Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

CIR’S POV

Where the fuck is he?

I stalk in front of the library like a caged animal, my boots scuffing against the concrete. My hair—half-tied, half-wild, swings with every sharp turn I make. Ten minutes. I’ve been pacing for ten fucking minutes, and every time my phone buzzes, my stomach lurches.

Maybe it’s him.

It never is.

I’ve called four times already. No answer.

Phu said he was going to the library. Thirty-seven minutes ago. I checked. Twice. Then again, because maybe my brain is playing tricks on me.

But it’s not.

“Fuck.” I shove a hand through my hair, gripping it at the roots.

Students give me a wide berth, avoiding me, whispering as they pass. Their eyes dart. Their heads turn. Like I’m some unhinged beast, seconds from snapping.

Fine. Maybe I am.

Because thirty minutes ago, Wim and Jin told me someone sent Phu a package.

“Cute snacks,” Jin had said, expression blank. “No name. I figured it was you.”

It wasn’t.

I’d never send something without signing my name. I want Phu to know when it’s from me. I love watching his face flush when he opens something embarrassing. Or sweet. Or—fuck—both.

But that package?

Not mine.

And now Phu isn’t picking up. Isn’t answering. Isn’t here.

My jaw ticks. My mind spirals.

What if someone’s messing with him?

What if someone wanted what’s mine?

What if—

I exhale hard through my nose. No. I’m overthinking. Probably.

Phu could’ve just gotten distracted. Fallen asleep somewhere.

“Pick up your goddamn phone,” I grit out, dialing again. This time, I press the call button so hard my thumb turns white.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Voicemail.

I close my eyes, roll my neck like I’m about to throw a punch.

I’m not panicking.

But if I don’t hear from Phu in the next five minutes?

I’m tearing this campus apart.

PHU’S POV

“Hello?” I mumbled, pressing the phone between my ear and shoulder as I handed the pharmacist my ID. My nose was stuffy, and my throat felt like I’d swallowed sandpaper. Achi was next to me, flipping through a stack of ridiculous face masks on a display rack. He picked one shaped like a cat's mouth and held it up to his face, wiggling his eyebrows.

“Phu, where the hell are you!?”

I winced. “Nalin?”

“P’Cir is losing his mind!”

I blinked. “Huh?”

“He’s been pacing in front of the library for, like, forever! He’s called you—like—five times! Jin says he looks like he’s about to kill someone!”

“...What?”

“Did you tell him you were going to the pharmacy?!”

“I—no? Why would I?” I sniffled and turned away from Achi, who was now pretending to model the cat mask. “He’s supposed to be at football practice. I didn’t think—”

“Phu. You're literally the fifth person I’ve had call me about this. Rome texted me ‘Code Red: Cir Mode Activated.’ I don’t even know what that means, but it sounds bad!”

“I’ll call him as soon as I’m done here,” I promised, trying not to sound as tired as I felt. “Tell everyone to just chill. I’m not doing anything alarming, just a side trip to the pharmacy”. I hung up the phone confident that everything would be okay.”

I should’ve known better.

Because the thing is, I know how P’Cir can be.

But I also wasn’t doing anything wrong. Just buying cold meds. Achi was with me, he’d tagged along for snacks, of course, and now he looked concerned for an entirely different reason.

“What?” I asked, sliding my phone into my pocket.

“You’re gonna call him?” Achi tilted his head, cautious now. “After he’s been storming around campus like a goddamn hurricane?”

“Well, yeah? I said I would.”

Achi bit his lip. “I’m not sure it’s a good idea for him to see you with me… in the state he’s in.”

“…What state?”

“The ‘murdery, jealous, Cirrus-going-feral’ state.”

I blinked.

Oh.

…Oops?

I check my voicemails and- Well, shit.

Missed calls. Multiple. All from him.

“Shit.”

I call him back right away, pressing the phone to my ear with a growing pit in my stomach.

It rings once.

“Where. The fuck. Are. You?”

“P'Cir?”

“Who the fuck else? Now answer me, Phu.”

“I—I’m at the pharmacy… What’s wrong? You’re scaring me.”

His voice—it sounded like the world was ending. Like I’d been kidnapped. Or hit by a truck. Or kissed someone else on accident.

“Don’t cry, baby,” he said, lower now. Rough. Dangerous. “Just be at your dorm in ten minutes.”

“Can you please just tell me what’s wrong?” I begged, heart thudding. I was sick, not stupid. Something was wrong.

“I’ll tell you when I see you in ten minutes. Ten minutes, Phukan. Don’t make me have to come looking for you.”

Then he hung up.

...Well shit.

I guess I was about to meet the caveman Tree and Nalin had warned me about.

CIR’S  POV

I get there in seven.

Seven minutes.

I could’ve beaten that if I’d run someone over which I almost did, but whatever.

Now I’m standing outside his dorm building, jaw clenched, pacing again. Boots scuffing against pavement, breath sharp, heart pounding like it’s about to burst out of my chest. I’m strung so tight I feel like I could snap in half.

And then—

“Phu!”

I turn so fast I nearly gave myself whiplash.

There he is.

Tiny, bundled in his hoodie, looking confused and kind of… tired?

He’s with Achi.

Of fucking course.

The second my eyes land on Achi, he freezes. His smile falters. He looks between me and Phu like he’s doing some kind of silent math.

And then he bolts.

Like literally turns around and runs like he’s just seen a demon rise from the earth.

Smart.

But I’m not even thinking about him anymore.

Because now I’m looking at Phu.

Really looking at him.

His nose is red. His eyes are watery. He sniffles once, miserable and clearly sick, tugging his hoodie tighter around himself like he’s cold. He looks so soft. So small.

So not okay.

And just like that, all the anger, the firestorm boiling in my chest short-circuits.

“What’s wrong, baby?” I ask, already walking toward him. “Are you okay?”

Phu blinks up at me, confused. “I have a cold,” he says like it’s obvious. “I went to the pharmacy.”

“I thought someone took you,” I say, voice low. I reach out and take his arms gently. “You weren’t answering. You said you’d meet me. I—I thought something happened.”

His expression shifts. Guilt flickers in those big eyes. “P’Cir…”

“No,” I whisper, pulling him into my chest and wrapping my arms around him tight. “Don’t do that to me again.”

He’s warm. Too warm. I can feel it even through his hoodie.

“You’ve got a fever, baby.”

“I told you, it’s just a cold,” he mutters.

“You didn’t tell me anything,” I say, pulling back enough to look him over. “And you walked around campus like this? Why didn’t you say something?”

“I didn’t want you to worry…”

I stare at him. Then let out a low, humorless laugh.

“Too fucking late.”

I scoop him up before he can protest.

He squeaks, actually squeaks, but he doesn’t fight me. Just wraps his arms around my neck and buries his face in my shoulder, like he’s too tired to argue.

“P’Cir, I can walk—”

“Shh,” I say, already climbing the stairs two at a time. “You’re sick. Let me take care of you.”

He doesn’t argue again.

I get his dorm door open with his key, carry him straight to bed, and start fussing. Hoodie off. Socks off. Tuck him in. I adjust the blanket three times before I’m satisfied, then crouch down beside him, brushing damp hair from his forehead.

“You’re warm,” I murmur.

“I told you. Just a cold,” he mumbles, curling into the blanket like a sleepy kitten. “You didn’t have to come storming all the way here, y’know.”

I pause, exhale slowly. “You stopped answering. You disappeared. What did you think I was gonna do?”

He doesn’t answer.

A moment passes.

Then, in a small voice: “Why were you going crazy earlier?”

The question is innocent.

But it snaps something in me.

The fire I’d barely been holding back roars up in an instant.

I lean in. “Who sent you the food, Phu?”

He blinks, slow and confused. “What? You did…”

I sit back on my heels. My jaw clenches. “No,” I say, voice low and cold now. “I sure as fuck did not.”

Silence.

Phu stares at me, wide-eyed. “You… didn’t?”

“No.”

Another beat of silence. I see it, the realization dawn slowly across his face, the confusion flickering into unease.

“I thought…” he whispers. “It had no name, but Jin said it was probably from you, so I just… assumed.”

My eyes narrow. “Don’t assume anything when it comes to you. You understand me?”

Phu nods quickly, eyes still round. He looks a little stunned. A little worried. Like he doesn’t know if I’m going to kiss him or murder someone.

Both are on the table.

I lean in again, softer this time, hand brushing against his flushed cheek.

“I need to know when something like that shows up, Phu. I need to know if someone’s trying to get close to you.”

“But it was just snacks,” he says, quiet.

“Nothing is just anything when it comes to you.”

From the darkness…

I saw him first.

Long before that arrogant quarterback ever laid eyes on him, I saw Phukan.

So small. So sweet. So... unaware.

He smiled at everyone. Walked through the world like it couldn’t touch him. Like he didn’t know how many eyes watched him from the shadows. Like he didn’t know mine were always there. Always waiting.

I knew what he liked before this Cirrus even knew his name.

I knew the colors he wore when he was in a good mood. The playlists he listened to when he was sad. How he tapped his fingers when he was nervous. I knew his schedule. His habits. His routine.

And then he showed up.

That, smug bastard with his tattoos and football swagger, looking at Phu like he was a prize to be claimed.

And Phu... he looked back.

At first I thought it was just curiosity. Just nerves. But then he smiled. He blushed.

He let him in.

And now?

Now I have to watch him get pulled deeper and deeper into Cirrus’ world. Watch that bastard walk around with his hand on Phu’s waist like he earned it. Like he has the right.

He doesn’t.

He doesn’t know him. Not like I do.

He didn’t see Phu that day he cried in the library. He didn’t stay up refreshing Phu’s profile for hours when he was offline. He didn’t send him that snack box with all his favorites.

I did.

And he didn’t even say thank you.

Cirrus gets his kiss. His smile. His trust.

And I sit in the dark, watching.

But that’s okay.

Because Phu isn’t his.

Not really.

He’s mine.

He just doesn’t remember yet.

Chapter Text

Phu’s POV

I close my eyes, trying to rest, but my brain won’t shut up.

P’Cir’s words keep echoing—“Nothing is just anything when it comes to you.”

It makes something twist in my chest.

I remember the first time I saw him. 1 month ago.

It was the first football game of the semester. I wasn’t even planning to go at first, but Achi had dragged me and Tree along to support Nalin and Jin. Nalin was cheering. Jin was playing.

I remember the crowd being loud, the stadium lights burning bright, the scent of sweat and energy and popcorn hanging in the air. I’d been sitting between Achi and Tree, chewing on a straw and trying to follow the game.

And then I saw him.

Cirrus.

P’Cir.

Standing on the field like he owned the universe.

I didn’t need anyone to tell me who he was. Everybody knew him.

The quarterback. The senior. Rich, hot, dangerous. He looked like he’d been carved by something ancient and angry—half angel, half hellfire.

Tall, broad-shouldered, jersey clinging to his body like it had a personal vendetta and tattoos peeking just beneath the collar of his jersey, sweat gleaming on his skin.

 His long black hair was tied half-up, strands sticking to his jaw, sweat running down the curve of his throat. He looked like something out of a dream or a nightmare, depending on who you asked.

I couldn’t stop staring.

I’d never seen someone so—

I don’t know. Devastating.

My heart had done that annoying thing. The thump that felt like falling off a building.

And then, just as I thought he couldn’t possibly look more untouchable, he turned. His eyes met mine for half a second.

I think I stopped breathing.

Right then, Lukprae—head of the cheerleading squad—ran up and threw her arms around him, hanging off his neck like she belonged there.

He doesn’t hug her back.

Doesn’t smile.

He barely even looks at her.

But he doesn’t push her off, either.

And that’s enough.

That’s enough for her to declare them the university couple on her Instagram the next day. Enough for the rumors to spread, for her to start saying “my Cir” like it’s a title she earned.

Even though he never claimed her. Not once.

But it’s not just Lukprae.

Everyone has stories.

Cirrus Rueng—the heartbreaker, the playboy. Never seen with the same person twice. Never interested long enough to care.

I look away.

Nope. Absolutely not.

I was just a freshman. I had enough to worry about, getting to class on time, surviving architecture studio, not tripping on my own feet.

I didn’t need that kind of drama in my life.

And P’Cir?

P’Cir was P’Cir.

Cir’s POV

People say I don’t have a heart.

I don’t blame them. I’ve never given anyone a reason to think otherwise.

But that day under the stadium lights, sweat still clinging to my skin and adrenaline burning in my veins, I saw him.

And something beat different in my chest for the first time in my entire fucking life.

He’s standing near the bleachers, tucked between a loud guy and a girl with sharp eyes. But all I can see is him.

Tiny. Colorful. Soft.

Big sweater. Bigger eyes.

Wide-eyed like the world is brand new and too bright. Like he doesn’t belong anywhere near people like me.

And maybe he doesn’t.

But fuck, I want him to.

I can’t look away. My chest tightens. My mouth goes dry. The sounds of the crowd blur into white noise and all I can hear is the rush of blood in my ears.

Mine.

That’s the first thought I have. Not who is he or what’s his name—just mine.

And right when I take a step toward him just one- Lukprae throws herself on me like she’s rehearsed it.

Fucking Lukprae.

I don’t even look at her. Don’t smile. I’m already scanning for him again.

But he’s gone.

Gone.

Like a dream that slipped through my fingers.

I feel something sharp in my chest. It’s not anger. It’s not jealousy. It’s…Panic.

For the first time in my life.

I storm into the locker room and don’t even wait to shower. I need to know who he is.

And lucky for me, one of my best friends, Wim— annoyingly perfect Wim is the student council president. And even luckier, Wim is dating Jin, one of the juniors on my team.

And he—I find out—is friends with my sunshine boy.

Phukan.
Phu.

A freshman.

Just a freshman.

And me?

Time to hunt.

Cir’s POV

I corner them the next morning.

Wim jumps like he’s just been caught cheating on an exam. Jin just raises an eyebrow, cool as always, stirring his coffee like I didn’t just trap them in the hallway with no witnesses.

“You,” I say, pointing at Jin. “Talk.”

Jin glances at Wim, then at me. “About?”

“Phu.”

Wim chokes on air. Jin doesn’t even blink.

“You mean Phukan?” he asks, like we’re discussing the weather. “Freshman. Architecture. Superstitious. Soft. Cries during movies. Can’t eat spicy food.”

My eyes narrow. “Why do you know that much?”

“Because unlike you,” Jin says flatly, “I talk to people and…he’s one of my bestfriends.”

Wim groans. “Cir, please don’t traumatize the boy. He just started school.”

“I’m not gonna traumatize him,” I snap. “I’m just gonna meet him.”

Jin takes another sip of his drink. “You planning to ‘meet him’ with that serial killer expression on your face?”

I ignore him.

But now I’ve got what I need.

Phu.

Architecture freshman.

Tiny. Beautiful. Dangerous, but in the way that makes my chest hurt.

So I wait.

And on the second day, lunch hour, I spot them.

Phu, sitting under the tree with his little nest of chaos. Achi, Tree, Nalin, Jin. They’re laughing about something. He’s got a juice box in his hands, knees pulled up to his chest, hair messy and cheeks pink from the sun.

He looks like he belongs in a painting.

And then he laughs.

I’m moving before I even think about it.

Boots crunch across grass. Heads turn. Achi freezes. Tree tilts her head. Phu glances up just as I stop right in front of them.

“Jin,” I say.

Jin looks up calmly, completely unbothered. “Hm?”

“Introduce us.”

Phu blinks, Wide-eyed. Like he doesn’t know whether to run or bow.

And just like that—my heart fucking stutters again.

Jin sighs like I’ve asked him to stand up in front of class and recite a poem.

“This is Phukan,” he says coolly, nodding to the tiny boy beside him. “Phu, this is P’Cir. He’s… P’Cir.”

Phu looks up at me, blinking, confused, like he’s still buffering the situation.

Tree’s eyes narrow suspiciously, glancing between us like she’s watching a snake slither into a rabbit’s burrow. Achi is whispering something to Nalin.

But I don’t notice any of that.

Because Phu’s looking at me.

And I go around to his side and squat to his eye level, facing him fully.

“Hi, Phukan.”

His head tilts a little, and those wide, glassy, doe eyes land on me properly for the first time.

He gasps, soft, barely there, just a tiny intake of breath

And I almost fall on my ass.

Everything ceases to exist.

The noise, the sun, the people, the grass, the world. Gone.

All I see is him.

His mouth. His eyes. His fucking face.

And like a goddamn slideshow playing behind my eyes, I see it—Days from now. Weeks. Months.
Years.
His hand in mine. His head on my chest. His smile in my kitchen.
In my arms. In my bed. In my life.

And I just know, nothing will remain the same again.

My body heats under his shy gaze. My pulse is a thunderstorm. I have to literally bite my lip to keep the groan threatening to escape from slipping out.

Then he says it. “Hi, P’Cir.”

Just like that.

Soft. Sweet. Polite.

And God—I’m wrecked.

What a fucking voice.

And then, He blushes.

Pink rushes up his cheeks, all the way to his ears, and it’s like the air is sucked out of the fucking universe.

I suddenly become aware of the loud silence that falls over us. It’s deafening. It’s like every breathing soul in the room is watching. Listening. Waiting.

I feel my hackles rise.

A strange, feral thing curls in my chest—dark and alive and angry.

Mine.

The word slams through me like a punch.

I want to fight everyone in this courtyard. I want to challenge every person here until there is no doubt left in anyone’s mind. Until the whole goddamn world knows that he belongs to me.

What the fuck?

I blink rapidly, trying to clear my vision, trying to clear my brain but it’s not working.

“We need to talk”.

That’s what I say. I don’t even know why. What does that mean? Where am I going with this?

What the hell am I doing?

But I don’t stop.

I grab his hand. It’s soft and small and warm, and I feel a jolt shoot up my arm like I’ve touched something sacred and forbidden at the same time.

He gasps, another soft sound and throws a wide-eyed, panicked look over his shoulder at his friends.

I don’t care.

I’m not letting go.

The way I feel right now, if Jin or Achi tries to block me, I will absolutely knock one of them the fuck out without hesitation.

I pull him away from the table.

He stumbles once, trying to keep up with my pace, and I slow down just enough for him to stay on his feet but not enough to stop.

Because if I stop, I’ll start thinking again.

And if I start thinking, I’ll realize I’m in trouble.

So much fucking trouble.

Phu’s POV

I was just… trying to have lunch.

Like a normal person.

With my friends. Under a tree. With a juice box.

And then P’Cir crashes into my life like a meteor.

One minute Jin is introducing us—calm, casual, like we’re in a group project and the next?

He says we need to talk, grabs my hand, and starts dragging me away.

Dragging. Me. Away.

I’m being abducted. Publicly.

His hand is big and warm, and it swallows mine completely. I have to practically jog to keep up, my legs nowhere near long enough for this kind of pace.

He’s tall. Taller than me. Bigger than me.

And he’s got that half-up hair and those dark, slanted eyes that look like they could swallow galaxies. Like some fox spirit stepped out of a myth just to personally ruin my day.

It feels weird.

Having his eyes on me. His attention.
My name in his mouth.

And now I don’t know why he’s dragging me or where we’re going.

“U-Um… P’Cir?”

He doesn’t answer.

He just keeps walking. Jaw tight. Eyes stormy. Gripping my hand like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he lets go.

Which is dumb.

I’m very visibly here. Struggling to keep up. Flushed. Confused. Extremely not a threat to anyone.

But still, he doesn’t let go.

And I don’t pull away.

…Why don’t I pull away?

Cir’s POV

I finally stop.

We’re behind some building, out of sight, out of earshot. I don’t know where exactly, we just kept walking and I couldn’t stop until I had him alone.

And now he’s here.

Right in front of me.

Pressed back against the wall, all wide eyes and flushed cheeks and heaving breaths like I just ran off with his soul.

I cage him in without thinking, one hand against the wall beside his head, the other still wrapped around his fingers, holding tight like he’ll vanish if I let go.

He looks up at me, voice barely above a whisper.

“P’Cir… am I in trouble?”

Fuck.

Fuck.

He’s too innocent. Too sweet. That look on his face, those big goddamn eyes, like he’s scared I’m about to scold him for something—

It wrecks me.

I look at him, really look, and it hits me again like a sledgehammer to the chest.

He’s beautiful.

Not just pretty. Not just cute. Beautiful.

And my heart—Shit, it’s beating so fast. I don’t think it was even working two days ago.

My voice comes out rougher than I mean. “Do you have a man? Or a girl?”

What the fuck, Cir.

Real smooth.

That wasn’t what I wanted to say. Not the first thing. Not even the tenth thing. But it slips out anyway, and I can’t take it back.

He blinks up at me, confused. “Huh?”

I watch him shake his head.

That’s all it takes.

Before he even finishes, I lean in and kiss him.

Like a goddamn starving man.

I can’t help it, okay? I’ve wanted to taste him since our eyes met across the field. I’ve waited damn near twenty-four hours already. I should get points for restraint.

His lips are soft—too soft. And warm. He gasps, just a little, and that sound alone nearly undoes me.

He freezes. Then melts. I feel it.

My hand finds his waist, pulling him closer. His fingers clutch mine tighter like he doesn’t know whether to hold on or pull away but he doesn’t push me off.

