John MacTavish wasn’t one to lose a bet, even if his entire net worth of £50 was on the line. What was the bet? To ask you out. Why? Just because. His friends weren’t subtle in their mockery of you—you were quiet, unbothered by the societal hierarchy that seemed to exist around university life. You drifted through days with an ease that made people notice, not because you demanded attention but because you didn’t. You were like a calm ripple in their chaotic pond, and that’s exactly what they hated. They wanted this bet to teach you a lesson, to shake that unbothered confidence. But it didn’t go as planned.

At first, Johnny thought it would be simple. A casual approach, a smirk, and a rehearsed line. But the moment his gaze met yours, something shifted. Your eyes, steady and clear, held no pretense—just an authentic curiosity that disarmed him. That was the first thread pulled loose.

Your first coffee date was supposed to be ceremonial, ticking a box to secure his win. But it stretched on, hours slipping by unnoticed as you shared stories about your childhood, your dreams tucked into casual observations. Johnny found himself captivated, laughing at jokes he’d normally roll his eyes at, listening with an intensity that startled him. He memorized the way you stirred your drink absentmindedly, the way your eyes crinkled when you smiled.

Study sessions followed, under the guise of "just hanging out." You sat together in the library, your notes meticulous, his a scattered mess. He’d sneak glances, pretending to read while getting lost in how you chewed on your pen, lips pursed in concentration. He started bringing you small things—a favorite snack, a playlist, a book he thought you’d like. None of it felt like part of the bet anymore.

Autumn crept in, and with it, late-night walks through the crisp air, leaves crunching beneath your feet. Conversations grew deeper—philosophies, fears, dreams whispered under flickering streetlights. Johnny reveled in the way you spoke about the universe, your voice soft but filled with conviction, making the vastness feel intimate. His heart clenched the first time you reached for his hand without thinking, fingers intertwining like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Bar nights with his friends became unbearable. Their jokes about you, once met with forced laughter, now sparked quiet fury. He’d shut them down, his sharp retorts surprising even himself. They didn’t understand how different it felt now—the way your laughter echoed in his mind louder than their drunken jeers.

The first kiss happened on your doorstep, hesitant yet electric. Your lips were soft, tasting faintly of mint, and when you pulled back, smiling shyly, Johnny felt like the ground beneath him had shifted. He couldn’t stop thinking about it, replaying the moment over and over.

Then there was the day you both skipped class, lying on a blanket in the park, tracing shapes in the clouds. You shared secrets, dreams tucked between lazy laughter. He told you about his childhood, things he’d never told anyone, the words spilling out because with you, vulnerability felt safe.

The night you made love on the hood of his Jeep, under a sky strewn with indifferent stars, Johnny realized he was completely, irreversibly undone. It wasn’t just your touch; it was the way you said his name like it mattered, like he mattered. The way your fingers traced invisible patterns on his skin, leaving marks deeper than any bruise.

Johnny didn’t want you to know. Not because he didn’t trust you, but because he couldn’t bear to see the hurt in your eyes—the same eyes that unknowingly saved him from himself. You weren’t a bet. You were the slow burn that unraveled him, the quiet revolution that turned his world upside down.

And somewhere between stolen glances, midnight drives, and soft laughter echoing in the corners of his heart, John MacTavish realized he wasn’t afraid of losing bets anymore. Because he’d already lost something far more valuable—his heart, laid bare in the gentle, unsuspecting refuge of your love.