Gemini and Fourth One shots

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The rain always came around the time Gemini made his tea. It was a strange coincidence that Fourth used to tease him about. "You're probably calling the clouds yourself," he'd say, flopping onto the couch with wet hair and a too-wide smile. But today, the apartment was quiet, the rain still punctual, and Gemini stirred his tea in complete silence.

Fourth hadn't come home in two days.

Gemini tried not to think of it as abandonment, but the aching emptiness in the apartment whispered otherwise. The chipped mug in his hand had once been Fourth's favorite, and now it felt like holding onto ashes. He sat at the window, watching the droplets slide down, each one echoing the conversations they hadn’t finished, the apologies never spoken.

It wasn’t the first time they fought. But this time was different. Fourth didn’t yell. He didn’t cry. He just... walked out.

---

Fourth stood under the fluorescent lights of his friend’s spare bedroom, staring at the white ceiling. His heart was heavy. It always felt that way after their fights. But this time, he didn’t regret leaving. Not yet.

Gemini had a way of making him feel small without saying much. A sigh here, a glance there—it was like he lived inside a glass box, and Gemini stood outside, always observing, never touching.

“I can’t breathe when you go quiet like that,” Fourth had told him last week.

Gemini had blinked slowly. “And I can’t think when you’re shouting.”

Fourth remembered how his voice broke when he replied. "Then maybe we shouldn't be doing this anymore."

He hadn’t meant it.

But Gemini had only nodded.

---

Gemini's days became routines of avoidance. He'd wake, make tea, glance at Fourth’s contact on his phone, and then bury himself in work. But the silence followed him like a shadow.

He missed the chaos. The shoes always kicked off in the wrong place. The humming in the shower. The passionate arguments about stupid things like pineapple on pizza.

He missed Fourth.

But Gemini was scared. Scared that if he reached out, he’d break something even more.

He saw a picture of Fourth on social media—laughing, another guy in the background. Gemini’s heart thudded, hard and fast, then stopped. He stared at the guy’s hand on Fourth’s shoulder.

His stomach twisted.

---

Fourth wrote it at 3:00 a.m. The room was dark except for the glow of his phone screen.

> Gemini,

I don’t know if you miss me. I don’t know if you care. Maybe I’m just dramatic like you always said.

But I hate not knowing what you feel. I hate that I always have to guess with you. I scream because I want you to scream back. I want to feel like I matter.

I didn’t mean to leave. I wanted you to stop me.

But you didn’t.

Fourth

He never hit send.

---

Gemini had been calm for too long. But that picture—it haunted him. He saw the ease in Fourth’s expression. A freedom that hadn’t existed with him for months. And then he saw it again.