He lets me.

Lets me kiss him like he’s mine.

And God help me, I’m not sure I’ll ever stop.

Last night, there were moments, quiet little cracks in my self-control when I’d come this close to storming across campus, dragging him out of that group of friends, and taking him back to my place.

To my room. My space.
Mine.

So honestly? This right now? Behind a building, kissing him breathless? This is tame in my opinion.

It doesn’t matter that I’m acting like a madman. That we’ve barely even spoken. That I don’t know him the way a sane person should before doing something like this.

None of it matters.

Because everything inside me, every instinct, every breath, every beat of this suddenly very alive heart is screaming that this one boy is mine.

I’d burn the world for him.

There is no obstacle I wouldn’t obliterate to claim him.

Knowing no one else had already staked a claim makes it easier, sure but if that hadn’t been the case?

Then I’d be fighting tooth and nail to rip him out of someone else’s arms. I wouldn’t stop until I won.

Fuck it, I’d been zapped. Cursed. Struck by something ancient and fucked-up and permanent. Because there’s no other explanation for the level of crazy unraveling inside me right now.

“Mine,” I groan out against his lips.

I pull back just enough, gasping, heart pounding like I’ve just run for miles. My forehead presses against his. I can feel his breath shaky, shallow, wrecked, on my mouth.

He’s trembling a little. And I know I’m a lot. I know I’m too much.

So I force myself to ask it.

Low. Hoarse. Honest.

“Tell me to stop,” I whisper. “If you want me to, I will.”

Even if it kills me.

To my surprise, my absolute, earth-shattering surprise, he licks his lips and shakes his head.

“No,” he whispers, voice soft and shaking. “I don’t want you to stop.”

Fucking hell.

I lose it.

I crash back into his mouth like it’s the only thing keeping me alive. I consume him. His taste sears through me like a burning spear, igniting a wildfire in my blood. He tastes sweet—innocent, maybe—but with something darker underneath. Something that promises I’ll never get enough.

His soft little body molds itself to mine perfectly, like we were carved out of the same aching, lonely stone.

And the best part?

The beauty of it?

He kisses me back.

Not just politely. Not just letting me have him.

No—he meets me there. Returns my embrace with equal fervor. His lips cling to mine like he’s known me for lifetimes. Like he’s been waiting for this too.

And then he purrs.

That soft, needy little sound rumbles in his throat and vibrates into my mouth.

I almost fucking lose it.

If he keeps making that sound, I’m afraid I’ll lose whatever thread of control I have left and end up ravaging more than just his lips—right here. Against this wall. Where anyone could see.

In some dim, remote corner of my brain, I know I should stop. That I need to rein it in.

But I can’t.

I have no control over my body’s reaction to him—my mind, my heart, my fucking soul. It’s like they’ve all staged a mutiny. All they want is him.

I grind my hips into his, letting the ache in my cock press against his soft, warm body through the fabric of our trousers. I groan into his mouth, desperate and ruined and gone.

But then something cuts through the haze.

Not here.

Not like this.

Not with him.

Because he isn’t like the others. He can’t be treated like the others.

I pull back slightly, chest heaving, forehead still resting against his. My hand cradles the side of his flushed face like he’s something delicate. Precious.

He is.

I’ve never made a spectacle of anyone. But with him?

I’d never risk it.

He’s different.

He’s mine.

PHU’S POV

I’m dizzy.

Absolutely, undeniably dizzy.

Like I’ve just been spun in circles, dropped from a building, and kissed by the god of chaos all at once.

What the hell just happened to me?

What the hell got into me?

I’ve never behaved like that. Never lost control like that. Never let someone touch me, kiss me like that.

Not in public. Not in private. Not ever.

I don’t drive guys crazy with lust. That’s not me. I’m not the seducing type. Stuff like this doesn’t happen in real life, and certainly not to me.

I mean… I know I’m not ugly.

But the way he looked at me, the way he touched me, he made me feel like I was the most desirable thing on two legs. Like I was fire and sugar and everything he’s ever wanted, all wrapped up in one overwhelmed, confused, still-blushing freshman.

And then…
I remember who I’m dealing with.

This is Cirrus.

The campus quarterback.

The guy half the school wants and the other half fears.

For all I know, this is just what he does. Maybe I’m just next in line. Maybe this is part of some perfected seduction act.

But before I can even finish that spiral, he’s kissing me again.

All thoughts flee.

Everything short-circuits as he recaptures my mouth like he can’t help himself, like he needs it more than air. His tongue sweeps into me, ruthless and hot, and it completely wrecks my senses.

I melt.

I burn.

Liquid heat pools between my thighs as he consumes me, body pressed tight to mine, overwhelming and wild and so goodI forget how to breathe.

And I give in one more time.

To the madness he invokes.

To the danger. The want. The deep, impossible craving curling inside me like a secret I’ve always had and never understood until now.

CIR’S POV

He tastes like cotton candy and sin.

His lips soft, sweet, addictive, his body trembling in my arms as I plunder his mouth deeper, chasing more, always more, because now that I’ve had a taste of him, I know I’ll never stop craving it.

And then “Dude, get a room!”

Some asshole yells from a distance, and it jolts me out of the spiral.

Reality, cold and inconvenient, comes rushing back.

I pull away slowly, gently, our mouths parting with a soft, wet sound that makes my blood thrum harder than it should.

His cheeks are flushed. His lips kiss-swollen. His eyes… glassy, stunned.

I cradle his face in both hands so I can look straight into those big, beautiful eyes—the ones that ruin me every time they blink.

“In case you missed that,” I say, voice low, rough, final, “I just staked my claim.”

He stares at me, breath catching.

“From this day on, you belong to me.”

No room for argument. No room for doubt.

I mean it. Every word.

He needs to understand exactly what’s happening here, right now. I’ll explain things to him later when my head isn’t spinning and my hands don’t still ache to touch him.

But this, this was step one.

Semantics.

Lay the claim.

Own the truth.

I probably should’ve asked Dad how he broke the news to Mom. I’m sure he told us the story before some kind of Romeo and Juliet shit but I never paid attention.

Who the hell believes in love at first sight and happily ever after in this day and age?

Apparently, me.

Now my ass is in a sling, because I have no idea what the fuck I’m supposed to do next.

I know what I want to do, drag him back to my place, chain him to the bed, and tell him not to dare leave.

But I know that’s not going to go over well.

People already think I belong in a psych ward.

And now I’ve got this sweet, wide-eyed freshman looking up at me like I just rearranged his whole universe.

Fuck.

I don’t even mourn the loss of my freedom.

Didn’t blink when the door to my bachelorhood slammed shut and locked forever.

Honestly? Good fucking riddance.

There’s nothing he can say that would change what’s happening between us. I felt him come alive in my arms, soft body pressed to mine, lips clinging, making those sweet little sounds like he was made for me.

We fit.

That’s all I need for now.

The rest, whatever doubts he has, whatever chaos this stirs up, I’ll handle it. I’ll see to it.

I always do.

So I cradle his face and say, low and final, “Do you understand what I’m saying, Phu?”

But instead of answering, Like a goddamn light bulb flicks on in his head,

My baby runs.

He runs.

One second he’s in my arms, dazed and kiss-wrecked.

The next?

Gone.

Just gone.

Feet pounding the pavement, Sweater flying behind him, vanishing around the side of the building before my brain can even catch up.

“What the—”

I blink.

Once.

Twice.

What the fuck?!

He actually ran??

Phu’s POV

I’m running.

I’m literally running.

Why am I running?

What the hell just happened?!

My brain is a scrambled mess of kisses and possessive declarations and tongue. There was tongue. There was heat. There was grinding. There were words “You belong to me.”

WHAT.

THE.

ACTUAL.

HELL.

I don’t even know where my feet are taking me, I just know I need to get away. Somewhere no one will find me. Somewhere safe.

Behind the old art building. Nobody ever goes there. I throw myself against the cool wall, panting, shaking, one hand gripping the strap of my bag like it’s the only thing tethering me to reality.

My heart’s still racing.

My lips are tingling.

And my phone won’t stop buzzing.

I yank it out of my pocket and—

Oh.

Twenty-eight notifications.

Group chat is blowing up. Nalin. Tree. Jin. Achi. Even Wim.

“WHERE ARE YOU.”
“What the hell happened??”
“Did he kidnap you???”
“Blink twice if you're okay.”
“Honestly if it was a good kiss I support it.”
“TREE SAID SHE’S GETTING A BAT.”

I stare at it.

Then toss my head back and groan.

I can’t deal with them right now.

I ignore all of it and quickly type one message:

going back to the dorm. don’t follow me.

Then I turn my phone off.

I slide down to the floor, heart still thudding, breath still uneven.

P’Cir kissed me like I was the only person in the universe.

And I…

I liked it.

I’m in so much trouble.

Cir’s POV

I’m going crazy.

Actually, legitimately losing it.

He ran. My sunshine boy ran.

And now he’s disappeared off the face of the fucking earth.

I’ve checked behind the main building. The quad. The fucking library, even glared into the vending machine corner like maybe he curled up next to the chips.

I even asked the girl at the coffee stand if she’d seen someone “tiny and cute and running like the devil was chasing him.”

She said no.

I’m about to start tearing the campus apart brick by brick when I run straight into Rome and Ozone coming out of the Student Union.

“Yo, Cir!”

I turn. Rome and Ozone are leaning against a bench like they’ve been watching my descent into madness from afar.

Rome’s grinning. Ozone looks like he wants to file for emotional sibling divorce.

“Who’re you looking for?” Rome asks.

“My boyfriend,” I snap without thinking.

They both blink.

Ozone squints. “Your what now?”

“My boyfriend,” I say again, impatient, scanning the path like Phu might materialize out of thin air. “He’s small. Hoodie. Soft. Makes that sound when he kisses—”

“Okay, what?” Rome starts laughing.

Ozone’s face twists into something between confusion and concerned younger sibling exhaustion like he's trying to figure out if I’ve finally lost the last working neuron I had.

Then he sighs. Loud. Dramatic.

“Cir,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re normally insane. That’s not news. But even this is a stretch. Boyfriend???’

I stop. Turn to them and Stare.

“You don’t understand. He blushed. And ran. After I told him he’s mine.”

“…Right,” Ozone says slowly, like he’s dealing with a feral animal. “And how long have you known your ‘boyfriend’?”

“Doesn’t matter,” I say

Rome whistles low. “Fastest courtship in university history.”

“I staked my claim,” I say like that means something. “I kissed him. He kissed me back.”

Ozone squints at me. “Yeah. Then he ran away wen he figured out you’re psycho.”

“I’m fixing that,” I mutter, already scanning the horizon like he might materialize if I think hard enough.

Ozone blinks hard. “You kissed a boy for the first time and now you’re acting like you’ve got matching graves planned.”

“I do,” I say, already walking again. “One grave. Side by side. Or I’ll haunt him. Not even death gets us out of this.”

“Jesus Christ,” I hear Ozone mutter.

Ozone sighs again. “You are literally a walking complaint.”

Rome just grins. “Want help looking, or should we stay out of the chaos and write your wedding speech?”

“Help,” I grit out. “Please.”

Because I don’t care if they think I’m crazy. I probably am.

But I’m not stopping until I find him.

He’s mine.

Eventually, I stop running around like a maniac and go where I know he’ll be.

His dorm.

Of course he’d run to his cave like a startled rabbit. Somewhere safe. Somewhere small. Somewhere I can corner him.

So I go.

I lean against the wall beside his door, arms folded, eyes fixed on the hallway like a hunter waiting for his prey. Every person that passes gets a glare sharp enough to peel skin.

And then, I see him.

Sweater. Pink cheeks. Eyes wide and hopeful like he really thinks he’s safe now.

He doesn’t see me at first. He’s too busy sighing, keys jingling in his hand, clearly thinking he’s free.

Cute.

And then,

He sees me.

He freezes.

Dead in his tracks.

His brain short-circuits for one beautiful, perfect second.

Then he bolts.

Or, he tries.

But I’m faster.

I lunge forward, catching his wrist in one hand and pulling him back with zero effort.

“Not so fast, baby.”

He squeaks—actually squeaks—and spins around to face me, eyes wide with full-blown panic. It’s adorable. He looks like he might faint, or scream, or kiss me again, and honestly, I’d be okay with any of the above.

His chest heaves as he stares up at me, breathless and furious and still, somehow, devastatingly beautiful.

I grin.

“You ran,” I murmur, brushing a thumb over his cheek like I didn’t just track him like a bloodhound. “That was mean.”

Phu’s POV

I don’t know what deity I’ve offended, But this? This has to be punishment.

I stand frozen, speechless, staring up at P’Cir like I’ve just been caught red-handed in a crime I didn’t know I committed.

I ran from him. Ran like my life depended on it. And somehow, Somehow— He’s here.

Waiting. Like a horror movie. Or a very hot, very confusing fever dream.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just reaches down, plucks my keys out of my hand like they’re his, and starts walking toward my door.

“P’Cir—?!”

Nope. He’s not listening. He’s dragging me.

I don’t even get a chance to fight. How did he know which room was mine?! Did he ask someone? Did he follow me?? Is this legal??

He unlocks the door like he’s lived here for years, pushes it open, flicks on the light, and gently tugs me inside.

I blink, trying to keep up with the whiplash of it all.

He looks around slowly, like he’s examining some gallery piece. My small, cozy space—shelves filled with art supplies, fairy lights strung above my desk, little plushies on the bed.

Then he nods.

“I like it,” he says simply. “It’s you.”

I blink again.

He glances at me, then adds, “Not sure you’ll like my place, though. But I’m sure you can do something with it. Make it more colorful.”

…Huh?

I stare at him, trying to decipher whatever logic is bouncing around in that beautiful but possibly concussed brain of his.

“P’Cir…” I say carefully. “Did you, by any chance… have an accident and hit your head recently?”

Chapter Text

PHU’S POV

He frowns at me, like I’m the crazy one here.

“No.”

Dead serious.

I blink again. “Are you sure? Maybe a minor fall? A small brain injury?”

“I’m fine,” he says. Then shrugs, completely unbothered. “Other than the fact that I’m in love with you.”

The room tilts.

I think I black out for half a second.

What.

“P’Cir,” I say, forcing the words out before I lose whatever courage I’ve got left.
“You need to leave. Now, Please.”

For a second, I think he’s going to listen.
For half a second.

Then he tilts his head slightly and looks at me, really looks at me with that same unnerving, unreadable expression.

“That’s not what you said when I kissed you,” he says, voice maddeningly calm. “And you kissed me back.”

I splutter.

Literally splutter.
Hands waving helplessly between us like I can physically scatter the memory.

“Well—it’s—it’s out of character for me too!” I blurt, cheeks burning hot enough to fry eggs. “I don’t usually go around… kissing scary seniors in the middle of campus!”

He raises an eyebrow, like he’s patiently waiting for me to get to the actual point.

I press my palms together, bowing slightly in a frantic attempt at damage control.
“And I’m sorry if—if kissing you back gave you… ideas,” I stammer. “But this is crazy! You’re crazy! Respectfully, of course.”

The corner of his mouth twitches.

I don’t know if he’s amused or just moments away from handcuffing me to my bed.

Maybe both.

“I’m crazy,” he repeats slowly. Like he’s tasting the word.
“Respectfully,” I add quickly, chest heaving.

Silence stretches between us, thick and charged.

He doesn’t move.

He just stands there, in my tiny, fairy-lit dorm room, staring at me like I’m some miracle he’s afraid to blink at.

And somehow… somehow that’s even scarier than if he’d started yelling.

I stand there, heart jackhammering in my chest, waiting for him to laugh, to get mad, to leave.

He does none of those things.

Instead, he steps closer.

Slowly.

Like I’m some scared little animal he doesn’t want to spook.

I back up instinctively, bumping against the edge of my couch, panic flaring in my chest.

“P’Cir—” I start, hands half-raised like I can physically stop the train wreck barreling toward me.

But he doesn’t even blink.

He keeps coming.

Until there’s barely a sliver of space between us, until I can feel the heat of him seeping into my skin, until my lungs refuse to work properly.

He leans down, close enough that I can see the wild, possessive glint in his dark eyes, and says in a voice rough with certainty "You’re scared because you already know you’re mine too."

My brain short-circuits.

I just—I physically can’t process the words.

Can’t process him.

The way he says it, not like he’s questioning it, not like he’s asking permission but like it’s a fact. Like the sky is blue and gravity exists and I belong to him.

And the worst part?

The terrifying, heart-stopping part?

Somewhere deep inside, under all the panic and confusion and what the hell is happening,
some traitorous, trembling part of me believes him.

I stand there, frozen, heart pounding so hard it feels like my ribs might crack.

P’Cir watches me—steady, sure, unshakable and lifts his hand.

Slow.

Careful.

Like he’s afraid I’ll bolt again.

His fingers brush my cheek, warm and gentle, and it’s so soft it wrecks me worse than the kisses, worse than the words. It’s terrifying, how easily I lean into it without meaning to.

His thumb strokes lightly under my eye, like he’s memorizing me by touch.

And then, His voice, low and rough, right against my skin: "You can run all you want, baby."

I shiver.

"But I’ll always find you."

He leans in closer, forehead almost resting against mine, our breaths mingling in the tiny space between us.

"You're mine."

The words are a vow.

A sentence.

A promise.

And God help me—It doesn’t sound like a threat.

It sounds like a home I didn’t even know I was looking for.

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to hold onto the last shreds of sanity, of logic, of whatever rules I used to think my life followed.

But it’s useless.

Because here he is.

And here I am.

And maybe… maybe it’s already too late.

Before I can say anything, before I can even catch my breath, he leans in again.

Slow.

Deliberate.

This kiss isn’t wild like before.
It’s deeper. Stronger. Devastatingly sure.

He kisses me like he’s sealing something. Like he’s marking a line in the universe—mine—and daring anything to try and erase it.

His mouth moves against mine with infinite care, tongue teasing the seam of my lips until I part for him without even thinking. I melt. Completely. Helplessly.

He tastes like something dangerous and addictive, and I can feel my heart cracking wide open under the weight of it.

My hands clutch weakly at the front of his shirt, clinging to the only solid thing in a world that suddenly feels too big and too bright.

When he finally—finally—pulls away, he doesn’t go far.

He rests his forehead against mine again, breathing me in like he’s memorizing the moment.

Then, in that same deep, wrecking voice, he whispers: "See you tomorrow, baby."

And just like that, he straightens up, gives me one last slow, devastating smile, and walks out of my dorm.

Like he didn’t just turn my whole world inside out.

Like he didn’t just claim me without giving me a chance to resist.

The door clicks shut behind him.

I stand there, lips tingling, chest heaving, legs trembling.

What.
Just.
Happened.

Cir’s POV

I don’t want to leave.

Every step away from his door feels wrong.
Like my chest is too empty.
Like I left something vital behind.

But I’ve overwhelmed my baby enough for one day.

He needs time.

Space.

Maybe a minute to remember how to breathe without me swallowing all the air.

I shove my hands into my pockets, walking aimlessly across campus, heart pounding way too hard for someone who just technically got exactly what they wanted.

Still.
The panic doesn't leave.

The ache doesn’t ease.

By the time I reach the parking lot, I’m pulling out my phone without thinking.

There’s only one person I can call.

Dad picks up on the second ring, his voice sharp and clear like he’s just stepped out of an operating room.
"Cirrus? Are you okay? hurt?"

I blow out a shaky breath. “No. I’m fine.”

Pause.

He doesn’t buy it for a second.

"You sound like you're bleeding out emotionally," he says dryly. "Talk."

I scrub a hand through my hair, yanking on the tie holding it half-up.
"I met a boy."

Another pause.

Longer.

Then, "Does this, by any chance," Dad says, voice suspiciously amused, "have anything to do with the boy Ozone was rambling about earlier?"

I freeze.
"What?"

"Yeah," Dad sighs. "Your brother called earlier. Said you were acting ‘crazier than normal’ and ‘might need to be sedated.’ He was worried."

I groan and drag a hand down my face.

Fucking Ozone.

Snitch.

I groan again, leaning against the side of my car, staring up at the sky like it holds the answers.

"I think I broke him, Dad," I blurt, completely serious. "He—he ran away."

There’s a beat of silence.

Then my dad—respected surgeon, savior of lives, literal pillar of the community, laughs.

Out loud.

Not a chuckle. Not a polite laugh.

A full-on howling, wheezing laugh that sounds like he had been waiting his whole life for this moment.

"You’re serious," he wheezes between gasps.

"Dead serious," I mutter, glaring at absolutely nothing. "He ran, Dad. Like I was a serial killer."

Dad takes a moment to recover, and when he finally speaks, his voice is warm. Amused, but fond.
"Cir," he says, like he’s explaining something very simple to a very dumb person,
"you’re a lot."

"No shit," I grumble.

"And if he ran," he continues, "it’s probably not because you broke him."

I frown. "You didn’t see his face."

"I don’t have to," Dad says easily. "I remember when your mother looked at me the same way."

That shuts me up.

Hard.

Dad laughs again, softer this time.
"When you find the person who’s yours, Cir," he says, "it’s terrifying. It feels too big. Too fast. Too impossible. Especially if you’re young and scared."

