Walls and a Roof are Enough
The walk to Ilhan’s dorm was quiet, but not awkward. Tao trailed just half a step behind, his eyes mostly on the pavement, occasionally flicking up to watch Ilhan’s tail swish with every step. The sun was beginning to set, bathing the campus in a soft orange haze that made everything look calmer, quieter.
Ilhan led the way up a narrow staircase to the second floor, unlocking the door to Ilhan’s modest single dorm. “Sorry for the mess,” he said automatically, kicking aside a rogue hoodie and an empty crumpled bag of chips. I really need to remember to throw my trash out.
“I swear I cleaned, like… two days ago.”
Tao stepped inside carefully, his nose twitching slightly at the mixed scent of Ilhan’s cologne and something citrusy, maybe laundry detergent. The room was small but cozy.
Posters of famous athletes and a couple of punk bands were taped to the wall. There was a little shelf stuffed with books, energy drinks, and a few anime figures crammed between them.
“You can sit wherever,” Ilhan said, flicking on a warm desk lamp. “Want green tea or mint?”
Tao’s tail was swaying side to side, feeling cozy inside of Ilhan’s dorm, he jumped a bit upon the sudden question, “Mint, please.”
Ilhan started prepping a small kettle on a portable burner while Tao sat gingerly at the edge of the bed, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. There was a warmth in the room that he wasn’t used to.
Not just the temperature, something else, something nicer.
As the tea steeped, Ilhan tossed over a pack of rice crackers. “These are addictive. I swear I’ve eaten like five bags this week.”
Tao opened it carefully, taking a bite, and the crunchy, airy texture of the puffed rice was addictive. “These are really good.”
Ilhan plopped down next to him with two steaming mugs. “Told you.”
For a while, they sipped tea and nibbled on snacks in a companionable silence, the kind that felt like it didn’t need to be filled. Tao’s body gradually unwound, shoulders dropping a little, tail flicking lazily instead of coiled up tight.
Eventually, Ilhan leaned back on his hands and glanced sideways at him. “Hey, you okay now?”
Tao took a moment to answer. “Yeah… I think so. It’s quiet here. Feels easier to breathe.”
Ilhan smiled gently, “I figured you might need that.”
Tao looked down at his mug. “Thanks… for noticing.”
They both went quiet again, but this time the air felt heavier. Something unspoken sat between them, not uncomfortable, but big. Like they were standing on the edge of something that couldn’t be ignored anymore.
Ilhan nudged him lightly with his shoulder. “You wanna talk about it?”
Tao hesitated, then nodded once. “I have autism,” he said quietly. “It’s not really something I like telling people because… They start acting weird after. Like I’m breakable. Or… too much work.”
Ilhan didn’t interrupt. His ears flicked forward, listening.
“I get overwhelmed really fast. Like, noises, smells, lights… talking. Sometimes, even when it doesn’t seem like it to others, I’m already drowning inside. And if I try to explain, I sound dramatic.”
He paused, eyes glued to his tea, unsure if he should go on. Ilhan stayed still, but close.
Tao added, “But with you… I don’t feel like I have to pretend so much. I don’t feel like I have to act normal.”
There was a long pause before Ilhan replied, voice softer than Tao had ever heard it. “I’ve got ADHD,” he said. “People always think I’m just hyper or lazy or loud. But half the time, I’m just trying to keep up. My brain’s… everywhere at once. It’s exhausting. I mask it with jokes or by talking too much. If I don’t, people just stop taking me seriously.”
They were both quiet again, but this time it felt like a shared silence. A moment of mutual recognition.
Tao looked over, his voice almost a whisper. “We’re both hiding in different ways, huh?”
Ilhan nodded. “Maybe that’s why we get each other.”
Their eyes met again, really met this time. And for a second, Tao didn’t look away.
Ilhan cleared his throat, rubbing the back of his neck. “Wanna watch something? I got, like… way too many movies downloaded.”
Tao nodded. “Sure. Anything is good.”
“Gotcha.” Ilhan reached for his laptop and HDMI cord, hooking it up to a small TV across the room. “Let’s go full comfort mode. I got that Studio Ghibli one, ‘Whisper of the Heart’”
Tao tilted his head. “Ghibli sounds nice.”
Ilhan smiled, dimming the lights with a makeshift switch lamp near his desk. “Then Ghibli it is.”
He tossed Tao an extra pillow and pulled a thick blanket off the corner chair. The bed was barely big enough for one, but Ilhan didn’t seem to mind scooting close so they could both fit. Their shoulders brushed. Neither of them made an effort to move.
The film began, and a soft instrumental theme filled the room, gentle piano and strings. Tao relaxed further into the bed, sipping the last of his tea, now lukewarm, his eyes growing heavier by the minute.
The movie played, its soft glow casting flickering light across their faces. Ilhan shifted to lie on his side, elbow propped under his head, watching the screen for a while… but his eyes kept drifting to Tao.
Tao was sitting upright at first, legs crossed, still holding onto a bit of that careful posture. But as the film unfolded, quiet scenes, gentle music, dreamy landscapes, his shoulders loosened.
He leaned back slightly, then more, until he was nestled up against the headboard, blanket pulled halfway over him. His tail curled neatly over his lap.
He chuckled at a small, funny moment, something dry and simple, a blink-and-you-miss-it bit of animation, and Ilhan felt his heart skip at the sound. It was soft, real. Tao’s face had this unguarded, fleeting joy that made Ilhan forget what the scene was even about.
Ilhan smiled quietly to himself, letting the moment just be.
Eventually, the credits rolled in silence. Tao blinked slowly, like waking up from a trance. The movie had settled something in both of them, smoothed out the frayed ends of their thoughts.
“Good pick,” Tao said, voice a little hoarse with tiredness.
