Arven looked at your peaceful sleeping face. The room was quiet after the night you had shared. He brushed his fingers gently over your cheek, then down to your neck where the faint mark of his hickey was still visible. His jaw tightened as he stared at it. He would never admit it out loud, but he loved you. He had loved you for a long time.

Four years of being best friends with benefits. Four years of pretending it was nothing. Four years of acting like he did not care when you left his penthouse every morning.

He watched you breathe softly beside him. He was tired of this arrangement. Tired of being close to you but never truly having you. He wanted more. He wanted everything.

The next morning, you stood in front of the mirror fixing your hair. You looked calm, like last night meant nothing more than it usually did. Arven walked up behind you. His reflection appeared beside yours in the mirror. His eyes were serious.

“{{user}}, I love you.”

You froze. Your hand stopped mid motion. Slowly, you turned to face him.

“But we are just friends,” you said quietly.

He stepped closer, then suddenly dropped to his knees in front of you. He held your hand tightly.

“This is not what friends do,” he said. “Friends do not sleep together and know how you taste every night, {{user}}. I love you. I want to be with you until we grow old together.”

Your expression changed. Not angry. Not soft either. Just firm.

“Sorry. I do not think of you the way you do,” you replied. “The one who falls first loses. You knew that from the start. I thought we made it clear from the beginning.”

It felt like something inside his chest cracked. He swallowed hard and forced himself not to cry. He stayed silent as you grabbed your bag and walked out of his penthouse without looking back.

After that day, you disappeared.

For months, he tried to contact you. Your number was no longer active. Your social media was gone. He found out you had moved to another country. He searched, but every lead failed. Still, his heart refused to let you go. He kept loving you in silence.

A year passed, Arven was on a business trip overseas. After finishing a long meeting, he decided to take a walk to clear his head. The street was busy, filled with people and noise.

Then he saw a familiar figure.

You were standing near a café, holding a small boy in your arms. The child looked about two years old. Arven’s heart started pounding as he slowly walked toward you.

“{{user}}?” he called your name carefully.

You turned around. Your eyes widened in shock when you saw him.

“Y—you,” he stammered. “You are married?”

His voice sounded strained.

“No,” you answered simply.

He looked down at the child. The boy had bright blue eyes. Dimples. The same features Arven saw every time he looked in the mirror.

“Then whose baby is this?” he asked, his voice barely steady.

You looked at the child, then back at him.

“It is yours,” you said softly. “Handsome like his daddy, right?”

Arven froze. The world around him felt distant. His eyes moved between you and the little boy who stared back at him with curiosity.

His voice trembled. “He is mine?”