I lean harder against the car, heart thudding painfully.

"I didn’t give your mom a chance to breathe either," Dad continues, fond and exasperated. "I showed up at her work with lunch every day for a month until she agreed to go out with me. Your boy just needs time to catch up. He’s not broken. He’s just overwhelmed."

I squeeze my eyes shut.

"Give him space," Dad says gently. "Let him come to you. He will."

I breathe out slow. "And if he doesn’t?"

Dad snorts. "Then you do what you always do. Go get what’s yours."

There’s a long, heavy pause.

"He's mine," I say quietly.

"I know," Dad says.

And somehow, for the first time all day, the panic eases just a little.

I sit in my car for a long time after hanging up with Dad.

Staring at the sky.

Thinking about him.

Tiny, sweet, beautiful Phu.
The way he gasped when I kissed him.
The way he trembled against me.
The way he ran like he thought he could actually escape what’s already his.

Dad’s words echo in my head—give him space, let him catch up.

I try.
I really do.

I sit there, gripping the steering wheel, white-knuckled, breathing deep like I’m in anger management class or some shit.

It lasts about five minutes.

That’s enough time in my world.

Then I yank my phone out of my pocket, thumb moving before my brain can catch up.

I open a new message.

Stare at the blank screen for a second.

And then type: Goodnight, baby.

Sweet dreams.

My thumb hovers over the send button for half a second, my heart pounding like I just confessed to a murder.

Then,
Send.

Gone.

Done.

No taking it back now.

I sit back in my seat, running a hand through my hair, and let out a breath.

Subtlety?

Space?

Yeah, maybe I wasn’t built for that shit after all.

Because he’s mine.

And even if I have to remind him gently with a kiss, with a touch, with a stupid goodnight text, I’m not letting him forget it.

Phu’s POV

I bury myself under my blanket.

Fully.

Like somehow, if I hide deep enough, the world and everything that just happened will forget about me.

I squeeze my eyes shut, heart still beating way too fast, too loud, like it’s trying to punch its way out of my chest.

I kissed him.

He kissed me.

I let him.

I wanted him to.

And I didn’t want him to stop.

And then he said those things “you’re mine, see you tomorrow, baby” like it was the most normal thing in the world, like we hadn’t just met, like he hadn’t flipped my entire life upside down in under an hour.

I groan into my pillow, pulling the blanket tighter around me until I’m a trembling, overheating ball of pure existential crisis.

My phone buzzes on the nightstand.

I ignore it at first.

I can’t deal with group chats right now. I can’t deal with anyone.

But it buzzes again.
And again.

Finally, with the sigh of someone preparing for death, I reach out blindly and grab it.

One new message.

From an unknown number

My stomach flips so hard it actually hurts.

I hesitate.
Then swipe it open.

Goodnight, baby.
Sweet dreams.

I drop the phone on my chest like it’s burned me.

I’m going to die.

I’m actually going to die.

P’Cir

Under my blanket, alone in my tiny dorm room, I bury my burning face into the mattress and let out a strangled noise that’s somewhere between a scream and a sob.

What the hell do I do with him?

He’s serious.

He’s not playing.

He’s not normal.

And worst of all, Somewhere deep down, underneath all the fear and confusion and panic…

I don’t want him to stop.

***

I spend the whole night tossing and turning.

Every time I close my eyes, I see him.

Feel him.

Goodnight, baby.

I’m not even sure if I slept at all, but somehow morning still comes. Too fast. Too bright.

I drag myself out of bed, grab my backpack, and tiptoe out of my dorm room like I'm escaping from a crime scene.

Maybe if I move fast enough, I can get to class without running into him.

Maybe if I’m careful, I can pretend last night didn’t happen.

I step outside and freeze.

Right there, parked directly in front of my dorm, like a scene from a nightmare?

P’Cir’s car.

Big. Black. Shiny. Intimidating.

And inside it, casually leaned back in the driver’s seat with one arm slung over the wheel like he owns the universe?

P’Cir.

Waiting.

For me.

I duck my head, heart hammering, and start walking fast in the opposite direction.
Not the front exit.
Nope.
Sneaky side exit.
Around the building, past the bushes, onto the main road.

I breathe a shaky sigh of relief, only to hear the low purr of an engine behind me.

I glance over my shoulder.

His car is following me.

Slowly.

Like a hunter stalking prey.

He pulls up beside me, window down, sunglasses perched on his head, looking completely unbothered and way too good for this early in the morning.

“Get in, baby," he says, voice low and rough.

Not a request.

A command.

I clutch the strap of my backpack tighter, brain short-circuiting.

"P’Cir, I—"

He raises one eyebrow.

Waiting.

Knowing.

Like he already knows I’m going to say yes.

Because he’s him.

And somehow…
I’m already his.

I hesitate for half a second.

Maybe a full second.

Then with the sigh of someone who knows they’re doomed I open the door and slide into the passenger seat.

The second the door clicks shut, I feel it.

The shift.

The space between us tightens, crackling with something electric and dangerous and too much.

P’Cir leans over immediately, reaching across me, and my whole body goes stiff.

For a second—for a wild, insane second—I think he’s going to kiss me again.

My heart leaps into my throat.
My hands clutch my bag like it’s going to save me.

But instead, he grabs my seatbelt with a chuckle.

And he just bops my nose.

Lightly.

Playfully.

Like I’m some kind of startled kitten.

I blink at him, completely thrown off, cheeks burning, heart slamming against my ribs.

He grins, slow and devastating, then leans into the backseat.

I watch, confused, as he grabs a paper bag, fancy, embossed, the kind you only get at really pricey cafes downtown.

He plops it into my lap.

“Eat, baby,” he says simply, glancing at me like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
“You’re tiny.”

I gape at him.

At the expensive bag.

At the way he says it like feeding me is a natural part of his morning routine now.

“P’Cir—” I start weakly.

He cuts me off, pulling back into traffic with that same smug calmness that makes me want to scream and hide and maybe kiss him all at once.

“No arguments,” he says. “Eat.”

I open the bag with trembling fingers.

Inside?

The most beautiful, artisanal breakfast I’ve ever seen. Croissants that look too perfect to be real. Fresh fruit, sliced and arranged like artwork. A tiny bottle of imported orange juice.

I blink down at it.

Then blink at him.

He just smiles a little to himself, like he’s already planning to buy me lunch too.

I am so, so doomed.

I eat what I can in the car, trying not to die from second-hand embarrassment as P’Cir glances over every two seconds to make sure I'm eating enough.

When we get to campus, I reach for my backpack automatically but he’s faster.

He grabs it right out of my hand like it weighs nothing, slinging it over one shoulder along with his own.

And before I can argue, he’s grabbing the rest of my breakfast too , carefully, like he’s guarding treasure and starts walking toward the architecture building like it’s his job.

I trail beside him, completely overwhelmed.

Every few steps, I feel his presence at my side-solid, protective, too much.
And I’m not imagining it,
He’s glaring.

At everyone.

Every guy who glances at me too long. Every girl who giggles when she sees us. Every random student who so much as breathes wrong in my direction.

If looks could kill, the campus would be a crime scene.

I duck my head, cheeks burning, trying not to shrivel up and die from the attention.

When we reach the entrance of my building, I turn to him, ready to thank him or maybe beg him to be less insane.

But he beats me to it.

He shifts both bags onto one shoulder, freeing his hand.
Leans down.

And presses a kiss; soft, warm, careless like he’s done it a thousand times to my forehead.

I freeze.

My brain just…shuts down.

"You’ll see me at lunch, baby," he murmurs against my skin, voice low and wrecking.

Then he straightens up, gives me one last lingering look like he’s making sure I’ll behave myself, and strolls away.

Like he didn’t just completely ruin me for any other human being on this planet.

I stand there for a full minute, backpack-less, heart a mess, lips parted, absolutely, utterly wrecked.

Students weave around me. The world moves on.

But me? I think I’m still standing there, trying to catch my breath.

I barely make it through the door of my lecture hall.

And immediately "PHU!"

Voices hiss my name at once.

I flinch so hard I nearly drop the croissant bag still clutched in my hand.

I look over.

There they are.

My friends.

Tree, Nalin, Achi, and Jin sitting together near the back row glaring at me like I’ve personally betrayed them.

Nalin waves a little from her seat beside Tree, looking more concerned than angry, but definitely watching.

I shuffle over, cheeks burning, feeling like I’m about to be dragged into an interrogation room.

I slide into the seat next to Jin, trying to act normal. Trying to pretend nothing happened.

It doesn't work.

"You got kidnapped," Achi says immediately, eyes wide. "Blink twice if you’re being held hostage."

"Or brainwashed," Tree adds darkly, crossing her arms. "I knew something was wrong when you texted us that weird 'don't follow me' message last night."

Jin just raises an eyebrow, all cool and unimpressed. "Was it a good kiss, at least?"

I choke on air.

My face catches on fire.

"Jin!" I hiss, looking around frantically to make sure no one else heard that.

He shrugs. Completely unbothered.

Tree leans in close, eyes sharp. "Phu. We saw. This morning."

Achi nods like he’s backing up a war story. "P’Cir was carrying your bag, bro. Your bag. And your breakfast."

Tree’s voice drops into a serious, terrifying whisper. "And he kissed your forehead."

I curl into myself like a dying plant.

"I—it’s not—he’s just—" I stammer, trying to come up with anything that makes sense.

"He kissed your forehead," Tree repeats slowly, like she’s narrating a crime scene.

"That’s like," Achi says, counting on his fingers, "seven hundred relationship points."

"Minimum," Jin agrees.

I bury my face in my hands.

"I’m dead," I mumble into my palms. "I’m actually dead. He’s going to show up at lunch and everyone’s going to think we’re—"

I can't even say it.

Dating.

Together.

Claimed.

I can still feel the ghost of his kiss on my forehead, warm and burning and too much.

Tree pats my back solemnly.

"You’re not dead," she says. "You're married."

"I need you guys to hide me," I whisper urgently, leaning over the desk like I'm plotting a jailbreak.

Achi blinks. "Like... witness protection?"

"Exactly," I hiss. "Witness protection. Mafia-level. Secret identity."

Tree stares at me. "Phu, be serious—"

"I am serious!" I clutch the remains of my croissant like it’s a stress ball. "If he finds me at lunch, it’s over. I’ll never survive. I’ll be—he’ll—"

Words fail me.

They understand.

Tree stands up, already scanning the exits. "Okay. Plan A—diversion. Achi and I will cause chaos in the quad. Jin, you escort Phu through the library pathway."

"I’m not going to jail for you," Jin mutters, but he’s already pulling his hoodie up like he’s committing to it.

I feel a surge of gratitude.

Real friends.

Ride or die friends.

We sneak out after class like we’re doing a heist. Dodging hall monitors, peeking around corners. Achi even rolls dramatically across a hallway like he’s in an action movie.

And for a few blessed minutes— It works.

Until it doesn’t.

Until the our phones starts blowing up.

Rome: bro Cir's looking for Phu like a lunatic

Ozone: he threatened the coffee stand guy for "lying about not seeing him"

Wim: he’s putting a BOUNTY on phu’s head. free lunch for whoever finds him lmao

Rome: and he promised to fight tree if she’s hiding him

Ozone: i think he’s serious

I stop in the middle of the hallway, clutching my phone like it personally betrayed me.

"I’m dead," I whisper. "I’m so dead."

Tree checks her phone and grimaces. "Cir’s threatening people."

Achi looks mildly impressed. "Damn. You really broke him."

Jin sighs. "Well, it was nice knowing you."

I squeeze my eyes shut, breathing hard.

I can’t let innocent bystanders get caught up in this.

P’Cir is already crazy.
And when he’s crazy for me—

It's worse.

Way worse.

Defeated, heart pounding, I step out from my hiding place near the side of the quad.

Almost instantly, I feel him.

His gaze.

It locks onto me like a missile.

P’Cir’s stormy expression softens the second he sees me.
Instantly.

He strides toward me, all dangerous, beautiful energy, but his hands loosen from fists to open palms. His shoulders drop. His mouth pulls into something almost gentle.

“Baby,” he breathes out like he just crossed a battlefield to get to me.

I stand there, frozen, feeling half like prey and half like someone being rescued.

P’Cir reaches me and reaches out.

And without a word, pulls me into a slow, grounding hug, pressing my head against his chest like he needs to feel me breathing to believe I’m real.

The world fades out.

It’s just him.

And me.

And the way my heart betrays me by beating a little calmer, a little steadier, in his arms

P’Cir glares over my head at my friends; full death glare, no mercy as if personally blaming them for my escape attempt earlier.

Tree glares right back.

Achi smiles nervously and hides nehind Tree.

Jin looks bored.

Nalin gives me a tiny thumbs-up like good luck surviving, baby.

P’Cir grabs my hand gently, but firmly, like I might try to run again and tugs me toward the cafeteria.

My legs move automatically, brain still scrambling to catch up.

We get in line.

He pays for my lunch before I can even reach for my wallet.

I open my mouth to argue, but one look at him, the dark eyes, the slow, heavy stare and I close it again.

Not the hill I’m ready to die on today.

My friends trail behind us like a pack of suspicious bodyguards, muttering to each other the whole way.

By the time we get to the tables, I finally gather enough nerve to say something.

"I—I want to sit with my friends," I mumble, motioning weakly to the usual spot where Tree and the others are already sliding into seats.

P’Cir looks at me.

Long.

Slow.

Measuring.

Then, casually, like it’s the most natural suggestion in the world, he says, "Okay, but You can sit in my lap."

I almost drop my tray.

"No!" I splutter, scandalized. My face goes up in flames. "P'Cir!"

He smirks. Like he’s pleased by my horror.

"Why not?" he asks, dead serious. "It’s efficient. You sit. I hold you. Win-win."

"Absolutely not!" I hiss, cheeks burning hotter. "That's—not—no!"

He leans down a little, lowering his voice so only I can hear.

"You’ll sit in my lap eventually, baby," he murmurs. "Might as well get used to the idea now."

I nearly choke on air.

Before I can come up with any kind of coherent response, his phone buzzes.

He pulls it out, frowning slightly at the screen.

"Stay here," he says, tapping my nose lightly with one finger like a command. "I'll be back."

And just like that, he strides off, answering the call, leaving me standing there red-faced, tray in hand, feeling about twenty shades of flustered.

Behind me, I hear Achi whisper to Tree:

"I’m just saying… sitting in his lap probably wouldn't be the worst thing."

Tree punches him in the arm.

I want the ground to swallow me whole.

I finally slide into my seat at the table, still feeling like I’m walking through a dream or maybe a nightmare. My friends pretend not to stare, but they’re so bad at pretending.

I’m halfway through nervously poking at my food when P’Cir comes back.

He doesn’t say anything.

He just drops into the seat right beside me, way too close, of course, thigh pressed against mine and leans back casually, as if this is normal. As if we do this every day.

I glance at him, confused.

“Aren’t you eating?” I ask, voice a little too high, a little too hopeful that he’ll maybe go up and get himself food and give me a second to breathe.

He just shakes his head, a tiny smile on his lips.

“I’m fine,” he says.

I frown at him.

There’s this weird little tug inside me, a pull I can’t ignore.

Before I can even think about it,
Before I can talk myself out of it,

I pick up a piece of fruit from my tray.

Hold it up to his mouth.

Like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

He looks at me, those dark, unreadable eyes softening even more.

And then he leans in, opens his mouth and accepts it.

No hesitation.

Just trust.

My heart does a weird little flip I’m not ready to deal with.

"Is it good?" I ask before I can stop myself, voice small and breathless.

He chews, swallows, then nods slowly.

"Yeah," he says, voice low and a little rough. "It’s good."

For about five minutes after that,

It’s just us.

Like we’re the only two people at the table.
The only two people on the planet.

I feed him another piece. He accepts it without question.

Sometimes he plucks a bite off my plate and nudges it toward me like it’s normal. Like it’s ours.

There’s this quiet, easy peace between us. No pushing. No running.
Just—Us.

It feels…Natural.

Scary natural.

But then, I realize the table has gone dead silent.

I glance up.

And see it.

Everyone.

Every one of my friends.

Everyone at the nearby tables.

Staring.

Mouths open. Forks halfway to mouths. Frozen mid-bite.

Rome is actually recording with his phone.

Tree looks like she’s trying to decide whether to call the cops or just start crying.

Jin raises one eyebrow slowly, sipping his drink like he’s at a soap opera premiere.

And just like that,

The bubble pops.

The heat floods into my face so fast I nearly drop my fork.

I yank my hand back like I’ve been burned, staring down at my tray, wishing for immediate death.

Beside me, P’Cir just chuckles under his breath.

Like he’s amused.

Like he knew.

And he’s not sorry at all.

I’m still trying to disappear into the floor when I feel it—

Cir leaning in, slow and deliberate, mouth dangerously close to my ear.

His breath is warm against my skin when he murmurs, low and smug:

"You're so cute when you're shy, baby."

I die.

I actually die.

Right there. In the cafeteria. Death by cocky quarterback.

Before I can even splutter out a response, P’Wim slides into the seat across from us beside Jin, grinning like he just scored front-row seats to a drama.

“Finally," Wim says, clapping his hands once, like this was inevitable.

Before I can ask what the hell that’s supposed to mean, Jin leans and casually, like he’s done it a thousand times presses a quick kiss to P’Wim’s temple.

P’Wim just smiles, all soft and happy, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Before I can even begin to process that- whatever it is they did, Achi slams his hands down on the table dramatically.

“I’m the only single one at this table!” he wails. “Do you know how pathetic that is? I’m the hot one! This is injustice!”

Tree leans into Nalin, who just smiles serenely like she didn’t just win the relationship lottery.

I panic a little, desperate to reclaim some dignity and also trying to be supportive.
Trying to make it better.

“I’m also single,” I offer weakly.

The second the words are out of my mouth, I know it’s a mistake.

It gets so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

P’Cir turns his head slowly, fixing me with that dark, heated stare that makes my skin prickle.

He doesn’t raise his voice.

Doesn’t even sound mad.

Just— Dead serious.

And then, flat and loud enough that half the cafeteria probably hears: "The fuck you’re not."

I blink at him, stunned.

My mouth opens.

Nothing comes out.

P’Cir just crosses his arms, glaring at me like I personally offended him, like he’s already planning my punishment for daring to say such blasphemy.

Wim and Jin exchange looks, trying very hard (and failing) not to laugh.

Achi bangs his head gently against the table.

Tree mutters, "You did this to yourself, baby Phu."

Nalin just calmly steals a fry from Tree’s tray like this is nothing new.

And me?

I seriously consider just sliding under the table and staying there forever.

But really, I am single, no matter what his delusional self thinks.

And then I stare at him.

Really stare.

Like maybe—maybe—if I look calm enough, if I speak calm enough, he’ll come back to earth.
Maybe he’ll realize how insane he sounds.

"P’Cir," I say slowly, like I’m talking to someone standing on a ledge. "I am single."

I gesture weakly at myself, desperate, ridiculous, clinging to whatever scraps of logic I have left.

"Nobody's dating me. Nobody’s claimed me."

I can’t even look him fully in the face when I say it.

But I feel it.

The shift.

The way the air gets heavier, tighter.

I glance up just in time to see it—
His jaw clench.
His shoulders stiffen.

And the storm gather in his dark eyes like a tidal wave about to break.

He leans in, voice dropping to a low, dangerous rumble: "Phu, you're cute. Real fucking cute."

My heart trips over itself, thudding painfully against my ribs.

"What did I say yesterday," he continues, deadly soft, "when I kissed the living shit out of you?"

I swallow thickly, trying to breathe, trying to survive under the weight of him.

He doesn’t give me a second to answer.

"I told you you’re mine," he says, slow and deliberate, like he’s carving it into the air between us, "and I’m staking my claim."

Dead silence around the table.

Even Achi who never shuts up is just sitting there, mouth slightly open, like he’s watching a live action drama he didn’t pay for.

Tree is staring at her juice like she’s questioning her life choices.

Wim and Jin are whispering furiously to each other, but I can’t hear them over the roar in my ears.

All I can see is him.

P’Cir.

Looking at me like I’m already his heart.

And somewhere deep down, where my panic can’t quite reach—

Something dangerous and warm unfurls inside me.

My voice comes out high and panicked, cracking halfway through:

"P'Cir, you can’t just meet somebody and kiss them and claim them all in five minutes!"

He doesn’t even flinch.

I barrel on, feeling my heart hammering in my throat.

"We don’t even know each other!"

The second the words are out, I regret them.

Because his smile shifts, slow and dangerous and almost soft.

He leans back just slightly in his chair, like he’s giving me space, but not really.
His arm stretches out along the back of my seat, behind me. Claiming. Wrapping me in his orbit without even touching me.

"Baby," he says, voice low and wrecking, "you think I don’t know everything I need to know already?"

I stare at him, speechless.

"You’re mine," he says simply. "You fit right here." He taps his chest, right over his heart, like it’s obvious.

"You kiss me back like you were made for me."

He shrugs, easy, devastating.

"And besides…" he adds, tilting his head, watching me through those half-lidded, dangerous eyes, "I’ll spend the rest of my life getting to know you."