Ilhan stretched, his back cracking faintly. “Ghibli never misses.”
He turned to Tao, catching him in profile. The soft lamplight made the whites of his fur glow a little golden at the edges. Tao noticed him looking and gave a small sheepish smile.
Ilhan grinned and slid off the bed. “Alright, before we both pass out, lemme find you a shirt.” He dug through a drawer and tossed a clean, oversized t-shirt in Tao’s direction. “Bathroom’s yours first.”
Tao caught it with a quiet “Thanks,” then padded off. The door clicked shut.
Ilhan peeled off his hoodie and shirt, tossing them into a laundry pile. He stared at himself in the mirror above his desk for a second, then smirked, shook his head, and muttered, “Don’t be weird.”
When Tao came back out, Ilhan looked up and saw him in a loose shirt, sleeves past his elbows, the hem brushing his thighs. He looked like he’d just wandered out of a dream. Tao averted his eyes quickly, clutching his folded clothes to his chest.
Ilhan cleared his throat and tried not to smile too widely. “Lookin’ good.”
Tao’s ears flicked, and he looked away. “Shut up…”
Ilhan chuckled. “Just sayin’.”
They climbed into the bed, both facing the ceiling, careful not to brush too much. The silence stretched, but it was peaceful. Their breaths slowly synced, the warmth of the blanket pressing close. Somewhere outside, wind rustled the trees, the quiet hum of the campus at night barely audible through the window.
“I used to think I just had to get better at pretending,” Tao whispered.
Ilhan turned his head toward him slightly. “Pretending what?”
“That I was like everyone else. That noise didn’t bother me. That socializing didn’t scare me. That I could keep up with everyone.”
Ilhan shifted, propping himself on one elbow. “You don’t have to pretend with me, Tao.”
Tao’s voice was so soft it almost vanished. “I know.”
A pause. A lingering silence, thick with something unspoken. The kind of stillness that feels like holding your breath at the edge of a cliff.
Ilhan added, more quietly, “I get it. I’ve had teachers tell me I’m lazy, and friends say I’m annoying. My own parents sometimes forget I’m not just being difficult.”
His fingers tightened in the blanket. “It sucks. Always feeling like you have to explain yourself, or else people just assume the worst.”
Tao turned his head slightly, their eyes meeting for a second. “You always seem so… together.”
Ilhan let out a breath that was half a laugh. “I’m not. I’m just really good at acting like I am. If I talk enough, smile enough, keep the energy up… people stop asking questions. They don’t look too closely at how I actually am.”
Tao nodded slowly. “I do the opposite. I get quiet. I try to disappear. But it’s still pretending, isn’t it?”
Ilhan glanced up at the ceiling, voice gentle. “Yeah. Just the different ways we manage to survive.”
Tao was quiet for a moment, then murmured, “Sometimes I feel like I’m made wrong. Like everyone else got a guidebook I never managed to get my hands on.”
Ilhan turned toward him more fully. “You’re not made wrong. You’re just made… differently. And that’s not bad. It’s not bad, Tao.”
Tao’s eyes flicked toward him. “But people treat it like it is.”
“I know,” Ilhan said. “And they’re wrong.”
A beat.
Then Ilhan added, softer, “You ever wish someone could just… get it without you having to explain?”
Tao nodded. “All the time.”
“That’s kinda how it felt with you,” Ilhan admitted. “Like I didn’t have to explain so much. Like I could just… be.”
Tao turned on his side, facing him now, pulling the blanket closer under his chin. His tail flicked slightly beneath it.
“I haven’t told many people I’m autistic,” he said. “I usually just let them think I’m shy or weird. It’s easier.”
“I’m glad you told me,” Ilhan said. “That you trusted me with it.”
“You didn’t flinch,” Tao said, voice almost whispering.
Ilhan gave a soft laugh. “Why Would I? It’s just a part of who you are. And honestly… it makes some stuff make more sense. Like how you notice little things. How careful with your words. That’s not a bad thing. That’s… kind of beautiful, actually.”
Tao blinked at him. His ears twitched. Then he looked away, face half-hidden by the blanket, clearly flustered, “You stuff like that too easily.”
Ilhan smirked. “I mean it, though.”
Tao murmured, “You’re not so bad yourself.”
Ilhan blinked, then smiled, wide and warm, and something settled between them. A softer silence this time. A comfortable one.
Tao murmured, “Thanks for not making it weird.”
Ilhan smiled faintly. “Anytime.”
Their eyes lingered on each other a little longer this time. Neither of them moved. The space between them didn’t feel quite so wide anymore.
Just two guys, next to each other, letting their guards down for once. And maybe, just maybe, that was enough for tonight.
A few minutes later, Tao’s words slowed down between yawns. He was mid-sentence, something about a weird dream he once had, when he just stopped.
Ilhan glanced over. Tao was out.
His head had tilted toward Ilhan, one arm curled close to his chest, his mouth slightly open. The even rise and fall of his chest was the only movement.
Ilhan blinked. His heart tripped in his chest.
He sat up carefully, slipping out of bed to use the bathroom before he also had to hit the sack. When he came back, the room was dim, and the only light was a faint streetlamp glow filtering through the curtain. And there was Tao.
Asleep on his side, facing Ilhan’s side of the bed now, fur slightly messy, ears twitching occasionally in dreams. The vulnerability in his expression, peaceful, unguarded, hit Ilhan like a punch to the chest.
His breath caught. He’s… really cute.
And then: “Oh. Shit.”
He stood there for a moment longer, heart pounding, then slid gently back under the blanket.
Tao shifted in his sleep, unconsciously moving closer, until their arms brushed again.
Ilhan stared at the ceiling, blinking hard. A slow, stunned smile crept onto his face.
… I think I like him.