeated, needing to hear it again.

“Okay,” Yim said, more firmly this time. He pulled Tutor down for another kiss, this one softer, sweeter, a promise. When they parted, he was still smiling. “So… boyfriend?”

The word sounded foreign and perfect in the space between them.

Tutor felt a matching smile spread across his own face, so wide it almost hurt. “Yeah,” he said, his heart soaring. “Boyfriend.”

He lowered himself to kiss Yim again, a slow, lingering press of lips that sealed the deal.

Outside, the Tuesday afternoon carried on, mundane and ordinary. But inside their apartment, surrounded by forgotten groceries and a fallen screwdriver, a new world had just begun.

And for the first time in weeks, the air was clear, and everything finally, perfectly, made sense.

They remained cuddled on the couch, Tutor laying on top of Yim, contented... Yim softly carding his fingers through his hair.

“I guess those few kisses did ruin our friendship after all.” Yim said, smiling fondly.

Tutor propped up on his arms to look at Yim in the eyes. “Not ruin just.... upgraded.” Tutor said with a peck on Yim’s lips for emphasis, as if sealing the words.

“Best upgrade ever.”