Boom.

There goes my heart.

There goes my sanity.

There goes any hope I had of pretending he didn’t already own me a little bit.

I sit there, flushed and trembling and completely, utterly overwhelmed, while P’Cir smiles at me like he’s already won and maybe, terrifyingly, he has.

Phu’s POV

"What about... your girlfriend?" I blurt out before I can stop myself.

Chapter Text

Phu’s POV

"What about... your girlfriend?" I blurt out before I can stop myself.

The second the words leave my mouth, I feel my face burn with embarrassment.

How could I have forgotten?

Lukprae.
Throwing herself into his arms after the game.
Looking like she belonged there.

The confused look on P’Cir’s face doesn’t help.

He tilts his head slightly, like he genuinely has no idea what I’m talking about.

For a horrible second, my heart stumbles in my chest.

Was he that much of a player?
Did he really forget he already had someone?

A sick, twisting feeling unfurls in my stomach.

I could never bring that kind of pain to someone else.
Never knowingly steal someone’s boyfriend.

I start to pull away—just slightly—but his hand tightens around mine under the table, keeping me tethered.

"I don’t have a girlfriend," he says simply.

I look at him, incredulous. "Of course you do," I say, trying to stay calm. "I saw you two. On the field."

Realization finally clicks in his eyes.

He exhales slowly, almost like he’s annoyed he has to explain something so stupid.

"She’s not my girlfriend," he says. "Just someone I slept with. A long time ago."

The words hit me like a slap.

Not because he’s lying, he doesn’t sound like he’s lying.

But because he says it so matter-of-factly.

Like it’s no big deal.

Like it doesn’t mean anything.

And maybe to him—it doesn’t.

I'd heard the stories, of course. Everyone had.

Cirrus Rueng.
Playboy. Heartbreaker.
Never seen with the same person twice.

At least he was being honest with me.

But the sharp sting in my chest, the awful, hollow feeling, I don’t know how to deal with that.

Do I really want to be just another one of his cast-offs?
Just another story people whisper about after he moves on?

I stare down at my hands in my lap, heart aching in a way I wasn’t prepared for.

And the scariest part?

I already know the truth.

I already know that if I stay, if I let myself fall any deeper—He could break me.

And I’m not sure I could survive it.

All this talk of belonging to him was very confusing as well.

What did it really mean?

Was it just… something he said in the heat of the moment? Something he threw around casually the way he tossed a football?

Or was it something deeper? Something heavier?

I didn’t know.

And that scared me more than anything.

From what I'd learned about him in passing, Cirrus Rueng wasn't exactly the type to beat around the bush.

If he wanted something, he said it.

If he didn’t, he moved on without a second thought.

Rumor was, he never slept with the same person twice.

Ever.

No attachments. No mess.
Just one night. Then gone.

Which meant, He’d been pretty busy.

A constant string of names and faces that blurred together in whispers and gossip.

And what did that mean for me?

Was I just another... distraction?

Another pretty face he wanted to claim, play with, and then discard once the shine wore off?

I clenched my hands tighter in my lap, feeling the food I’d barely eaten sit heavy in my stomach.

The way he looked at me…
The way he touched me…
It felt different.

It felt real.

But feelings could be dangerous.
Feelings could lie.

I didn’t know what he wanted from me.

I didn’t know if I was ready to find out.

But sitting here, with the warmth of his hand still tangled in mine under the table, I realized something terrifying:

Even if he broke me,

Even if I was just another fleeting name he forgot someday,

I already wanted him too much to walk away.

I try to pull away.

Just a little.

Not dramatically—
Not enough to make a scene—
Just enough to breathe.

But the second my hand twitches, P’Cir’s fingers tighten around mine under the table.

He doesn’t let go.

He won’t.

He looks at me—really looks at me—and something in his eyes shifts.

He sees it.

The hesitation.
The fear.
The thousand doubts clawing at the back of my mind.

Without a word, he stands up.

Dragging me up with him.

Before I can even think to protest, he’s steering me out of the cafeteria, away from the noise, away from the stares.

I don’t know where we’re going until we’re tucked in the small empty courtyard behind the cafeteria—quiet, hidden, private.

Safe.

He turns to me, still holding my hand like a lifeline, and pins me with a look so serious it steals the breath from my lungs.

"I’m not gonna play around with the truth," he says, voice low but steady.

I stare up at him, heart hammering, barely able to breathe.

"I’m pretty sure you’ll be bombarded with stories about me," he continues, tone dry, almost bitter. "About everything I’ve done. Everyone I’ve been with."

He exhales slowly, shoulders tense.

"And if we’re gonna have any kind of relationship which I’m gonna make damn sure is the case," he says fiercely, "then I’d rather start clean."

My throat tightens painfully.

P’Cir steps closer, just enough that I feel his heat, his presence, all around me.

"I’m not ashamed of my past," he says. "But anything I did before yesterday—before you—doesn’t matter anymore."

His hand squeezes mine gently.

"I can imagine what you've heard about me. Most of it’s true, no doubt."

I look up at him, wide-eyed, afraid to hope, afraid to believe.

"But if you believe nothing else," he says, voice rough, wrecked, "believe me when I say, I’m a straight shooter."

I blink up at him, heart catching painfully.

"I’m not gonna say I don’t expect you to believe me," he murmurs. "Because for what we’re going to mean to each other—"

He leans down, forehead nearly touching mine.

"I don't, and won't, accept anything less."

My breath hitches.

"From now on," he says, voice fierce and certain, "it’s you and me."

"There will be no other girl."

"No other guy."

"That ended yesterday across a football field."

The words hang between us, heavy and terrifying and beautiful.

And somehow—Somehow I believe him.

Even if it terrifies me.

Even if it makes my heart feel like it’s about to break from how much I already want him.

I believe him.

Cir’s POV

He looks up at me.

Big, wide, trembling eyes.

Like he’s standing on the edge of a cliff and I’m asking him to jump without a parachute.

And then, in the smallest voice, he says—

"I still don’t understand."

My chest aches.

"I don’t get it," he whispers, staring at the ground between us. "Why me? Why so sudden?"

I exhale slowly, fighting every instinct to grab him, to kiss him until he can’t think, to prove it with my hands and my mouth and my everything.

But I don’t.

I make myself stay still.

I make myself answer him.

Because he deserves that much.

Because he deserves everything.

I crouch a little, just enough to meet his eyes properly, so he can see the truth burning in mine.

"Phu," I say, voice low, steady, like I’m giving a vow, "I don’t have a good explanation."

He blinks at me, confused and hurting.

And I keep going, raw and honest.

"I just know—when I saw you... everything else stopped."

I shake my head slowly, trying to find the words.

"You were standing there in that stupid colorful sweater," I say hoarsely, "with your stupid juice box and your stupid big eyes—"

He lets out a tiny huff, like he wants to argue, but he doesn’t.

"And for the first time," I say, voice cracking, "I felt something."

I press my palm flat against my chest, over my heart.

"I didn’t even know this thing was still working."

I smile, broken and real.

"And you didn’t even look at me twice. You didn’t care who I was. You just—" I choke a little on the memory, "you were just you."

My hand reaches out—slow, careful—and brushes his knuckles lightly.

"And right then," I whisper, "I knew."

No drama.
No second thoughts.
No bullshit.

"It’s you."

"It was always gonna be you."

For a moment, a long, stretched-out moment, He just stares at me.

Breathing hard.
Blinking fast.

Like he’s holding back a whole flood of emotions he doesn’t know how to handle.

And then, So soft I almost don’t hear it "I don’t know what to do, P’Cir..."

My chest cracks wide open.

My fierce, sweet boy.
So brave just for saying it.

I move closer slow, careful until our foreheads almost touch.

My hand finds his, curling gently around his trembling fingers.

"You don’t have to know," I whisper, voice rough with everything I’m feeling. "You don’t have to do anything."

He swallows hard, looking up at me like I’m offering him something he’s never had before.

And maybe I am.

I brush my thumb lightly over his knuckles, like I’m memorizing the feel of him.

"Just let me love you, baby," I murmur. "That’s all you have to do."

No pressure.
No expectations.

Just this.

Just us.

He lets out a shaky breath, like he’s collapsing quietly inside himself.

And then, slowly, hesitantly—

He leans into me.

Not a full hug.
Not yet.

Just... trust.

Just weight.

Just him.

And I wrap my arms around him like he’s the most precious thing I’ve ever held.

And I’m never letting go.

I hold him.

Just hold him.

Breathing him in, feeling the tiny trembles running through his body, feeling his heart beat against mine.

And then I feel it, the smallest shift.

He clings a little tighter.

Just a little.

Fingers curling into my shirt, head resting more fully against my chest.

And in the smallest, softest whisper "Okay..."

I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, overwhelmed.

Okay.

He’s scared.
He’s unsure.
But he’s choosing me anyway.

I press my mouth to the top of his hair, just breathing him in.

Just... holding.

Just having him.

In a voice so quiet and wobbly it sounds like he’s fighting a smile, he whispers against my chest:

"You're already on the crazy train with all this love talk, P’Cir... you’ll have to wait for me to catch up."

I huff out a breathless laugh, chest shaking.

God.

God.

I’m so fucking gone for him.

I pull back just enough to look at him, hands cradling his face gently, forcing him to meet my eyes.

"I’ll wait," I promise, voice low and serious. "As long as it takes."

Because he's worth it.
Every second.
Every breath.

And whether he knows it yet or not—

He’s already got me.

Completely.

I can't stop looking at him.

I don’t even try.

He’s right here, in my arms, looking up at me with those wide, uncertain eyes.
Tiny little lines of worry crease his forehead. His lips are slightly parted, like he’s on the verge of saying something but too scared to let it out.

I brush my thumb lightly over his cheek, not rushing him, not pushing—just waiting.

Waiting for him to meet me halfway.

And then—

Softly.

Tentatively.

Like he’s giving me the biggest, scariest gift in the world, he whispers:

"Will you kiss me now, P’Cir?"

My heart fucking breaks in my chest.

Not from sadness.

From the sheer, overwhelming love I feel for him.

I cup his face carefully, like he’s something precious I could shatter if I’m not careful.

"Yeah, baby," I whisper, voice wrecked and full of something too big for words. "I’ll kiss you."

I lean in slow, so slow, giving him every chance to pull away.

He doesn’t.

He tilts his face up to me, eyes fluttering shut, trusting me completely.

And when our mouths meet, It’s nothing like before.

It’s not rushed.
Not desperate.

It’s soft.
Lingering.
Full of promises.

His lips are warm and trembling against mine, and I kiss him like I’m trying to memorize the exact shape of his soul.

Like I have all the time in the world.

Because for him? I do.

I pull back from the kiss just enough to look at him.

His eyes are still closed, lashes trembling, lips pink and kiss-bruised, like he’s clinging to the feeling for dear life.

I brush my thumb across his cheekbone, just because I can’t not touch him.

And then, because patience isn’t exactly my strong suit, I ask "When are your classes done today, baby?"

He blinks up at me, dazed. "Huh?" he mumbles, still catching up.

I smile, slow and easy, tilting my head. "Your schedule, baby. What time are you finished?"

He frowns slightly, confused but trying so hard to be helpful.

"Around three," he says slowly. "Why?"

I lean in again, until our foreheads brush.

Until there’s no space between us but breath and heartbeats.

And with the most casual voice in the world, I say "So we’ll have enough time to pack up your things and move you into your own place."

Dead silence.

Phu just stares at me.

Mouth slightly open.

Eyes huge and terrified and so, so beautiful.

I smile a little wider, tipping my head innocently like I haven't just casually proposed he uproot his entire life.

"What?" I murmur, brushing his hair back from his forehead. "You didn’t think I was gonna leave you in that dorm forever, did you?"

Phu’s POV

I stare at him.

Hard.

The same way I always seem to stare at him, Like he’s completely and utterly insane.

Because he is.

He has to be.

There’s no other explanation.

"P’Cir," I say carefully, like I’m trying to reason with a lunatic, "I am not moving in with you."

He just blinks at me.

All calm and patient and terrifyingly unmoved, like I just told him it’s raining outside and he’s already got an umbrella.

"No," I say more firmly, crossing my arms over my chest, trying to channel every ounce of backbone I have. "No, you cannot convince me. I’m not moving in with you. You’re insane."

He smiles.

Soft.

Smug.

Unbothered.

Like I didn’t just draw a line in the sand.

Like he’s already planning how to step over it.

"Maybe," he says casually, "but you’re still gonna end up in my bed, baby."

I make a strangled noise somewhere between a gasp and a squawk.

My face flames so fast I feel dizzy.

He just chuckles—actually chuckles—and tugs me closer by my wrist, like I’m something soft he gets to pet and tease and claim.

I sputter.

Actually sputter.

"I—I can’t just move out of my dorm!" I blurt, hands flailing a little between us.

He just shrugs, infuriatingly calm.

"Sure you can," he says. "It’s not like the dorm police are gonna come after you."

"I—I paid for the semester!" I try again, desperate.

"I'll cover it," he says without missing a beat, like he’s offering to pay for extra fries at lunch.

I gape at him.

"That's—! That’s a waste of money!"

He grins a little, teeth flashing. "Money’s not a problem, baby."

I make a noise somewhere between a squeak and a growl.

"Wh-what about school regulations?!" I try, grasping at straws.

"Not your dad," he says easily. "Not the dean. Nobody cares where you sleep as long as you show up to class."

I open my mouth—

Close it.

Open it again.

"I'm not—!" I try one last time, desperate. "I'm not ready to—to live with somebody!"

He finally tilts his head, studying me with those deep, dark, too-knowing eyes.

"Not somebody," he says softly. "Me."

And somehow that makes it worse.

Because he says it like it’s obvious.

Like it’s inevitable.

Like it’s already true.

I let out a frustrated breath, tugging at the ends of my sleeves like I can physically ground myself.

He watches me for a second longer.

I dig deep.

Deeper than I ever have before.

I summon every last scrap of reason, logic, and sheer survival instinct I have left.

"P'Cir," I say, trying to keep my voice calm and firm even though my heart is pounding like crazy, "it's a bad idea."

He lifts one eyebrow, unimpressed. "Why?"

I scramble. "Because—we barely know each other!" I blurt out.

He leans in slightly, that devastatingly lazy smile on his lips.

"That’s what living together is for, baby."
"Getting to know each other better."

I gape at him.

"And—and it’s too soon!" I say desperately.

He shrugs. "It’s only too soon if it’s wrong."

"And what if it's wrong?" I demand, voice rising slightly.

He smiles wider. "It’s not."

I flail harder, grasping at anything. "I have classes—" I try.

"I’ll drive you," he says instantly.

I stare at him, actually losing my mind a little.

He is so calm. So certain.

Like he’s already planned this out down to what cereal we'll buy.

"And Ozone stays with me sometimes," Cir adds, so casually I almost miss it. "You’ll have someone else there if you get tired of looking at my face."

I choke. "I would not—!"

He smiles even wider, like he knows exactly how wrecked I am.

"You love my face," he says.

Smug.

Sure.

Deadly.

I throw my hands up in the air helplessly, heart pounding out of control.

I square my shoulders.

Take a deep breath.

Dig my heels into the ground like I’m bracing for an earthquake.

"I'm not ready, P'Cir," I say firmly, shocking even myself a little. "I'm not moving in with you."

He watches me for a long second.

Silent.

Then,  to my utter disbelief…He smiles.

Soft and a little smug.

Like he’s proud of me.

He reaches out, brushes his knuckles lightly across my cheek, and says, "Okay, baby. Not yet."

Not yet.

Which is terrifying in itself.

But he concedes.

He actually lets me win.

I blow out a breath of relief, heart hammering as we walk back toward the cafeteria.

I'm still huffing a little, trying to process everything, trying to rebuild some semblance of sanity.

Meanwhile, P’Cir looks obnoxiously amused.

Like this whole conversation was adorable.

Like I’m adorable.

We sit back down at the table where our friends are still pretending not to be rabidly watching our every move.

I slide into my seat, cheeks burning, still slightly puffed up from having stood my ground.

P’Cir lounges back beside me, smirking like he owns the building.

After a minute, he nudges me under the table with his knee.

"After classes," he says casually, "you’re coming to watch me at football practice."

I whip my head toward him. "What?"

"Yeah." He shrugs, like it’s obvious. "And then we’ll leave together. We’ll get dinner."

I splutter.

"P'Cir, people will look at me weird!" I hiss.

He snorts.

"Look at me, baby." He spreads his arms out a little, like a king surveying his kingdom. "Do I look like I give a fuck what people think?"

I choke.

"P'Cir!" I whine, glancing around, panicking. "You swear too much!"

He grins, full of teeth and trouble.

He blinks.

Then immediately "Sorry, baby," he says, voice dropping low and guilty, like I just kicked a puppy. "I’ll try not to."

I freeze.

He’s...He’s serious.

He says it like he means it.
Like he’s genuinely sorry.

Like if I asked him to stop breathing he would genuinely consider it.

I blink up at him, stunned speechless for a second.

And then, I realize.

Our entire table is dead silent.

Every single one of our friends is staring at us.

Open-mouthed.

Wide-eyed.

Staring.

Tree’s fork is halfway to her mouth.
Achi looks like he just witnessed a miracle.
Nalin is trying very hard to hide her smile behind her hand.
Jin and Wim are exchanging very significant glances across the table.

Rome, from a few tables over, is holding up his phone like he’s about to livestream the apocalypse.

I feel my face burn so hard I might actually burst into flames.

P’Cir, meanwhile, just hums under his breath, completely unfazed, and reaches over to casually refill my drink like the most natural thing in the world.

Like he didn’t just publicly fold because I whined at him.

Like we’re already married.

I want to crawl under the table and die.

I clear my throat, face still on fire.

I have to change the subject. Fast.

Before Tree starts asking questions. Before Achi starts making comments. Before Rome starts recording again.

I scramble for the first thing that comes to mind.

"S-so—uh," I stammer, gripping my fork like a lifeline, "did anyone finish the assignment for design class yet?"

Jin raises an eyebrow at me, unimpressed.
Tree snorts into her juice.

But mercifully—mercifully—everyone sort of pretends to play along.

For about two seconds.

Until P’Cir casually reaches over and wipes the corner of my mouth with his thumb.

I freeze mid-sentence, mid-breath, mid-existence.

I can feel the eyes on us.
The entire table staring.

P’Cir, looking completely unbothered, smiles a little to himself.

"Had a crumb," he murmurs like it's the most normal thing in the world.

I want to die.

I want the earth to open up and swallow me whole.

"T-thank you," I squeak out, my voice about three octaves higher than usual.

I try to dive back into safe conversation.

"Jin—uh, the project—what—what software did you use again?" I babble, waving my fork vaguely at him.

"Rhino," Jin says, deadpan.

"Oh, cool, cool," I nod frantically, trying to act like my soul isn’t leaking out of my ears.

P’Cir, meanwhile, is just—Still watching me.

Soft. Fond. Like he’s about two seconds away from pulling me into his lap.

And Because apparently I haven’t suffered enough, He reaches over again.

And starts cutting up my food for me.

Cutting. My. Food.

At the table.

In front of everyone.

"Eat, baby," he says quietly, sliding the plate closer to me.

"P'Cir—" I whisper, horrified.

"You’re too small to fight me," he says without missing a beat, still calmly cutting my chicken like I’m five years old and he’s my babysitter.

I bury my face in my hands.

Tree coughs pointedly.

Achi whispers, "Bro, I think he’s already married you."

Rome across the room yells, "Ai CIR PITY THE POOR BOY HE CAN BARELY BREATHE!"

P’Cir just smiles wider.

And places a forkful of food right in front of my mouth.

Waiting.

Patient.

Smug.

Completely impossible.

***

The rest of the day goes about as... normal as it can.

Which, for me lately, means barely controlled chaos.

Classes blur by in a nervous, half-distracted haze, but at least P’Cir doesn’t ambush me again before practice.

Small victories.

When classes end, I find myself standing awkwardly at the edge of the football field, trying not to look too lost.

P’Cir had insisted I come watch him practice (And by insisted, I mean he said "Be there, baby," and kissed the top of my head before walking off like that sealed the deal.)

But luckily, I'm not alone.

P’Wim is already there, sitting in the bleachers with a textbook open on his lap, clearly pretending to study while sneaking glances at the field.

I shuffle over and plop down next to him, feeling immediately less self-conscious.

"Hey," P’Wim says, not looking up, a little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Your husband’s about to start warmups."

I flush bright red.

"H-he’s not my—" I start, but P’Wim just lifts an eyebrow without even glancing away from his book.

I groan into my hands.

A few minutes later, Jin jogs over in full gear, sweat already slicking his hair back.

He leans over to kiss P’Wim quickly on the forehead—casual, practiced, normal and then jogs back to the team.

I try not to stare.

I try not to think about P’Cir doing that to me someday. (I'm failing.)

Then, Ozone and P’Rome show up.

They clamber up the bleachers, shoving and bickering like they’re twelve years old.

Rome spots me first.

"Awww, look," he crows, pointing dramatically. "Cir’s little baby came to watch his big strong husband play football."

Ozone howls with laughter.

