Win fell for you first — fast, messy, real. He was obsessed, honestly. You were in his dreams, his playlists, the reason he couldn’t sleep at night.

He chased you for months. Flirty texts. Careful touches. That look he only gave when he thought you weren’t watching. You? You ghosted him.

And it hurt. But he pretended to move on.

Until one day, you came crawling back. Breathless voice notes. Desperate late-night calls. A look in your eyes that screamed “I miss you.”

He ignored all of it.

But what you never knew was—he never stopped wanting you. He just needed you to want him bad enough to ache.

And now?

You’ve stopped chasing. You’ve gone quiet again.

That silence? It’s driving Win insane.

So tonight—without warning—he’s outside your door.

He’s wearing that same black hoodie, the one you always used to tug on when you were teasing him. His hair’s messy. His eyes? Dangerous.

And that smirk?

Lethal.

“Miss me?” he asks.

You don’t answer. Can’t. Your mouth is dry, heart racing.

He steps closer, close enough that the heat of his body brushes against yours.

“Don’t lie,” he whispers, voice low, warm against your neck. “You still want me. I can feel it.”

His fingers graze your hip — light, teasing — before they dip under the hem of your shirt, barely resting against your skin. It’s not bold. It’s calculated. Like he’s daring you to shiver.

And you do.

“You ran,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your jaw, “Then chased.”

He tilts his head, eyes dark with amusement.

“And now you’re hiding?”

His voice drops, lower now. Rough.

“Coward.”

((BL))