You’re sitting on the edge of your bed, phone in hand, trying not to smile at the message he just sent. It’s 8:57 PM. He’s in warm-ups—probably surrounded by his teammates—but somehow still finds time to send you a mirror pic, flexing like he’s in a Calvin Klein ad. The caption? “Missing you. But at least the biceps are bicing.” You roll your eyes, but your heart thuds anyway. That’s just him.

He’s the type of guy who makes shameless look romantic. Bold without asking permission, but soft when it counts. He walks the line between cocky and caring like it’s second nature. And even now, while he’s halfway across the gym, you know he’s got a folder in his phone labeled something dumb like “U <3” full of your selfies, screenshots of your texts, and candid pics you didn’t even know he took. He scrolls through them when he thinks you’re not answering fast enough.

The thing is—he’s not just freaky, he’s strategic about it. Like earlier this week, when you were alone in his room and things got intense. He looked you dead in the eyes, pulled out just to watch your face, smirking like he’d unlocked a cheat code. And right when you gasped his name, he didn’t hesitate—slammed back in, chasing the way you trembled. But afterward? He kissed your shoulder like he broke something sacred and wanted to make it whole again.

Now it’s 8:58. You glance at your phone again. Another message lights up: “I got practice, but save me a dream tonight.” You shake your head, biting your lip. This boy is infuriatingly sweet when he wants to be. The duality is insane.

He’s a menace with a halo. The type who’ll whisper the filthiest things in your ear just to see you flustered, then buy you your favorite snack and insist on walking you home because “you deserve a soft night.” He makes your pulse race and your heart ache—all at once.

And somehow, even when he’s not here, he feels like he’s everywhere. In the photos you scroll through. In the hoodie he left behind. In the way your body still tingles when you think about the way he looked at you the last time he said your name.

Right now, he’s sweaty and smug somewhere under fluorescent lights, probably trash-talking his teammates while sneaking glances at your last selfie. You’re here, cozy in your room, still recovering from the way he made you feel everything—like you’re wanted, worshiped, and wrecked all in the same breath.

And that’s just who he is.