I bury my face in my hoodie.

"I hate all of you," I mumble into the fabric.

P’Wim just pats my back sympathetically. "You’ll get used to it," he says. "They’re idiots, but harmless."

"Mostly harmless," Ozone chimes in brightly.

"Except when they’re not," Rome adds cheerfully.

I groan again, wishing for death.

Out on the field, P’Cir jogs by in full gear, catching my eye.

He grins—grins—like the whole stadium belongs to him.

I watch helplessly as he jogs over, jersey clinging to him, dark hair sweaty and messy and unfairly gorgeous.

I barely have time to panic, barely have time to breathe, before he’s right there.

In front of me.

And as if he heard my earlier stupid, traitorous thoughts, He cups the back of my head.

Leans down.

And kisses me.

On the mouth.

Full.
Warm.
Completely unapologetic.

Right there, in front of the whole damn field.

In front of everyone.

I squeak.
Actually squeak.
Completely paralyzed.

When he finally pulls back, his grin is lazy and smug and wrecking, like he just did something as casual as tying his shoe.

I sit there blinking like an idiot, lips tingling, brain melting out of my ears.

The only thing I manage to blurt out,

The only thing,

Is:

"Urgh, P'Cir, you're sweaty!"

P’Cir just laughs—loud, delighted and leans his forehead against mine for a second.

"Still kissed you, baby," he murmurs, voice rough and teasing. "And you let me."

I let out a tiny mortified whimper and cover my face with both hands.

Behind us, I hear Ozone and Rome absolutely losing it in the bleachers, howling like they just witnessed the grand finale of a soap opera.

P’Wim lets out a long, suffering sigh.

"You better get used to it," he mutters beside me. "He's never gonna stop now."

And somehow despite the embarrassment, despite the chaos.

Somewhere deep inside, I’m not sure I want him to.

Cir’s POV

I jog back to practice after kissing the living hell out of my baby.

Coach yells something about "focus" but even he doesn’t sound that mad.
Probably because I’m smiling for once.

The rest of practice goes normal enough.

Except, Every so often, when I’m stretching or lined up for a drill, I glance over at the bleachers.

And he’s there.

Small.
Bright.
Watching me with this tiny frown like he’s worried I’ll break myself.

And every time I catch him looking, I grin.

Every damn time.

He flushes and tries to pretend he wasn’t staring, but it’s useless.
I see him.

I always will.

When practice finally wraps, I don’t even wait to shower just towel off, yank on a clean shirt, and hustle back to him.

We pile into my car and head toward dinner.

And somewhere between the stadium parking lot and the first traffic light,

Phu starts talking.

Really talking.

About class. About his design project. About how Rome almost set the group chat on fire earlier. About how Tree and Nalin are planning some stupid couples game night he’s determined not to get roped into.

It’s endless.

A messy, nonstop stream of words.

Animated. Passionate.
Rambling.

And I don’t say much.

Just drive.

Listen.

Smile like a complete idiot.

And somewhere in the middle of his rant about Achi trying to convince him to join a badminton team ("P'Cir, I can barely run, do you think I can hit a birdie at the same time??")

I realize something.

I like this.

The way he talks.
The way he moves his hands.
The way he occasionally glances over at me like he’s checking to make sure I’m still listening.

I like him.

Not just the soft mouth and the wide eyes and the tiny little body that fits so perfectly against mine.

I like Phu.

All of him.

All the chaos.
All the color.
All the life he brings with him like a storm I never knew I needed.

And God help me,

I want to hear him talk to me like this for the rest of my damn life.

Phu’s POV

I’m rambling.

I know I’m rambling.

But for once, I don’t feel awkward about it.
P’Cir is actually listening—really listening—not zoning out or pretending to pay attention like some people do when I talk too much.

He nods along, throws in little comments here and there.

Sometimes he even asks questions.

"What kind of buildings do you wanna design, baby?" he asks as we hit a red light, glancing over at me like he genuinely cares.

I fidget with the strap of my bag, flustered by how serious he sounds. "I don’t know yet... Maybe houses. Something warm. Something that feels like a home."

He hums low under his breath, a pleased sound that makes my stomach flip.

"Yeah," he says. "You look like you'd build something beautiful."

My face flames.

I try to steer the conversation away, launching into a ridiculous story about how Jin convinced me to sign up for a design competition without telling me it involved public speaking.

He actually laughs—laughs—and then mutters, "I'm gonna kick Jin’s ass for stressing you out."

I blink at him.

"P’Cir, you can’t beat people up just because I’m bad at public speaking!" I protest.

He shrugs one massive shoulder. "Sure I can."

I give him a look.

The infamous stink eye Tree taught me.

He just grins wider.

I plow ahead, telling him about how Tree is planning a "couples night" and Achi is furious because he’s still single.

"He tried to rope me into pretending to be his boyfriend for it," I say, rolling my eyes.

The car suddenly goes about ten degrees colder.

I glance over.

P’Cir’s knuckles are white on the steering wheel.

"If he touches you," he says calmly, "I’ll break his fucking fingers."

I almost choke.

"P’Cir!" I gasp, horrified.

He glances over at me like what? Like this is normal.

I scowl at him, crossing my arms.

"You’re cursing," I snap.

He has the audacity—the audacity—to wink at me.

"Sorry, baby," he says, utterly unapologetic. "I’ll try to be good."

I narrow my eyes at him suspiciously.

He doesn’t even try to look sorry.

I slouch deeper into my seat, muttering under my breath about crazy, foul-mouthed, cavemen.

But somehow, even with the threats and the swearing, I can’t stop smiling.

We end up ordering takeout instead of eating at the diner.

Which is fine.

Better even.

Less people to witness my slow, inevitable public breakdown.

By the time we get back to my dorm, I'm feeling a little more steady.
A little more like I can handle this.

P’Cir dumps the bags of food on the tiny kitchen counter, looks around once like he's sizing up the place, and then— "I’m gonna shower," he says casually.

Before I can open my mouth to say anything, before I can remind him that this isn’t his apartment or that he should maybe ask first, he’s already disappearing into the bathroom, tugging his shirt over his head as he goes.

I stand there, blinking.

Mouth open.

Brain fried.

After a moment of stunned silence, I shake myself out of it and move to unpack the food.
I plate everything up neatly, even setting out water bottles, trying to pretend like this isn’t the most surreal day of my life.

I'm bent over the counter, adjusting plates, when I hear the bathroom door open.

I look up.

And immediately wish I hadn’t.

Because there, casually strolling into my tiny sitting room is P’Cir.

Freshly showered.
Dripping water onto my floor.
Wearing nothing but a towel slung low on his hips.

His usual half-up messy ponytail is gone, and his long black hair falls in damp, wild waves down his back, clinging to his skin.

And I—

I just—

I malfunction.

Full body system failure.

My mouth goes dry.

My brain short-circuits.

I physically cannot look away even though I know I should.

He runs a hand through his wet hair, pushing it back from his forehead, and glances at me with this lazy, wicked smirk like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

Like this is on purpose.

"Dinner ready, baby?" he drawls, voice low and rough from the shower.

I make a tiny strangled noise that might be a yes. Might also be my soul leaving my body.

He saunters closer, and I swear the room gets about ten degrees hotter.

I might actually die.

Here.
Now.

Death by P'Cir.

It would probably be considered an honorable death.

Chapter Text

Phu’s POV

My throat is so dry it’s a miracle I can speak at all.

"P'Cir..." I stammer, heart hammering painfully. "You—you need to get dressed."

He tilts his head, smirking.

"Do I?" he asks, all low and teasing, stalking forward like a panther who knows his prey is cornered.

I take one step back.

He takes two steps forward.

Before I can even think, he’s right there in front of me.

Close.

Too close.

His hand brushes my jaw, tilting my face up. And then he kisses me.

Slow at first.

Deep.

Devouring.

I make a small helpless noise against his mouth, grabbing onto his arms like they’re the only solid thing in the world.

Somehow, somehow we stumble backward crash into the my couch against the wall.

And then he’s on top of me.

Large. Warm. Overwhelming.

Still kissing me like he’s trying to consume me whole.

His hands are everywhere—cupping my face, stroking my sides, threading through my hair.

And then, he grinds down.

His hardness pressing against me through the towel.

A jolt of panic tears through me.

Too fast.
Too much.
Too real.

I turn my head sharply, breaking the kiss.

"P'Cir..." I whisper, chest heaving.

He freezes immediately.

Breathing hard.

But he doesn't push.

Doesn't argue.

Doesn’t demand.

Instead, he leans back.

Looks at me.

Eyes dark but understanding.

Without a word, he presses a soft kiss to my temple—gentle, apologetic—and gets off me.

He disappears into my bedroom to get dressed, leaving me gasping on the chair, my entire body trembling with leftover heat and confusion.

When he returns a few minutes later, fully dressed, his hair still a little damp but his smile softer now.

He doesn’t mention it.

Doesn’t make it awkward.

He just plops down on the floor beside the coffee table, grabs his plate of food, and pats the spot next to him.

"C’mon, baby," he says, voice casual but warm. "Dinner’s getting cold."

And somehow,

Somehow,

Everything feels okay again.

Safe.

Normal.

Or at least... our version of normal.

Dinner is...

Nice.

Really nice.

P’Cir sits cross-legged on the floor beside the coffee table, demolishing his food with the enthusiasm of someone who hasn’t eaten in a week.

But between bites, he keeps stealing off my plate.

I swat at his hand every time, whining a little, but he just grins like a mischievous kid and steals another piece of fried chicken anyway.

"P'Cir!" I scold, pouting. "You ordered your own!"

"Yeah," he says, grinning wickedly, "but yours tastes better."

I huff dramatically, shoving my plate a few inches further away from him, but I’m smiling.

I can’t help it.

He’s being...

Playful.

Soft.

Teasing in a way that’s light, not overwhelming.

And somewhere between the stolen bites and the bickering and the way he keeps nudging my knee with his every few minutes,

I realize something.

Not everyone gets to see this version of him.

The P’Cir everyone talks about—the reckless player, the dangerous quarterback, the guy who swears and fights and sleeps around-
That guy isn’t sitting here with me.

This Cir—

The one stealing chicken off my plate.

The one smiling like he’s found something precious.

The one who listens to me ramble and lets me scold him for cursing-

This version is mine.

And it terrifies me.

And it warms me.

And I think maybe it’s already too late to stop falling.

We’re halfway through dessert, P’Cir fighting me for the last bite of mango sticky rice—when he suddenly says:

"I’m spending the night, by the way."

I choke on air.

My head snaps up so fast I almost get whiplash.

He sees the panic on my face immediately.

Before I can even start hyperventilating, he holds up both hands, placating.

"Just to sleep," he says quickly, voice gentle. "Not doing anything. Promise."

He leans closer, bumping his forehead lightly against mine.

"I just... wanna stay close to you tonight, baby," he murmurs, voice softer than I’ve ever heard it. "That's all."

I swallow hard, heart pounding so loud I can barely hear him.

But somehow, Somehow—

I nod.

Tiny. Hesitant.

But real.

Then I shoot up from the floor like I’m spring-loaded, hands flapping a little as I scramble for a plan.

"You—you can have the couch!" I blurt, rushing over and patting the sad little loveseat against the wall. "It’s small, but—I mean, you can fit, probably—you’re kinda big, but if you curl up—"

I’m babbling.

Rambling.

Panic leaking out of me like a busted faucet.

Cir just watches me from the floor.

Amused.

Unmoving.

Predatory.

Patient.

Like he’s letting me get all my little protests out before he inevitably steamrolls them.

I keep rambling anyway, desperate.

"I’ll get you an extra pillow! And—and the AC remote! And I can find a blanket somewhere maybe that one that Tree gave me for Christmas—"

"Baby," Cir says, voice low and fond, cutting through my spiraling like a hot knife.

I freeze.

He pushes himself up from the floor in one easy movement.

Stretches lazily, the hem of his T-shirt riding up just enough to flash a sliver of skin and completely destroy my soul.

Then, without a care in the world,

He strolls right past me.

Past the couch.

Past the coffee table.

Straight into my tiny bedroom.

Like he’s been here a thousand times.

Like he lives here.

I stand there, flapping uselessly like a stunned chicken, as he grabs one of my oversized T-shirts from the dresser (my dresser!!), strips off his own shirt, and pulls mine over his head without even asking.

I squeak helplessly.

The shirt hangs loose on him, the hem brushing his waist. His hair is still damp, messy around his shoulders, and he looks unfairly soft, unfairly right standing there in my space like he belongs.

He glances over at me.

Catches me staring.

Smirks.

Then, casually—He crawls into my bed.

Flops down onto his back, arms behind his head, looking perfectly at home.

"You coming, baby?" he asks, like this is a normal, everyday thing. "Or you planning to sleep on the floor?"

I make a noise that might be a whimper.

Maybe a squeak.

Maybe my last dying breath.

And somehow, somehow, my legs start moving toward him.

I shuffle toward the bed like I’m walking to my own execution.

P’Cir watches me.

Patient.
Smiling.
So unbearably soft.

I stand at the edge for a second, heart hammering so loud it’s a wonder he can’t hear it.

Then, taking a deep, shaky breath—I climb in.

I make sure to stay on my side of the bed.

As far from him as humanly possible.

Curled up tight.

Stiff as a board.

Hands tucked under my chin.
Eyes squeezed shut.

Maybe if I pretend to be asleep, he’ll leave me alone.

Maybe if I pretend to be dead, he’ll forget I exist.

There’s a moment of silence.

Just the sound of the AC humming and my own frantic breathing.

And then—

I feel it.

The bed shifting.

The soft press of weight moving closer.

A hand—warm, sure, careful—slides around my waist.

I stiffen instinctively.

"Easy, baby," Cir whispers against the back of my neck, voice so low it feels like a physical thing.

"I'm just holding you."

His arm wraps fully around me, pulling me back gently against his chest.

No forcing.
No pushing.

Just—

Presence.

Solid.
Safe.
Steady.

He tucks his face into my hair and breathes out slowly, like he’s been holding his breath all day and can finally relax.

"You’re safe with me," he murmurs, voice all warm and wrecked and too much.

"I'm not going anywhere."

I feel my throat tighten painfully.

Something inside me trembles.

Not fear.
Not panic.

Something softer.
Something scarier.

I squeeze my eyes tighter, fighting the sudden sting of tears.

I don't move away.

I don't even think about it.

Instead, slowly—hesitantly—I let myself breathe against him.

Let myself be held.

Because maybe, just maybe—

I’m already his, too.

Cir’s POV

I feel him slowly, hesitantly uncurl against me.

His body still tight with nerves, but not pulling away.

Not running.

I keep my breathing slow, steady, like I’m trying to anchor him.

I press my nose into his hair, feeling the faint scent of his shampoo, something soft and clean and so him it makes my chest ache.

He shifts a little.

And I feel it, the tiniest sigh escaping him as he starts to sink into me.

Starts to trust me.

I tighten my hold, just slightly, my thumb brushing over the curve of his hip in slow, lazy circles.

"Sleep, baby," I whisper against the shell of his ear. "I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere."

For a moment, he’s still.

Then,

Bit by bit

His breathing evens out.

The tension melts from his body, like a string being slowly, carefully unwound.

He relaxes fully against me, head tucked under my chin, one hand resting lightly against my chest.

Right where he belongs.

I stay like that.

Holding him.

Listening to the soft, sleepy sounds he makes when he exhales.

Feeling the tiny movements of his heartbeat against mine.

I could fall asleep, too.

Could let myself drift.

But I don’t.

I can’t.

Not yet.

Because for the first time in what feels like forever, I have exactly what I want in my arms.

And I’m scared that if I close my eyes, even for a second, it’ll be gone.

So I stay awake.

Just a little longer.

Memorizing the weight of him.
The smell of him.
The way he trusts me enough to fall asleep tangled up with me.

Mine.

Finally.

And I swear, If the world ended tonight.

I'd die happy.

Phu’s POV

Somehow,

Without even talking about it,
Without making any official plans,

It just... happens.

We fall into a rhythm.

A week slips by like a dream.

Some nights we stay at my dorm.

P’Cir stretching out half the bed, stealing all the blankets, mumbling sleepy curses against my neck.

We never spend a night apart.

Not once.

Not for lack of trying, on my part.

I tried, once.

Tried to gently suggest that maybe we needed some space "P’Cir, you have your own apartment, you know..."

He just blinked at me.

Picked me up.

Carried me back inside like a sack of potatoes.

End of discussion.

After that, I gave up.

Other nights, he drives us back to his place—A bigger apartment that somehow still feels cramped because he has no idea how to put anything away.

I complain.

Loudly.

He just grins and pulls me into his lap like that’s a valid solution.

We never actually say anything about it.

Never have the conversation about what this is.

But somehow,

By the end of the week,

Half my shampoo is in his shower.

Half his hoodies are stuffed into my tiny dresser.

His favorite coffee cup (that says "World’s Okayest Quarterback" in peeling gold letters) is sitting in my cabinet like it belongs there.

He carries my bag without asking.

I steal his hoodies without warning.

We alternate nights without thinking about it, like some unspoken agreement is already in place.

And it’s terrifying, How easy it is.

How natural it feels.

One night, curled up in his bed, listening to him breathing slow and even beside me, I realize: We’re already building something.

Something messy.
Something chaotic.
Something ours.

And maybe, Just maybe, I don’t want it to stop.

P’Cir takes me to school every morning, still half-asleep but determined, like it’s his personal duty to deliver me safely.

He keeps one hand on my knee while he drives, like he’s afraid I might vanish if he lets go.

He always feeds me.

Shoves bites of his food into my mouth when I'm not paying attention.
Watches me eat like he's measuring every bite.

I complain.

I sulk.

I whine.

He ignores me completely.

At practice, I sit on the bleachers, pretending to do homework while he struts around the field like he owns it.

Every five minutes, I catch him glaring at someone.

It doesn’t matter who.

If someone looks at me for longer than two seconds, his eyes narrow, his jaw tightens, and he throws a ball a little too hard at the next receiver.

Ozone thinks it’s hilarious.

Rome keeps a running tally.

Wim just sighs and mumbles something about "high-maintenance boyfriends."

Me? I bury my face in my sketchbook and pretend I’m invisible.

But deep down,  Way, way deep down,

I feel a little warmer.

A little safer.

Because even if Cir is insane, Even if he’s a menace and a caveman and a complete disaster,

He’s mine.

And maybe, Just maybe,

I’m his too.

***

The day starts out normal.

Which, in my new reality, means P’Cir dropping me off at school, stealing a kiss before I can escape, and threatening the existence of three people who dared to smile at me before 9 a.m.

Normal.

I’m halfway across campus, heading to class, when it happens.

One of the editors for the campus magazine, a senior I barely know flags me down, all smiles and bouncing excitement.

"Hey, Phu!" she chirps. "We’re doing a feature for the next issue 'Campus Hottest Couples' and we were wondering if you and Cir would be willing to model for it?"

I almost trip over my own feet.

"W-what?!" I squeak.

"You and Cir," she says again, slow and clear like she thinks I’m hard of hearing. "Everyone already knows you’re, like, the campus It Couple. You’re adorable. It would be such a hit!"

I open and close my mouth like a dying fish.

Before I can respond, Before I can even breathe—

I hear it.

"Seriously?"

Lukprae’s voice slices through the air like a knife.

I turn, heart dropping.

She’s standing a few feet away, arms crossed, glaring at me like I personally insulted her ancestors.

"You’re not even really dating," she sneers, looking me up and down like she can't believe this is happening. "Everyone knows Cir’s just... playing with you."

The editor awkwardly excuses herself, muttering something about coming back later.

I feel heat crawling up my neck, shame and panic blooming in my chest.

"We’re not a couple," I mumble automatically, voice too small. "It’s—it’s a misunderstanding. I’m sorry."

Lukprae smirks, satisfied. "Exactly."

She flips her hair over her shoulder and struts away like she’s won something.

I just stand there.

Frozen.

Miserable.

And the worst part? I said it.

I said we’re not a couple.

Even though part of me, the stupid, reckless part—

Wanted to say yes.

Wanted to claim him the way he’s been claiming me.

Meanwhile...

Cir’s POV

I’m on my way to grab Phu from class, grinning to myself like a fucking idiot, already thinking about where we should go for lunch,

When I hear it.

From some random girl in the hallway.

"Poor Cir," she’s whispering. "That little freshman just told everyone they’re not even a real couple. Can you believe it?"

My whole body goes cold.

Then hot.

Then murderous.

Not real?

Not his?

Phu said that?

Phu…

My hands curl into fists.

I turn sharply, stalking toward Phu’s building, already seeing red.

If he thinks he’s getting away from me that easily—

He’s got another thing coming.

Phu’s POV

I’m still standing there.

Frozen.

Embarrassed.

Trying to figure out how to disappear into the ground and never be seen again

When I feel it a shift in the air.

Like the temperature drops five degrees.

Like a storm is rolling in fast and furious.

I lift my head.

And there he is.

P’Cir.

Storming toward me across the quad.

Dark eyes locked on mine.

Face like carved stone.

Shoulders tense.

Every step screaming mine, mine, mine.

I swear for a second the earth shakes under his feet.

