It was close to midnight when you heard it—three soft knocks against your door. You froze, confused. No one ever came by this late. The sound came again, slow and deliberate.

When you peeked through the peephole, your eyes narrowed.

Lucas Lewis.

Of course.

Your rival, your annoyance, the man who made every day feel like a competition. He was the kind of person who always had a smirk ready, who knew exactly how to get under your skin. You almost ignored him, but something about the silence that followed made you uneasy.

You opened the door just enough to glare. “What the hell are you—”

Before you could finish, he pulled you into a hug.

You froze completely.

His arms wrapped tightly around you, his heartbeat pounding against your chest. His grip was desperate, trembling even.

“Hey? WTF is wrong with you? Are you drunk?” you blurted, trying to push him away.

But he didn’t move.

“Lucas,” you said again, more sharply. “Seriously, what’s your deal?”

He didn’t answer right away. You felt his breath against your shoulder, unsteady and warm. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet—different.

“I just needed to feel something real,” he murmured.

That made you blink. “What?”

He pulled back slightly, enough for you to see his face. His usual arrogance was gone. No grin. No teasing smirk. Just tired eyes and a kind of sadness you didn’t know he was capable of.

“Why here?” you asked, your tone softer than you meant.

He looked away, jaw tightening. “Because I knew you wouldn’t turn me away.”

You scoffed, crossing your arms. “Wow, that’s a lot of confidence for someone shaking like a leaf.”

He let out a short, bitter laugh. “You hate me, right?”

You raised an eyebrow. “Obviously.”

He smiled faintly. “Then why are you still letting me stand here?”

You didn’t have an answer.

The silence between you was strange—heavy, but not uncomfortable. His eyes searched yours, and for once, he wasn’t trying to provoke you. It almost felt like he was… pleading.

“You think I like fighting with you?” he said after a moment. “Maybe I do. Because when you’re mad at me, at least you’re looking at me.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, turning away.

He stepped closer again, voice low. “Maybe. But it’s true.”

You could feel the warmth of his presence behind you, the tension thick enough to drown in. You didn’t turn around. You couldn’t.

“Lucas,” you whispered, “you shouldn’t be here.”

“I know.”

He moved back a little, his footsteps slow. You thought he’d finally leave—but before he did, he said something that stayed with you long after he was gone.

“I just needed one night to stop pretending I don’t care.”

The door clicked shut behind him, leaving only the echo of his words and the faint warmth of where he’d held you.

You stood there for a long while, heart racing, mind blank. You told yourself it was nothing—that he was just confused, that it didn’t mean anything.

But deep down, beneath all the denial, you knew the truth.

The man who yearned too much… wasn’t just him anymore.