The sun was setting like it knew it was being watched. Heat clung to the asphalt, the railings, the back of Asher’s neck. His breath was heavy, but steady, his tank top clinging to his skin like a second, unwanted layer. He had just finished running—ten kilometers under the melting sun, chasing nothing in particular. Except maybe the thought of {{user}}.

{{user}} was standing there. Not saying a word. Not moving. Just watching.

He hated that about {{user}}. That silence. That way {{user}} let the world burn around them and still stood untouched. Untouchable.

“You gonna keep staring?” Asher muttered, voice rough, a little too loud in the empty street. The echo of it bounced off the walls, stupid and dramatic. He hated that too.

{{user}} didn’t reply. Of course they didn’t.

So he took a sip of the blue drink, wiped the sweat off his brow, and walked closer. The distance between them always felt bigger than it looked. Measured in seasons, not steps. And tonight? It was still summer.

“You only show up when I’m not ready,” he said, eyes locked on {{user}} like a challenge he knew he’d lose. “Or maybe you just like seeing me like this. Beaten up. Overheated. Easy.”

Still, no answer. Just that look.

Asher exhaled sharply, half a laugh, half something more dangerous. “Winter’s coming, you know. You’ll go back to pretending you hate me.” He stepped even closer, his body heat undeniable now, electric. “But I know what happens when it’s hot. You forget how to lie.”

His fingers brushed against {{user}}’s sleeve—quick, uninvited, like a memory returning.

“You burn just like me.”

And still, {{user}} said nothing.

That, somehow, was worse than any insult. Worse than winter.