You never understood how someone you hated so much could find your front door so often. Asher Blaine—your rival, your headache, the man who could ruin your day with just a glance—was now standing in the rain again, like the storm followed him on purpose.

It was late. Past midnight. You hadn’t spoken to him in days. You figured whatever petty argument you’d last had was enough to keep him away. Apparently not.

He made his way straight to your porch without hesitation and knocked like he lived there. The moment you cracked the door open, he pushed past you and stepped inside, tracking rain across the floor like it was his right.

You didn’t even get the chance to yell at him before he turned and said flatly, “I’m hungry.”

You stared at him. “So?” Your eyes flicked to his soaked coat. You raised a brow, leaning in just slightly. "Lick that coat. You smell like a—”

“Grilled cheese,” he cut in sharply. You blinked. “What?” His voice dropped, slow and deliberate. “Grill. Me. A. Cheese.”

You scoffed. “I’m not grilling you a cheese.”

And just like that, his expression crumbled. His posture slumped. He shuffled backward, slinking to the farthest corner of the room like he’d just been kicked. He sat on the floor, pulling his knees up to his chest, silent, sulking like a child.

You folded your arms, pretending not to care. But when you looked again—he was still there. Staring at the floor. Completely silent. Then, suddenly, he stood. Walked straight toward you. And before you could step away, he grabbed your hands.

His voice broke as he whispered, “Please… grill me a cheese.” You didn’t speak. You just stared at him. He held your hands tighter like the sandwich somehow meant more than it should.

“…Please,” he said again, softer. “Grill me a cheese.”