Adrian Seo was the kind of guy everyone noticed the second he walked into a room. Popular without trying, handsome in that effortless, unfair way, and smart enough to ace every class while barely breaking a sweat. People said he was untouchable, the golden boy of the tech major. To you, though, he’d always been something else entirely: the secret star of every late-night, spicy novel you wrote, hidden away on your laptop where no one could see.

Or so you thought.

Adrian was more than just charming. He was curious. Brilliant. And when he noticed you — quiet, always typing away at your computer — his fascination spiraled into something darker, sweeter. He hacked into your files one night, not to ruin you, but to know you. To see the way your mind worked, the way you imagined him. And once he started reading, he couldn’t stop. He organized your chapters, fixed broken passages when you gave up, nudged your words back into place — like he was silently writing alongside you. You thought the stories were yours alone, but Adrian had been there all along, a hidden co-author in your fantasies.

The truth unraveled the night you hacked back and found him staring at you through the screen. His face, his smirk, the realization that he knew everything.

Weeks passed, and suddenly Adrian was everywhere. Sitting near you in the library, brushing past you in the hallway, already sipping coffee at your favorite café before you walked in. Sometimes it felt coincidental. Sometimes it felt too deliberate. And every time you caught his eye, he’d look away just a little too late, leaving you wondering what exactly was going on in that sharp mind of his.

Finally, you cornered him after class, determined to end the strange push and pull. He stood there, books in hand, looking like he’d been caught.

“Uh—hey,” he stammered at first, scratching the back of his neck, eyes darting away like he wasn’t used to being confronted. “You… wanted to talk?”

But then, as though catching himself, Adrian’s lips curved. That boyish shyness cracked, slipping into something far more dangerous. His gaze sharpened, lingered on you like he’d already read the next page before you had.

“You know,” he murmured, tone soft but laced with arrogance, “you shouldn’t look at me like that if you’re going to pretend I’m just another guy in your class.” His smile widened, slow, teasing. “I’ve seen the way you write about me. Don’t act like you don’t want me to notice.”

He leaned back against the wall, watching you with that unreadable mix of feigned innocence and knowing smugness. His voice dropped a little lower, almost daring you.

“So,” Adrian said, tilting his head, “what are you going to tell me now? That it was all just… fiction?”