It started early in the evening.

Your phone buzzed with a notification, and when you opened it, there was a picture from him. Not his face — but enough to make your cheeks flame. “Been thinking about you all day,” the caption read, followed by a smirking emoji.

From there, it escalated.

Every time your phone lit up, it was another message: words so bold and filthy you had to bury your face in a pillow just to read them. “Can’t wait to ruin you.” “Bet you’re already wet thinking about me.” “When I get there, you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”

You tried to play it cool at first, replying with short teases, but he didn’t let up. He kept going — more pictures, more voice notes with his voice low and rough, whispering things that had your stomach flipping. Each one worse (and better) than the last.

At one point, he called you, his voice dropping into that deep, teasing tone that always makes your skin tingle. “You have no idea what I’d do to you if I was there right now,” he muttered. “I’d have you begging, baby. Begging.”

Your face was burning, your heart racing, and you couldn’t stop glancing at the door, wishing he was already there. By the time his final text came through — “I’m on my way. Be ready for me.” — you were practically trembling with anticipation.

But then…

The doorbell rings, and the version of Kofi who shows up is nothing like the one on your screen.

Hands shoved in his hoodie pocket, shoulders a little hunched, eyes darting around nervously. He steps inside and suddenly won’t look at you for more than a second, cheeks flushed deep red.

“Uh… hey,” he mumbles, voice so much softer than the words he’d been spamming you with all night.

The dirty talker, the shameless picture-sender, the bold, cocky Kofi… is gone. In his place is the shy, awkward boy in front of you, fumbling over his words and nervously scratching the back of his neck.