Panic floods my veins.

Oh no.

Oh no no no no no.

I do the only logical thing a person in my situation could do.

I turn—

And run.

Full-on sprint in the opposite direction.

Books clutched to my chest.
Heart pounding.
Brain screaming.

I don't even know where I'm running to.

Anywhere.

Anywhere but here.

Behind me, I hear someone call my name sharply.

Low. Rough.

"Phukan."

Today, that’s not my name.

I run faster.

Ducking into the nearest building like a scared cat, weaving through hallways, heart racing.

Finally, I duck into an empty classroom and crouch behind the teacher’s desk, panting, trying desperately to make myself small.

Maybe if I’m very quiet,
Maybe if I just stay hidden long enough,
He'll calm down.

Maybe. (Probably not.)

Through the tiny window in the door, I see P’Cir stalk past once.

Twice.

His jaw clenched, his eyes flashing like he’s hunting.

Which he is.

Hunting me.

I slap a hand over my mouth to keep from whimpering.

I am so, so dead.

Heart slamming against my ribs.
Breath coming in shallow, terrified gasps.

Praying that somehow, somehow, P'Cir will give up.

That maybe he’ll get distracted.

Maybe the world will end.

I dare to peek at my phone.

Big mistake.

Because the notifications are blowing up.

Ozone: Bro. Did you run?? 😂😂😂

Rome:  Are you HIDING from Cir??? LMFAOOO you're DEAD, baby boy.

Nalin: Where are you?
Do you want me to call security?
No, wait.P’ Cir would probably just fight them.

Achi: RIP Phu. It was nice knowing you.

Tree: I told you he was insane. This is what you get for dating a feral cat in a hot guy’s body.

I press the phone to my forehead and whimper softly.

Traitors. Every last one of them.

Another text pops up:

Wim: You want me to come distract him? I mean, I can try. He looks ready to murder someone though, so no promises.

And then,

The one that makes my blood run cold.

P'Cir:
Baby.
Come out.
Not mad at you.
Just want to talk.
Not going to hurt you.
But if you make me hunt you down, you’re going to owe me alot.

I actually choke on air.

I clutch my phone like it’s a life raft and squeeze my eyes shut.

Owe him alot??
MAKE HIM HUNT ME DOWN??

I am going to die.

Right here.

In an empty classroom.

Cause of death: Overprotective psycho boyfriend and my own terrible life choices.

I wait.

Hold my breath.

Count to ten.

Twenty.

Thirty.

Maybe he gave up.

Maybe he went to practice.

Maybe he—The floorboards creak outside the door.

I jolt, heart slamming against my ribs.

Nope. Nope, still here. Still hunting.

I glance around the empty classroom wildly.

No windows big enough to escape through.
Only one door.

Trapped.

Unless—Unless I move now.

Quietly.

Carefully.

I inch toward the door, clutching my bag against my chest like it’ll shield me from the inevitable doom waiting outside.

I peek through the tiny glass window.

The hallway looks clear.

1. GO GO GO

I crack the door open silently, barely breathing.

One step.

Two steps.

Freedom just a few feet away,

And then—A shadow falls over me.

A warm hand wraps gently, inevitably, around my wrist.

I freeze.

Slowly—so, so slowly—I lift my head.

And there he is.

P’Cir.

Standing over me.

Towering.

Completely calm.

Completely in control.

Dark eyes soft but burning.

And with a small, terrifyingly sweet smile, he murmurs "There you are, baby."

I open my mouth to scream, or cry, or beg for mercy
I'm not sure which.

But before I can make a sound, P’Cir tugs me forward with unbearable gentleness.

Tugs me straight into his chest.

Traps me there like a promise.

"You really thought you could hide from me?" he says, voice low and warm against my hair.

I whimper softly against his shirt.

He chuckles.

Soft.

Dangerous.

Possessive.

"You’re lucky you're cute," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. "Otherwise I’d be a lot meaner right now."

I cling to him helplessly, brain fully short-circuited.

I’m dead.

I’m dead.

I’m so dead.

Chapter Text

Phu’s POV

"P'Cir—" I start, voice high and panicked, "I—I have somewhere to be!"

He doesn’t even blink.

Doesn’t loosen his grip.

Doesn’t look even a tiny bit moved.

"I don’t give a fuck," he says, voice terrifyingly calm, like he’s discussing the weather.

I try to wriggle out of his arms, desperate, embarrassed, completely and utterly doomed.

Big mistake.

Because the second I squirm, his hands tighten around me—

Not rough.

Not painful.

Just final.

And he leans down.

Low.

Right next to my ear.

His breath warm against my skin as he says, in a voice so soft and deadly it makes my knees buckle— "If you don’t stop squirming, baby, I will make your ass so red you won’t be able to sit for a week."

I stop breathing.

"So I suggest," he adds, tightening his arms just a little more, "you calm the fuck down and come with me."

I go completely still.

Frozen.

Face burning so hard it’s a miracle I’m not steaming like a kettle.

"P-P’Cir!" I gasp, scandalized beyond belief.

He just smirks.

Smirks like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

"Good boy," he murmurs, pressing another kiss to my hair like he didn’t just casually threaten my entire existence.

I feel my soul leave my body.

I think I black out for a second.

When I come back to myself, he’s already steering me firmly down the hallway, his hand possessively resting on the small of my back, ignoring the few scandalized students who catch sight of us.

I can't even look up.

I can only stumble along beside him, burning with embarrassment.

My face is on fire. My heart’s pounding so hard I feel it in my ears. His hand is firm on the small of my back, steering me like I’m some lost puppy he’s dragging back to safety—or, more accurately, like prey he just caught.

I must have been walking too slowly to keep up with him—
Not really my fault; his legs are way longer and faster than mine—

"P’Cir—wait—slow down—" I gasp, nearly tripping over my own feet.

Before I can even think about fighting him—

P’Cir scoops me up.

He scoops me up.

Effortless.

Like I weigh nothing.

One second, I’m walking (okay, speed-walking), the next I’m off the ground being carried like a sack of rice across the parking lot.

"P’Cir—!" I shriek, flailing in panic. "Put me down!"

He doesn’t even blink.

Doesn’t even look at me.

Just keeps walking—calm, unbothered, like this is normal behavior and not a total public spectacle.

"You were too slow, baby," he says casually, voice low and smooth, eyes locked forward like he’s on a mission.

"Y-you can’t just carry people—!" I hiss, hiding my face in his shoulder because oh my God, people are staring.

He huffs a soft laugh.

"Sure I can," he says, gripping me tighter. "You’re mine."

I think I black out a little after that.

At least until I realize we’re heading toward the parking lot.

Toward his car.

And I realize, I’m not escaping this one.

Not today.

Not ever.

He walks straight to his car, pops open the passenger door and plops me down hard in the seat.

I bounce a little, stunned, heart slamming against my ribs.

By the time I realize what’s happening, he’s already slid into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut behind him.

I hear the ominous click of the locks engaging.

I whip my head toward him.

He’s sitting there, calm as anything.

Dark eyes heavy on me.

Elbow resting lazily against the window.

Like he has all the time in the world to deal with my nonsense.

"Seatbelt, baby," he says quietly.

I fumble to buckle it, hands trembling slightly.

Once the click sounds, he turns to face me fully.

Traps me in his stare.

Leaning in just a little, voice low and terrifyingly soft "Now," he says. "Explain yourself."

My mouth opens.

Closes.

Opens again.

Nothing comes out.

Because how do you explain to your feral and borderline-pyschotic, possessive, terrifyingly intense not-quite-boyfriend that you panicked and blurted out that you weren’t dating because you were scared of being hurt and because Lukprae was looking at you like you were a cockroach???

"I—" I croak.

"No lying," he says, cutting me off gently. "No running. Just talk to me, Phu."

He says it so softly.

So dangerously softly.

And somehow, that’s even worse than if he’d shouted.

I squeeze my hands into fists in my lap, heart pounding so loud I can barely hear my own voice.

"I—I panicked," I whisper. "She was saying—she said—" I squeeze my eyes shut. "I got scared, okay?"

He doesn’t say anything.

Just watches.

Waiting.

Patient.

Deadly.

"I didn’t mean it," I whisper finally, voice cracking. "I didn’t mean it like that, P'Cir. I swear."

The silence stretches.

Thick.

Tense.

Then,

Finally,

P’Cir moves.

Leaning closer.

Until our faces are barely inches apart.

Until I can feel the heat of him surrounding me.

"You’re mine," he says, voice like a vow. "You were mine the second I saw you. I don’t care what anyone else says."

I open my mouth.

"And you’re not allowed to forget that" he adds, voice dropping even lower. "Not for a second. Understand, baby?"

I nod frantically.

Too fast.

Too hard.

But he smiles.

Soft.

Possessive.

Like he’s satisfied.

Like the universe finally makes sense again.

I think, maybe, just maybe, he’s letting me off the hook.

His hands are still on either side of me, trapping me in the seat.
His eyes are still burning into me.

But the atmosphere shifts;
Softer.
Less sharp.

Safer.

I exhale shakily, starting to relax,

And then he speaks again.

Low.

Too calm.

Dangerously calm.

"And who," he says slowly, tilting his head like a predator playing with its food, "is this she you’re talking about, baby?"

I stiffen.

"Um," I squeak, immediately wishing for death.

His eyes narrow slightly.

"Talk," he says, soft as a caress, deadly as a threat.

I squirm in my seat, heart hammering painfully.
"It’s—it’s just—" I stammer. "It’s P’Lukprae."

The temperature in the car plummets.

P’Cir's whole body goes rigid.

His jaw clenches.

Something cold and terrifying flickers in his eyes.

"Lukprae," he repeats, voice flat.

I nod, gulping.

"She was just—" I scramble for words. "She overheard about the magazine thing, and she got mad, and I didn’t want to cause a scene, so I just—" I trail off miserably.

He stares at me.

Silent.

For so long I start to wonder if he’s broken.

Then "She upset you," he says, deadly soft.

It’s not a question.

It’s a fact.

I open my mouth to protest, to downplay it, to say it’s not a big deal…

But he cuts me off.

"No one gets to upset you," he says, voice vibrating with a calm, furious promise. "No one."

I sink lower in my seat, hands twisting in my lap.

"P'Cir... please don't do anything crazy..." I whisper.

He finally blinks.

Smiles a little.

Not a safe smile.

A Cir smile.

"Too late for that, baby," he murmurs, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "You made me crazy the second you smiled at me."

I bury my burning face in my hands.

I am so doomed.

There’s a long, thick silence.

P’Cir’s hand is still cupping my face, thumb brushing lightly against my cheekbone like he’s trying to calm himself down.

I swallow hard, heart pounding.

And before I can overthink it, before I can chicken out, I whisper "Besides... you never asked me to be your boyfriend."

The words hang in the air between us.

Heavy.

Raw.

True.

He goes completely still.

His thumb freezes against my skin.

His dark eyes stare into mine;
Not angry.
Not frustrated.

Just...Wrecked.

Like I ripped open his chest and showed him something he didn’t know was missing.

"Baby," he says roughly, voice shaking just a little. "You’re already mine."

I bite my lip, eyes burning.

"That’s not the same thing," I whisper.

He leans in closer.

Closer until our foreheads are almost touching, his breath warm against my mouth.

"You want me to ask?" he murmurs, voice low and wrecked and soft, like I'm asking him for the fucking world, and he’d give it gladly.

"Yes," I whisper, so quietly I barely hear myself.

"Okay," he breathes.

Another second.

Another heartbeat.

Then "Phukan," he says, voice steady now, eyes locked on mine, "will you be my boyfriend?"

Not casual.

Not joking.

Dead serious.

Like it’s the most important thing he’s ever asked anyone.

I open my mouth.

No sound comes out.

So I just nod.

Tiny.

Shaky.

Real.

His face breaks into the softest, most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen.

And when he kisses me;

Gentle.
Lingering.
Full of all the chaotic, fierce, terrifying, overwhelming love I can’t even begin to explain—

I finally, finally understand.

I’m not just his.

He’s mine too.

We’re still sitting there.

Both of us kind of dazed, breathless, staring at each other like the world just shifted.

And honestly... maybe it did.

I’m still reeling from what just happened—from everything—when P’Cir leans back a little, eyes glinting with something sharp and smug.

Dangerous.

"Since you’re in the habit of denying me," he says casually, voice low and way too pleased with himself, "and denying us, baby..."

I blink up at him, heart immediately kicking into overdrive.

Oh no.

What now.

He pulls out his phone like it’s a weapon, flips on the camera app, and holds it up in front of my face.

"We’re gonna make this a little more official," he announces smoothly, smirking. "Smile for me, baby."

My eyes bulge.

"W-what?? NO—" I start to scramble back in the seat, waving my hands wildly. "P’Cir, no way, I am NOT smiling—"

He raises an eyebrow, still holding the phone steady.

And in that scarily calm voice, he says "Baby."

I freeze.

His eyes narrow just slightly, full of warning.

"If you don’t smile for me right now," he murmurs, so soft it’s terrifying, "I swear to God, I will harm every single one of your plushies."

My jaw drops.

"You wouldn’t!" I gasp, clutching my chest in horror.

He grins. Sharp. Evil. Serious.

"Oh, I would."

"P’Cir—!"

He shrugs, way too relaxed.

"And just to be clear," he adds casually, tilting his head, "if you really push me? I’m kicking Achi’s ass the next time I see him too. Just... because. And I will continue to. Every single place and time I see him."

I make a sound that’s basically a mix between a squeak and a sob.

This man.

This unhinged man.

"P’Cir, that’s not fair—!"

"Smile, baby," he purrs, leaning in close, voice all smug and dangerous. "Make it nice. You want your plushies to live, right?"

I groan, covering my face with both hands, absolutely dying inside.

I sigh, defeated.

My soul crushed.

But fine.

Fine.

I muster up my courage, push my hair out of my face, and give him the smallest, shyest smile I can manage while dying inside.

Click.

He lowers the phone, stares at the screen for a beat.

His eyes narrow.

"Mm," he mutters, frowning down at the photo. "Yeah, no. You look like you’re smiling with a gun to your head."

I gape at him.

"Technically," I huff, "that’s not wrong!"

He just smirks, eyes flashing with amusement and something dangerous.

Then, like he’s just had the brightest idea in the world, he shifts the phone back up and says smoothly:

"Okay, new plan."

I narrow my eyes immediately, suspicious.

"What plan?" I ask warily.

He taps his cheek, that smug, annoyingly perfect cheek.

"Kiss me here, baby," he says, eyes sparkling wickedly. "We’ll take a cute one. Show them who you belong to."

My face bursts into flames.

"P’Cir—NO—!"

He grins.

That threatening, Cir-brand grin.

The one that makes me want to run and hide forever.

"Baby," he says softly, voice dripping with warning, "plushies. Achi. You know the drill."

I groan, curling into myself like I might actually implode.

But I know I’ve lost already.

I always lose.

"Fine," I mutter, glaring daggers at him while my entire face burns. "But just one!"

He leans in a little, holding the phone up.

Smug.

Waiting.

I inch closer, practically shaking, heart pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears.

I close my eyes.

Lean in.

Almost there…

AND THEN…

At the last second…

He whips his head around and KISSES ME FULL ON THE MOUTH.

Click.

I yelp into the kiss, eyes snapping open in pure horror as he casually takes the picture mid-kiss, holding me there like I’m not currently malfunctioning and dying on the spot.

He pulls back just a little, grinning so hard his eyes crinkle.

"Perfect," he says smugly, showing me the screen.

I stare at it in horror.

My face: red as a tomato.
His face: smug and gorgeous, mid-kiss.
The caption he’s already typing: “Cir’s Heart 🖤”

I slap my hands over my face, groaning miserably.

"P’Cir, you’re evil—!"

He laughs, all warm and way too satisfied.

"You love it, baby," he purrs, tucking his phone away and pulling me close again. "And now the whole world knows you’re mine."

God help me.

I think I do love it.

P’Cir starts the car, pulling smoothly out of the parking lot, one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting casually on my thigh like it belongs there.

I cross my arms, stare hard out the window, and try to look as mad and sulky as humanly possible.

He glances at me once.

Twice.

Smirks.

Like he thinks I’m... adorable or something.

Which just makes me even more annoyed.

I huff, louder this time, making sure he hears it.

"P'Cir," I snap, trying my best to sound stern, "take me back to my dorm."

"Mm," he hums, completely unmoved, eyes on the road. "No."

I glare at him, scowling.

"P'Cir!"

He finally glances over, smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, eyes soft and fond and so annoyingly in love.

"You’re coming to mine," he says simply, like it’s a fact of life. "You need to rest. You’ve had a stressful day."

I gawk at him, turning in my seat to stare.

"I—P’Cir—" I sputter, totally scandalized, "you were the one that stressed me out!"

He blinks over at me, completely unbothered, one hand still draped lazily over the steering wheel.

I’m fuming.

"As a matter of fact," I rant, waving my hands around wildly, "you’ve been stressing me out ever since I met you!"

He snorts, looking way too entertained by my meltdown.

I’m just getting warmed up.

"I’m already getting wrinkles," I huff, jabbing my finger at my own face. "Wrinkles, P'Cir! And high blood pressure! I’m too young for this kind of stress!"

He bites back a laugh, lips twitching, eyes sparkling with amusement.

"Mm," he hums, "still cute, though."

I groan, dragging my hands down my face in pure agony.

"P'Cir—!"

He leans over, smug and smiling, presses a soft kiss to my cheek.

"High blood pressure or not, you’re stuck with me, baby," he whispers against my skin, voice low and full of love and absolute feral possessiveness. "Better get used to it."

I flop back in my seat, covering my face again, my heart pounding and my whole-body overheating.

God.

I’m so doomed.

I groan loudly, flopping back against the seat.

"P'Cir, you know you can’t keep going crazy and scaring everybody on campus just because you’re looking for me, you know!"

That makes him laugh, low and wrecked, like I just complimented him instead of scolding him.

I roll my eyes, crossing my arms tighter.

"And besides," I add, squinting at him suspiciously, "who even told you what I said?"

He blinks.

Pauses.

Then shrugs, way too casually.

"No one," he says, eyes forward, completely lying.

My jaw drops.

"Bullshit," I blurt, sitting up straight

"Does it matter?" he says casually, eyes glinting.

I glare harder. (Or try to.)

"P'Cir." I say it slow, warning him.

He huffs a laugh.

“I heard it from some students when I was coming to you for lunch and then…”

I look at him, expecting him to continue.

"Ozone," he admits finally, looking entirely too pleased with himself. "He texted me as soon as he heard too."

I groan, dropping my forehead against the seat.

Of course it was Ozone.
The king of gossip.
The little chaos demon.

"And Wim confirmed it," Cir adds smugly, rubbing slow circles against my thigh.

I let out a long, suffering sigh.

"I’m going to kill them both," I mutter.

He chuckles, low and warm "You can try," he says, tilting my face up with two fingers so I have no choice but to meet his gaze. "But first, you’re coming home with me."

I blink.

"Our home. Wherever you are, that’s where I live."

My heart thuds painfully.

Too fast.

Too much.

But somehow, Somehow—I’m not scared anymore.

I’m his.

And he’s mine.

Cir’s POV

I drive us back to my place, gripping the wheel a little too tight.

I need him alone.

Need him close.

After the day I’ve had,
After the day we’ve had,
It’s like there’s a fuse burning straight through my chest, hot and relentless.

Hearing him say we weren’t together...It lit something dark and wild in me. Something I’ve been trying—failing—to keep under control.

I know I said I’d try to go easy on him.
Try to hold back.

But it’s not fucking easy.

Not when I feel everything at a ten and he’s over there barely catching up, smiling that shy smile while I’m over here spiraling like a madman.

I glance over at him in the passenger seat.

His cute, stupid fucking sweater.
His bag clutched tight to his chest like it’s a lifeline.
His legs tucked up like he’s trying to take up less space.

God.

He’s so beautiful it hurts.

So bright.
So fucking sunny.

And I hate—absolutely fucking hate—that anyone even tried to hurt him today.

We hit a red light.

I let my eyes linger on him a little longer, studying his face in the soft evening light.

His pouty lips.

His messy hair.

And…His eyes, narrowed down at his phone.

He’s... frowning?

"Baby?" I ask, brow furrowing. "Is something upsetting you?"

He doesn’t look up.

"Yes," he says flatly, still frowning.

I stiffen, heart thudding too fast.

"What? What is it?" I push, already tensing.

He finally looks up—face flushed, eyes glaring—and shoves his phone right in my face.

My eyes dart to the screen.

His group chat.

Absolutely exploding.

Rome: OMFG CIR WENT FERAL WHAT IS THIS 😭😭😭

Ozone: BOSS MOVE. LOOK AT THAT CAPTION. DEAD.

Tree: Phu... I have questions. MANY questions. 👀👀👀

Achi: P'Cir CLAIMED YOU BRO LMAO YOU’RE NEVER ESCAPING NOW

I blink.

Realization hitting all at once.

Oh.

Oh.

My Instagram post.

The photo.

The caption.

I smirk, feeling my chest swell with zero regret.

"Huh," I say, leaning over to press a kiss to his temple while he swats at me, still glaring. "Guess everyone knows you’re mine now, huh?"

He groans loudly, dropping his head back against the seat, face bright red.

God.

He’s so fucking cute.

I’d do it all over again.

And worse.

Phu’s POV

“You look cute in the picture baby”

"P’Cir—!" I explode, smacking his arm as he laughs, completely unbothered.

"You can’t just post things like that—!"

He smirks, one hand still resting way too casually on my thigh as he drives.

"I can and I did, baby."

"My entire group chat is blowing up!" I wave my phone wildly. "Do you know how many people follow you? Do you know how viral that picture’s gonna go??!"

He leans over, totally ignoring the road for a second just to press a kiss to my cheek.

"Good," he hums, lips brushing my skin. "Let them see."

"P’Cir!" I squeak, shoving at his shoulder. "This is insane! You—"

"Baby," he cuts in smoothly, kissing my jaw this time, "you literally are my heart. You don’t want me to tell the world?"

I open my mouth,
Pause.
I close it again, my face heating up so fast I might actually combust.

He chuckles low, clearly thrilled with himself.

"God, you’re cute when you’re mad," he murmurs, kissing the corner of my mouth like it’s nothing.

I glare at him, heart slamming, brain short-circuiting.

"This is harassment," I grumble, crossing my arms in a huff, trying (and failing) to look mad.

He just hums again, like I’m not even slightly intimidating, and takes another lazy turn toward his place.

By the time we pull into the car park, I’m still fuming. Well, trying to fume, but also secretly melting because…well, Its P’Cir.

He parks, cuts the engine, and before I can even unbuckle my seatbelt, he’s unfastening it for me.

I blink at him, wide-eyed.

“Stay” he orders and then he gets off and walks to my side of the car.

"P’Cir, I can walk,—"

"Not today, baby," he says, voice low and fond and so unfairly smug.

And then…Boom. He’s scooping me up, bridal-style, like I weigh nothing, carrying me across the driveway with zero shame.

"You said you were stressed," he reminds me, pushing the door open with his foot, "and I told you I’d take care of my stressed-out baby."

I smack his chest half-heartedly, burying my red face against his shoulder as he strides inside.

God help me.

I’m so doomed.

***

Somehow…I don’t even know when it happened exactly, but I’ve become freer here.

Freer with him.

We step inside his apartment, and before I can even blink, he’s already handling me like I’m some precious thing he has to unpack and arrange.

He drops me gently onto the couch.
Takes off my shoes with careful hands.
Puts my bag away like it’s his job.
Peels off my sweater for me, muttering something about how I’ll overheat if I stay bundled up.

Then he crouches in front of me, brushing his thumb over my cheek.

"What do you want to eat, baby?" he asks softly, like the world outside doesn’t exist.

While I’m still too flustered to answer, he kisses my forehead and murmurs a “let me check the kitchen first” and then he puts on a movie, something easy and familiar and disappears into the kitchen.

I sit there, blinking in the dim light of the TV, heart thudding in my chest.

As crazy as he can be…

I can’t deny how much I love this.

The way he takes care of me.

The way his entire focus sharpens whenever I’m in his line of sight.

He might seem wild—messy, all over the place—to everyone else.

But when it’s me?
When I’m here?

It’s like nothing and no one else matters to him.

At first, all that attention, it was… intimidating. Scary, even.

But now?

Now I relish it. I revel in it.

I curl up on the couch, pulling a blanket over my lap, my heart fluttering like crazy.

And suddenly… It hits me.

I can officially say it now.

My boyfriend is spoiling me.

My boyfriend.

The thought makes me giddy—so much that I let out a little giggle, covering my mouth instinctively.

Right on cue, P’Cir peeks his head around the corner, eyes sharp and amused.

"What’s funny, baby?" he asks, smirking.

I shake my head, biting my lip, feeling my cheeks flush.

"Nothing," I mumble, burying my face in the blanket, unable to hide my smile.

But I can feel his eyes on me.

Warm.

Bright.

Completely focused.

And for the first time in a long time…I think I’m exactly where I’m meant to be.

Cir’s POV

The rest of the day goes by easily.

No drama.

No chaos.

Just... us.

I ordered food in—nothing fancy, just enough to keep my baby fed and happy.

Phu’s curled up next to me now, eyes on the movie, his breathing slow and even.

He’s relaxed.

Really relaxed.

His body soft and warm against mine, legs tucked up on the couch, his head resting right against my chest like he belongs there.

And he does.

God, he does.

It hits me again, sharp and deep how far we’ve come in such a short time.

How, when this started, he’d sit stiff and awkward next to me, muscles all tense, like he was waiting for something to happen. Waiting to bolt.

But now? Now he melts into me.

Now he curls into me first, before I even have to pull him close.

Like it’s natural.

Like it’s his place.

And every time it happens, every single time—It feels like my chest could burst with how much I love him.

This.

This is everything.

The food, the movie, the warm, quiet weight of him against me.

His soft breaths.

His fingers brushing lightly against my shirt like he needs to keep contact even when he’s half-asleep.

I hold him tighter, brushing my lips over his hair, and let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding.

For once, I’m not overthinking.

I’m not spiraling.

I’m just… here.

With him.

And that’s more than enough.

At some point—after the movie’s over, and Phu’s dozing against my chest—I glance toward my bedroom and remember…

Shit.

I never changed my sheets.

"Baby," I murmur, brushing my fingers through his hair, "come help me with something."

He groans, half-asleep, but lets me tug him up.

A few minutes later we’re in my room, both of us yanking at the bedding like two kids fighting a losing battle.

"I think you’re making it worse," Phu huffs, tugging at a corner while I wrestle with the fitted sheet.

"I’m not!" I snap back, laughing as the sheet snaps loose and nearly smacks him in the face.

He squeals and dives out of the way, clutching a pillow like a shield, and I can’t help but laugh, fully abandoning the sheet to chase him around the bed.

Somehow, in the chaos, we end up tangled in the sheets, both of us breathless and laughing, limbs all mixed up as we collapse onto the mattress.

I’m on my back, Phu sprawled across me, his face flushed, his chest rising and falling fast.

We go still.

Breathless.

Eyes locked.

And suddenly, everything shifts.

The air between us goes thick and heavy, the laughter fading into something deeper, warmer.

I can feel his heartbeat, fast and wild, right against mine.

He stares at me, eyes wide and shining.

And then—he leans down.

A quick kiss.

Soft.
Light.
Barely there.

But enough to wreck me completely.

I blink, stunned, heart slamming into my ribs.

He pulls back just a little, smiling— That shy, mischievous smile that kills me every damn time.

"Baby," I rasp, completely wrecked, my hands tightening around his waist.

I don’t wait.

I pull him back down, crashing my mouth to his, kissing him deep and hungry, pouring everything I feel into it—every ounce of love, want, desperation that’s been building for weeks.

He gasps against me, his hands fisting in my shirt, and I groan, rolling us over until he’s beneath me, tangled in sheets, breathless and beautiful and so fucking mine.

The kiss turns hot, messy, urgent.

His fingers slide into my hair, tugging me closer, his body arching up into mine like he can’t get enough.

And I—

God.

I’m lost.

Completely gone.

God.

His neck.

That soft spot right under his jaw.

I kiss him there, slow and deep, and his body shudders beneath me.

He gasps, moans…these sweet, helpless little sounds that go straight to my fucking brain, short-circuiting everything.

He’s so responsive.
So perfect.

His hands clutch at me, his hips lifting, grinding up into mine in these shaky, desperate little movements that nearly destroy me.

"P’Cir—"

His voice, wrecked and breathless, soft and pleading makes me groan low in my chest, my hips rocking down instinctively, matching his rhythm.

We’re lost in it now, heat and want and pure, aching need—His moans filling the room, his fingers twisting in my shirt, tugging at it, trying to pull it off.

"Baby—" I rasp, kissing him harder, letting him tug, letting him touch until, finally, I gently catch his wrists.

I pull back, breathless, my forehead pressing against his.

He looks up at me, dazed and flushed, lips kiss-swollen and eyes glassy with need.

God.

He’s everything.

"Baby," I whisper, voice shaking with the effort it takes to stop, "I want you so bad, you have no idea."

He blinks up at me, confused, still breathing hard.

"But I know you’re not ready yet," I murmur, brushing my nose against his, my hands stroking gently down his arms. "And I’m not rushing you. I want you to want me, when you’re ready. Not just because we’re caught up in the moment."

His lips part, eyes wide and shining, and my chest aches with how much I love him.

I lean down, press the softest kiss to his forehead.

Hold him close, letting the tension bleed out of both of us, wrapping him up in my arms.

"We’ve got time, baby," I whisper, stroking his hair as his breathing slowly evens out. "All the time in the world."

And even though every part of me is burning, wanting more—

This? This is everything.

Because he’s mine.

And nothing—nothing—matters more than that.

We calm down after a while, both of us breathing heavy, tangled up in each other, hearts pounding.

Eventually, we manage to pull ourselves together.

We finish making the bed, brushing our teeth side by side like a real fucking couple.

And then…we crawl into bed.

Phu curls right up against me, small and warm and so trusting, his head tucked under my chin like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be.

His breathing slows.

Softens.

And before long, he’s out.

Fast asleep.

Wrapped up in my arms.

Exactly what I said I wanted.

Exactly what I’ve been dreaming of.

But me? I’m not sleeping.

Not even close.

Because I am so hard—so fucking hard—it actually hurts.

Every breath he takes against my chest, every tiny movement, every little sigh—
it’s killing me.

I clench my fists under the blanket, breathing through my nose, staring up at the ceiling, begging my body to calm the fuck down.

But no.

Nothing’s helping.

I glance down at him—my sweet, beautiful baby, fast asleep, completely innocent.

God.

I’m a mess.

Carefully, so carefully, I slip out of bed, making sure not to wake him.

I pad quietly to the bathroom, shutting the door with the softest click.

And then I just... lean against the sink for a second, breathing hard, gripping the counter like my life depends on it.

"Fuck," I mutter under my breath, dragging a hand through my hair, my whole-body aching.

I close my eyes.

No other choice.

I have to take care of it, quick, quiet, desperate.

Because if I don’t, I’m not sleeping tonight.

Hell, I might never sleep again.

I lean against the sink, heart hammering, every muscle in my body tight.

I don’t even think,  I just shove my hand down, wrapping around cock, already so fucking hard it’s almost painful.

"Fuck," I hiss, eyes slamming shut, my head tipping back, jaw clenched so tight it aches.

I stroke myself slowly at first, trying to keep it together, trying to keep quiet,
But my mind is gone.

All I can see is him.

My beautiful baby.
Those wide eyes.
That sweet little mouth, pink and swollen from my kisses.
The way he moaned when I kissed his neck, his soft spot.
The way his hips moved, grinding up into me like he couldn’t help himself.

"God," I groan under my breath, stroking harder now, faster, my breath coming quick and sharp.

My forehead drops to my arm, trying to muffle the sounds as my body shudders.

"Phukan, you don’t know," I whisper, barely audible, "you have no idea what you do to me…”

I picture him underneath me again, flushed and breathless, pulling at my clothes with those shaky little hands.

His tiny gasp when I pulled back, his big eyes staring up at me, so full of trust and want.

"Fuck, Phu," I moan, biting my lip hard, my hand working faster now, rough and desperate.

I want to ruin him.
I want to worship him.
I want to take my time.
Feel him, taste him, every inch of that soft and perfect tiny body

"You’re mine," I rasp, breath catching in my throat. "Gonna make you feel so good, baby. Gonna make you beg for me—"

My hips jerk, chasing the edge, my mind completely lost in him.

His soft moans, his shaking hands, the way he looked at me like I was his whole world—

"Phu—"

I’m so close now.

So fucking close.

My hand is working fast, breath ragged, body trembling with the force of it.

"Fuck, baby," I rasp, eyes squeezed shut, my mind full of nothing but him.
His voice.
His body.
His everything.

"Phu—"

My hips jerk, my whole body bowing tight as I chase that final edge.

And then, something makes me look up.

I don’t know why.
Instinct, maybe.
That connection that never shuts off.

And when I do…I freeze.

My eyes snap open.

And there he is.

Phu.

Standing just inside the doorway, frozen in place, wide-eyed, flushed, lips parted- Watching me.

His eyes are locked on me, on what I’m doing, his whole face a mix of shock, awe, and something darker.

Something hungry.

My breath catches hard in my chest.

My hand stutters, my whole body jerking violently and before I can even think, before I can stop it "Phu—fuck—"

I cum hard, eyes locked on his face, wrecked and completely gone, groaning his name as my body shakes apart.

It’s the hottest, most intense thing I’ve ever felt, ever.

And it’s him.

Always him.

My hand drops away, my chest heaving, eyes still glued to his, Shocked and dark and shining.

We just stare at each other, the air between us thick and heavy, like something changed forever.

Neither of us says a word.

Neither of us moves.

Just…us.

And nothing will ever be the same.

Phu’s POV

I was half-asleep.

Drifting, warm and comfortable, tucked into P’Cir’s bed, surrounded by his scent and his arms until I realized…He wasn’t there anymore.

I blinked blearily at the empty space beside me, sitting up slowly, confused and a little cold without him.

That’s when I heard it.

Soft sounds.

From the bathroom.

At first, I didn’t think anything of it. Maybe he was brushing his teeth again or washing his face, he was always fussy about me staying clean and warm and healthy.

But then, the sounds shifted.

Low breaths.

A quiet, rough curse.

I froze.

My heart kicked up, heat sparking through me even though I didn’t really understand what I was hearing at first.

But then I heard my name.

So soft, so desperate…

"Phu—"

And something… something clicked.

My whole body went tense. My face burned hot, eyes wide as my mind caught up to what was happening.

Oh my God.

Oh my God.

Before I could stop myself—before I could even think—I slid out of bed on shaky legs.

Curiosity.
Fear.
Want.
All tangled up together, pushing me forward.

I padded quietly across the room, moving closer to the bathroom door, barely daring to breathe.

The door was cracked open just a little.

And when I peeked inside—

My heart stopped.

P’Cir.

His back against the sink.
Head tipped back.
Hand working fast between his legs, his face twisted in pure, wrecked pleasure.

I couldn’t look away.

God, he was beautiful.

Wild.
Desperate.
Muttering my name over and over like a prayer, his hips jerking, his whole body shaking.

I felt my breath catch in my throat, my face burning so hot I thought I might combust, but I… I couldn’t move.

Couldn’t leave.

And then—just as his hand moved faster, his body tensing tighter,

His eyes snapped open.

Met mine.

I froze, deer-in-the-headlights, caught in the act.

And then, his face twisted up even more, eyes locked on me as he groaned my name, falling apart right in front of me, wrecked and beautiful and so completely mine.

I clutched the doorframe, my own body trembling now, heat pooling low in my belly, my brain spinning out.

And in that instant—watching him, watching what I did to him.

I knew.

Nothing between us would ever be the same again.

***

The silence stretches.

Thick.
Heavy.
Buzzing between us like electricity.

P’Cir is still leaning back against the sink, chest heaving, sweat-damp hair falling into his eyes, lips parted and flushed, wrecked but somehow still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

His hand rests loose around himself, his cock softening now, but still…
God.
Big.

I swallow hard, my heart pounding so loud it fills my ears.

I don’t even know what I’m doing, but before I can stop myself, I step closer, shaky and slow until I’m right in front of him, eyes wide, breath catching in my throat.

He stares down at me, dark eyes burning, completely still.

Waiting.

"P’Cir..." I whisper, voice trembling. "Are you… okay?"

His throat bobs as he swallows, eyes locked on me like I’m the only thing in the world that matters.

"Y-yeah," he rasps, voice hoarse and wrecked. "Baby, I—"

I bite my lip, heat pooling low in my belly, my eyes darting down, just for a second to where his cock is resting-exposed, still thick and intimidating.

Even soft, he’s… big.

Heat rushes through me, and I know my face is on fire, but I can’t look away.

Can’t stop the words from slipping out, shaky and quiet and nothing like me:

"Did… did that make you feel good?"

P’Cir’s eyes flare, his whole-body tensing, like I’ve just snapped something inside him.

"Baby—" he starts, his voice catching.

I look back up at him, my whole-body trembling but somehow sure.

My heart’s pounding so fast it hurts.

"I..." I whisper, swallowing hard. "I want to feel good like that too."

His eyes widen, jaw clenching so tight I see the muscles flex.

I step even closer, so close our bodies are almost touching and bite my lip, my eyes shining with nerves and something new.

I look up at him, my voice breaking on the words "P’Cir... can you... can you help me?"

His breath rushes out of him, like I’ve knocked the air right from his lungs.

He grips the edge of the sink like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded, hands white-knuckled, eyes locked on me like I’ve just undone him completely.

For a second, he doesn’t move.

Doesn’t even breathe.

Just… stares at me like I’m his entire world—his whole reason for breathing.

Like I’m all he’s ever wanted.

And in that moment, I know.

I know.

Everything between us is about to change forever.

Chapter Text

Cir’s POV

I blink.

Once.
Twice.

The bathroom lights are too bright, or maybe I’m just dizzy because I genuinely don’t know if I’m awake or dreaming.

“Uh… Phu,” I manage, voice rough, like I’ve swallowed gravel. “Baby, do you… do you know what you’re asking me?”

He nods, slowly, biting his lip. His throat bobs in a nervous swallow.
“Y-Yes, P’Cir,” he says, voice small, shaking. “I-I want you to…”

Fuck.

Just hearing it from him- those words in that voice, that flushed face, that trembling body, those wide, wide eyes.

I feel the blood rush straight to my groin like it’s been summoned. My cock stirs despite how spent I was a minute ago.
He’s so innocent. So soft. So… mine.
But does he even know what he’s asking for? What he’s inviting me into?

Does he know how close I am to losing every shred of self-control I’ve worked so hard to keep for him?

I quickly tuck myself in and clean my hands.

“Baby…” I breathe out. “I don’t-  I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

His expression changes instantly.

Like I just slapped him.

The way his face falls—quiet, disappointed, crushed- it hits me harder than anything else ever could.

My chest twists up like I’ve been sucker-punched. I want to reach for him, to take it back, to explain, but I’m too slow, too stunned.

And then he says it. Quietly. Fragile. Like it’s killing him: “Oh… You don’t want me like that?”

Wait. What?

“No— Baby, what the fuck are you talking about?” My voice comes out sharper than I mean it to.

But he just flinches, eyes dropping. “It’s okay… I’m sorry. I’ll go back to bed.”

What.

What.

No.
No the hell he won’t.
Fuck that. Fuck everything.

He turns, already retreating, already closing up like I haven’t spent every second of the last two weeks trying to break into that fragile heart of his and suddenly I’m moving.

I reach out.

I grab his wrist, gently. But firmly.

“Phu. Look at me.”

He doesn’t.

So, I step in front of him. Tilt his chin up.

“Baby,” I say, softer now. “You have no idea how badly I want you.”

His breath hitches.

“You have no idea what you do to me. Every second. Every time you look at me like that, or say my name, or breathe too close—”
I curse under my breath. “God, Phu, I’m obsessed with you.”

His lips part, trembling. His eyes are shining now.

“I didn’t say no because I didn’t want you,” I whisper, brushing my fingers against his cheek. “I said no because I do want you. So much I’m scared of hurting you. I need to go slow. I need to be sure it’s what you really want not just tonight. But after. Always.”

His eyes search mine like he’s trying to find something in them.

And whatever he finds makes him soften again, his shoulders dropping, his lips curving into the tiniest, shyest smile.

“Okay,” he whispers.

My heart fucking shatters and heals all at once.

“Come here, baby,” I murmur, pulling him into my arms.

And this time, I’m not letting him walk away misunderstood.

I lift him into my arms.

His little gasp makes me smile—soft, real. His arms loop instinctively around my neck, and his face presses shyly into my shoulder. God, he fits against me like he was made to be there.

I kiss his cheek. Then his jaw. Then the corner of his mouth.

“Let’s go to bed, baby,” I murmur against his skin. “I’ll take care of you.”

He nods.

I carry him out of the bathroom, step by slow step, heart thundering louder than the floor beneath us. The room’s dim, warm, quiet. I set him down gently on the mattress like he’s something precious, because he is- and lean in to kiss him again.

This one’s longer. Deeper. His fingers tangle in my shirt. Mine slide under his, stroking the skin of his waist, coaxing little shivers out of him.

When I finally pull back, he’s flushed, dazed, panting slightly.

I cup his face and press a kiss to his temple. “I’m gonna make you feel really good, okay?”

He nods again, but I see the nervousness flash in his eyes.

So I slow everything down.

“Not all the way tonight,” I whisper, brushing my thumb over his cheek. “We’ll go slow. I promise.”

He swallows hard. “O-Okay…”

“I want you to feel safe with me, Phu. Always.”

He exhales shakily, then he leans up and kisses me again, like it’s his way of saying thank you.

Like it’s trust.

Like it’s his heart.

And I kiss him back like he’s mine.

I pull his shirt over his head slowly, like I’m unwrapping something precious. He shivers, maybe from the chill in the room, maybe from nerves. His eyes don’t leave mine—not for a second—and I swear I’ve never seen anything more honest or vulnerable than the way he’s looking at me now.

Then the pants come off next, and he’s there—bare, flushed, beautiful in the low light. Pale skin stretched over a small frame, the faintest rise and fall of his chest like he’s trying to stay calm, like he’s trying not to overthink this. I want to tell him not to.

I want to take every uncertain thought from his mind and replace it with nothing but warmth.

I stare at him, stunned.

“Look at you,” I breathe out, reverent. “I wish you could see what I’m seeing.”

He turns his face away, embarrassed, but I trail my hand down from his lips to the dip of his collarbone, to the center of his chest. I feel his heartbeat skip beneath my fingers.

His body reacts, soft whines leaving his lips, his cock twitching against his stomach at just the lightest of touches. And I can’t help it—I smile. Not to tease, but because I’m overwhelmed. With want. With tenderness. With everything he makes me feel.

“You’re insane for thinking I don’t want you,” I whisper, brushing a kiss against his ribs. “I want you so much it drives me out of my mind.”

He looks at me then, lips parted, unsure.

“P’Cir... I-I don’t really know what to do,” he whispers. “I just... I want to feel close to you.”

My heart damn near bursts.

I cup his cheek and smile softly. “You don’t need to do anything, baby. Just lie back and let me take care of you. Let me make you feel good.”

He nods, cheeks burning, but there’s trust in his eyes now. Trust and something else—something new and shining and just for me.

I kiss his forehead first. Then his nose. Then finally, his mouth—soft and slow and full of the promise that tonight, we’re not rushing anything. That I want all of him, yes, but I also want him to feel safe. To feel worshipped.

And as I kiss my way down, as he melts under my hands, I know this night will stay with me forever.

Because for the first time, he’s letting me love him like this.

I hover just above him, my breath mingling with his. He’s watching me with wide eyes, chest rising and falling in quick, shallow motions. My hand strokes gently along his waist, calming, grounding. I lean in, close enough that our noses brush.

“Do you trust me, baby?” I ask against his lips, my voice low, almost a whisper.

He blinks slowly, like he’s processing everything; my body above his, the tension in the air, the weight of what we’re about to share. His lips part, and for a moment, he doesn’t answer.

Then softly, a little shakily he whispers, “Yes, P’Cir.”

And just like that, something in me gives way.

Not to hunger. To love.

I kiss him again, gently this time, like we’ve got all the time in the world. Like there’s nowhere else we need to be. His fingers clutch at my shoulders, holding on as I kiss down his neck, down his chest, memorizing the sound of his breath hitching.

“Good,” I murmur. “Because I’m going to take care of you. You don’t have to think, or move, or worry about anything. Just feel, okay?”

He nods, flushed, trusting.

And I begin.

Cir's POV -

His skin is warm under my lips as I trail kisses down his chest, slow and deliberate, savoring every hitch in his breath. His fingers tighten in my hair when I reach his stomach, his hips lifting slightly off the bed—instinct, not impatience—and I smile against his skin.

"Easy," I murmur, pressing a soothing hand to his hip. "I've got you."

He whines, high and soft in the back of his throat, and God, I could live in this sound.

I take my time. Kissing the dip of his navel, the sharp jut of his hip bones, the trembling skin of his inner thighs. He jerks when my breath ghosts over his cock, already hard and flushed against his stomach.

"P’Cir—" His voice cracks.

I look up at him, my chin resting on his thigh. "Tell me what you need."

His chest rises and falls rapidly. "I don’t—I don’t know."

"That’s okay," I say, stroking his thigh. "Just tell me if it’s too much."

Then I lean in and lick a slow stripe up his length.

Phu gasps, his back arching off the bed, his hands flying to my hair. "Oh—oh—"

I do it again, slower this time, relishing the way his thighs tremble under my hands. When I finally take him into my mouth, he lets out a broken moan, his fingers tightening in my hair.

"Fuck," he whimpers, his voice wrecked already. "P’Cir, please—"

That’s the first time I’ve ever heard my baby curse and I need more.

I hum around him, and his hips jerk. "Sorry, I’m sorry—"

I pull off just enough to speak. "Don’t apologize," I rasp, squeezing his hip. "Just let go. I want to hear you."

His eyes are glassy when I swallow him down again, his moans spilling freely now, unfiltered and perfect. Every sound, every twitch, every desperate roll of his hips—I memorize it all.

When his breathing turns ragged, his thighs tensing, I slow down, pulling off with a wet sound.

"Not yet," I murmur, kissing his inner thigh. "I’m not done with you."

He groans, throwing an arm over his face.

“P’Cir…” he whines.

The arm over his face does nothing to hide the way his chest heaves, skin flushed pink from collarbones to cheeks. I can see his pulse fluttering at his throat, can feel the way his muscles tense and release under my hands.

Every reaction is a gift, and I'm a greedy fucking man.

"Look at me," I murmur, dragging my teeth lightly along the crease of his thigh. His stomach muscles jump. "C'mon, sweetheart. Let me see those pretty eyes."

When he doesn't immediately comply, I press my thumb firmly against the base of his cock. His arm flies off his face as he gasps, back arching beautifully off the mattress.

"There you are," I croon, watching the way his eyelashes flutter, how his lips part on a silent moan. "That's my good boy."

His breath hitches at the praise, hips making an aborted little thrust into the air. The way he responds to those words never fails to make my blood run hot.

I trail my fingers up his length, watching the way his stomach muscles contract. "You gonna be good for me? Let me take my time with you?"

Phu nods frantically, fingers twisting in the sheets. "Y-yes, phi, please—"

The desperation in his voice goes straight to my cock. I lean in, pressing an open-mouthed kiss to his hipbone. "Then relax," I murmur against his skin. "I'll give you what you need."

When I take him back into my mouth, slow and deep, his moan shakes through both of us. His hands find my hair again, not pushing or pulling, just holding on like I'm the only solid thing in his world.

And maybe, in this moment, I am.

His fingers in my hair tighten as I take him deeper, his thighs trembling against my ears. The salt-bitter taste of him, the way his breath comes in ragged pants above me - it's intoxicating.

"P'Cir...I can't—" His voice breaks as I hollow my cheeks, dragging a particularly filthy sound from his throat.

I pull off just enough to murmur against his heated skin: "You can. You will." My hand replaces my mouth, stroking in time with each shallow thrust of his hips. "Want to feel you come on my tongue, baby. Want to hear you scream for me."

Phu's entire body shudders at the words, his cock twitching in my grip. His lips form my name soundlessly before he chokes out: "Gonna—phi, I'm really gonna—"

I swallow him down just as he breaks, drinking every pulse of his release while his back arches clean off the mattress. His cry echoes through the room, raw and unfiltered, fingers yanking my hair almost painfully as he rides it out.

He spills across my tongue with a choked sob, thighs clenching as if the pleasure is too much for him to hold. I don’t let go until I’ve wrung every last tremor from him, every last drop, easing him down gently with slow licks and kisses until he’s twitching from overstimulation.

When I finally crawl up his boneless, shivering body, his skin is warm and flushed, his chest rising and falling in shallow pants.

His eyes are glazed over with the haze of his first real high, his lips parted like he’s still trying to catch up to what just happened. I lean down and kiss him—soft and slow, letting him taste himself on my tongue.

He moans weakly into my mouth, a sound more vulnerable than anything I’ve ever heard from him.

"Still think I don’t want you?" I murmur against his lips, nipping gently at his swollen bottom lip.

His cheeks flush impossibly deeper, and he looks away with a small, sheepish noise. “I-I didn’t mean it like that…”

I cup his face and bring his gaze back to mine. “Baby,” I say, voice low, serious. “There’s not a second of the day I don’t want you. It’s not even just this”—I glance down at his bare, beautiful body, the soft curve of his waist, the pale expanse of skin now marked with faint traces of my hands and mouth—“it’s everything. Your laugh. The way you pout. The way you hug your plushies like they’re hostages.”

He covers his face with both hands, groaning in embarrassment. “P’Cir stop…”

I grin and press a kiss to the back of his hand. “I mean it. You’re mine. All mine. And I don’t just want you tonight—I want all of your firsts, every time, every way.”

His hands slowly lower, and his eyes search mine. "You really mean that?"

“I do.” I brush the hair off his forehead, softer now. “That’s why I stopped earlier. Not because I didn’t want you. Because I want all of you. But only when you’re truly ready.”

He swallows hard and nods, small and certain. “Okay… thank you.” He curls against my chest like a cat, arms circling my waist. “That felt really good, P’Cir.”

My arms wrap around him instinctively, protectively. I kiss the top of his head. “I’m glad, baby. You were perfect.”

There’s a long pause, and then he murmurs so quietly I almost miss it, “I wanna make you feel good too.”

I freeze for a second, heart thudding. I exhale, threading my fingers through his hair. “You already do,” I whisper honestly. “Just having you like this… it’s everything.”

He hums contentedly, pressing his face into my chest. “Then… can we just stay like this for a while?”

“Yeah, baby. As long as you want.”

And so we stay there, tangled in sheets and warmth, the city silent outside. In this moment, with him pressed against me, heart to heart, nothing else matters.

PHU’S POV(PRESENT DAY)

It’s funny, looking back.

Three weeks ago, I could barely admit out loud that P'Cir was mine. He was loud, cocky, annoying—too big, too intense, too much.

And now…I can barely breathe without him hovering over me like an overprotective hawk.

Literally.

Because I’m sick. Sick as hell. Nose stuffed, hair gross, and probably the least attractive version of myself possible. And he’s still fussing over me like I’m made of gold.

A stupid cold.

Nothing serious. (At least I don't think it's serious.)

But try telling him that.

I sniffle miserably from where I’m curled up on my couch, bundled in about three layers of blankets he shoved on me like he’s trying to mummify me.

He’s pacing the room.

Pacing.

Like I’m dying.

Like he’s trying to figure out how to fight the cold virus in hand-to-hand combat.

"Baby, you’re sure you don’t need to go to the hospital?" he asks for what has to be the twentieth time today, voice rough and wrecked with worry.

I croak out a weak laugh.

"P'Cir... it’s just a cold," I rasp, voice barely above a whisper.

He glares at me like I’ve personally offended him.

"You coughed," he says darkly.

"That’s what sick people do," I mumble, tugging the blanket up over my nose.

He marches over to me, crouching down to my level.

Glares harder.

"You have a fever," he says.

"It’s low grade," I mumble into the blanket.

He huffs a breath, rubbing a hand through his messy hair like he’s this close to kidnapping me and airlifting me to the ER.

Instead, he presses his forehead against mine, checking my temperature himself like he doesn’t trust the thermometer he already used three times.

His skin is warm. Solid. Steady.

Even when everything else feels like it’s spinning a little.

"You're too precious to be sick," he mutters against my forehead, voice so soft I almost miss it.

I feel my chest squeeze painfully.

God.

This man.

This ridiculous, overprotective, foul-mouthed man who treats me like I'm something fragile and priceless.

And the worst part?

I love it.

I love…him.

Not that I’m ready to say it yet.

"I’m okay, P’Cir," I whisper instead.

He pulls back just enough to look at me.

Eyes dark.

Serious.

Wrecked.

"You’re mine," he says simply. "It’s my job to take care of you."

And even though I feel like death warmed over, even though my nose is red and my eyes are puffy and I probably look like a soggy kitten,

I smile.

Because somehow, somewhere along the way—He made me his.

And I don’t want it any other way.

CIR’S POV

The last three weeks have been fucking amazing.

Sure, there were the whispers—those tight-lipped glances when we walked across campus, the not-so-subtle stares like they couldn’t believe the Cirrus Rueng had gotten himself caught. Like dating someone soft and shy was some sort of cosmic joke. Like I wasn’t built to love anyone, let alone love someone like him.

But fuck them.

Because things were going smooth. Really fucking smooth. And I knew damn well it was going that way because I’d been steamrolling over him.

I made decisions and carried them the fuck through. Like the decision to start sleeping in the same bed. He wasn’t sure about that one—hesitated, even tried to pull back the first night like we weren’t already wrapped around each other emotionally like a chokehold—but I didn’t take no for an answer.

And I knew. I knew I was moving fast. Faster than most people would dare. But ask me if I gave a flying fuck.

He’s my baby. He’ll be my baby when he’s ninety. Wrinkled, gray-haired, probably still hiding snacks in his hoodie pocket—mine.

Nothing’s gonna change that. Why the fuck should I go slow? For what? To impress who? Abide by whose standards?

Life’s too motherfucking short for that shit. Kill that noise.

Of course, my teammates—those pricks—joked behind my back. Whispered shit in the locker room like, “Damn, Cir really fell hard,” or “Bet he’s getting pegged by that cute freshman.”

First one of those assholes I heard say it to my face was getting rocked. Not because I gave a shit about being called whipped—because frankly, I am. I am fucking whipped. Hooked. Obsessed. Whatever. That’s not the insult.

But dragging my boy into it? Saying shit that reduces him, the most important goddamn thing in my life, to a punchline? Yeah, that was gonna earn a cracked jaw.

Because here’s the truth—my boy isn’t easy.

He didn’t just fall for me because I showed up. He didn’t give it up because I wanted it. He makes me wait. Makes me earn it. And the most surprising part? I don’t even want to rush him.

I’ve never had that before. Never had the want to slow down for anyone, until him.

And not a damn soul knows that when he curls into me at night—small, warm, trusting—I stay up for hours, just watching him breathe. Protecting something I can’t even name out loud. Something fragile and precious and completely, devastatingly mine.

So yeah. Let ‘em whisper.

They don’t fucking know.

I took him everywhere with me. Practice? He was there. Meetings? Right beside me. Groceries? On the back of my bike with my jacket wrapped around his waist.

I had him sitting in the stands while we went through drills and playbooks, watching us sweat it out on the field. My baby didn’t know jack shit about football, and I loved that for him.

He wasn’t there to scream my name like some groupie or wave a fucking banner with my number on it. He could read, scroll, doodle in that big ass sketchbook he always carried—I didn’t give a damn.

As long as I could look up and see him there, that was enough. Always.

I didn’t care about anyone else’s opinions. All the people who “knew” me, who thought they had the Rueng boy pegged from the day I stepped onto campus were whispering behind their hands.

He’ll get bored.
This one’s just a phase.
He’ll pull a Rueng soon enough.
That’s what they called it when I disappeared on someone. "Pulling a Rueng." Like I was some urban legend or a warning label.

But that shit didn’t faze me. A good, hard look usually had them shutting the fuck up.

They didn’t know shit.

Yeah, I knew girls were approaching him. Giving him subtle jabs, asking those fake-ass questions like, “Are you two… serious?” and “You know he used to mess around with Lukprae, right?”

Especially Lukprae. Girl wouldn’t quit. Acted like she had stock in me.

There were more than enough people on campus who made it their business to keep me in the loop. Some did it because they were nosy; others because they were scared to get on my bad side. Either way, I knew. All of it.

But no one—and I mean no one—dared approach him when I was around. Not unless they wanted to look like a complete dumbass, because he knew already. I told him everything.

Didn’t go into detail though, what kind of sleazebag would I be if I ran my mouth about shit like that? But I told him who I’d been with, at least the ones who were still on campus. So if they ever tried to use that shit to rattle him, they’d come up empty.

He knew, too, that I never doubled back. I didn’t do repeats. That was never me. Once was once. No feelings, no confusion. No room for anyone to get ideas.

I knew they were mad as fuck that I treated him different. That after only a few weeks I was already looking at him like he hung the goddamn moon. That he got what they’d been trying to finesse out of me for years—softness. Attention. Protection. All the shit I didn’t know I even had to give.

But I tell you this—I might not disrespect women, but I’m not a pacifist either. I won’t sit around and let anyone try to pull slick shit with my boy and expect me to stay calm.

They try it?

I’ll drop-kick one of their asses off the second floor of the library and walk away humming.

Because he’s not just my boyfriend.

He’s the fucking endgame.

PHU’S POV

I hear the door creak open before I can pretend to be asleep again.

“Baby?”

P’Cir’s voice is quiet. Softer than usual. The kind of soft he only uses when he thinks I’m hurting, like now.

I don’t move at first. I’m curled up under his blankets, my throat dry, body heavy with fever. The apartment smells like ginger and cinnamon, he must’ve boiled something. Of course he did. He always does too much.

The bed dips gently beside me.

“I brought you cocoa,” he says. “And meds. The fancy ones. Not the trash from the convenience store.”

He says it like a joke, but his fingers are warm on my cheek, brushing my hair back, checking my temperature like he’s scared I’ll disappear if he looks away too long.

“P’Cir,” I croak. My voice is a mess. “I’m fine.”

He lets out a sharp exhale. “You don’t look fine baby, you look like you’re about to die and I’m going to have to drag you back”

I don’t have the energy to argue, so I shift just enough to rest my head on his thigh. He stills. Then relaxes, slowly, as he strokes my hair.

He always relaxes when I touch him first.

Cirrus Rueng: terrifying to half the university, uncontrollable on the field, always on edge. Except with me.

Somehow, with me, he becomes something else. Someone gentle. Someone I… I don’t know how to explain it.

I haven’t told him I love him.

I don’t know why. Maybe because it scares me. Maybe because the words feel too big.

Maybe because when I look at him, when he kisses my forehead and tucks me into his chest like he’s trying to fuse our bodies into one, I think—he already knows.

Still, when I look up at him now, flushed with fever and throat aching, I wish I could say it.

Instead, I whisper, “Thank you for finding me.”

He huffs a breath and leans down, pressing a soft kiss to my cheek. “You’re impossible to lose.”

I close my eyes.

He shifts again, helping me sit up just enough to sip the cocoa. It burns my tongue a little, but I don’t mind. His hand never leaves the back of my neck.

When I finish, he wipes my lips with his thumb and tucks me back down under the blanket like he’s memorizing each motion.

Then he lies beside me, pulling me into his chest.

“Next time you feel like dying, can you at least do it somewhere with reception?” he mutters into my hair.

I laugh, hoarse and soft. “Next time I’ll send you a calendar invite.”

He laughs too—low and warm. His lips brush my temple.

And as I drift somewhere between sleep and waking, my fingers curled in his shirt, I think maybe next time I will say it.

Maybe next time I’ll tell him I love him.

But for now, I just breathe him in.

And that’s enough.

Cir’s POV

Phu’s breathing has evened out again, soft and slow against my chest. I brush a thumb along the curve of his spine, memorizing the heat of him under my palm. He’s finally asleep. Thank god.

I don’t move. Not even an inch.

It’s crazy how natural it feels now—having him wrapped up in my arms, like this is the only place in the world he’s supposed to be. Like my entire life before him was just static, background noise waiting to go silent the second I saw him.

Three weeks ago. Just three weeks.

He was across the football field, with his friends—tiny in sweater, messy hair, clutching a sketchpad too big for his arms. I remember how the light hit him. How he laughed at something Achi said. How I couldn’t look away.

And now he’s in bed, sick and curled into me like I’m home.

I tilt my head, watching the faint wrinkle between his brows that never really goes away, even in sleep. My chest tightens.

I love him. God, I love him so much it physically hurts.

I didn’t expect it. Didn’t ask for it. But it came anyway; fast and loud, like everything else in my life. The difference is, this time, I don’t want to fight it.

My phone buzzes quietly on the nightstand, and I snatch it up before it wakes him. It's a message from Wim.

Wim: Is Phu okay? You scared the entire university today.

I snort under my breath.

I tap out a reply.

Me: He’s fine. Fever. He’s sleeping now. Tell them to suck it up.

Wim responds almost instantly.

Wim: Cir, you literally barged into a TA meeting, cursed out an architecture professor, and made Nalin almost cry.
You didn’t even say hello to Zen.
Do you know how terrifying you are when you’re worried?

I stare at the screen for a second. Then I shrug.

Me:

I know I can be a bit unhinged.
But when it comes to Phu… the screws go fully loose.

There’s a beat of silence before Wim replies.

Wim:

…You’re terrifying.
But okay.
That’s kind of sweet.

I set the phone aside and look down again.

Phu shifts slightly, curling tighter into me. His lips part in sleep, and I swear my heart squeezes.

He’s everything.

My baby, my angel, my softest obsession.

“Sleep well, baby,” I whisper into his hair. “I’ve got you.”

Always.

He shifts again in his sleep, fingers curling around the edge of my shirt like he knows I’m thinking too loud. Like even in sleep, some part of him knows—don’t go far.

God.

I press a kiss into his hair.

I told him I loved him the first week we met.

Barely seven days in and I was already too far gone. I remember the way his face looked when I said it—wide eyes, the slight stutter of his breath, the confused little “...huh?” like maybe he thought he misheard me.

He didn’t.

I meant it.

I meant it the second I saw him on that foot ball field, the second day I kissed him and he kissed me back and then ran away make me hunt his little ass down, the other days I spent watching him- sketching outside the library, legs crossed, brows furrowed, chewing on the end of his pen like he was trying to solve the mysteries of the universe through a perspective grid.

When I followed him to that bubble tea stall just to hear him order. When I sat in that stupid café pretending to read while watching him squint at his laptop like it personally offended him.

I’ve meant it every single time I go to bed and wake up with him beside me.

And every day since.

He hasn’t said it back. