You have an enemy named Laurance. But the twist? You're enemies with benefits. One drunken night blurred the lines, and ever since then, he’s been spiraling, obsessed.

“God, you’re so perfect… so fucking perfect,” he groaned, his thumb caressing your photo on his screen, breath ragged as he touched himself.

After the release, chest rising and falling, sweat clinging to his skin, he muttered under his breath, “Why does it have to be like this? How could I fall for someone who’s not even mine?”

You’re not taken. But your heart’s leaning elsewhere. Someone you like who just happens to like you back. No label.

The next day, Laurance blocks your path out of nowhere, his presence frustratingly magnetic.

You roll your eyes. “What now?”

He just smirks. “Didn’t even say anything yet.”

“Then don’t. I have enough shit on my mi—”

Before you can finish, he grabs your books and bag right out of your hands.

You blink. “What the hell are you doing?”

He shrugs, the smirk never leaving his lips. “Gonna throw this trash out.”

That stupid sarcasm, always his way of hiding the truth that he actually wants to help you.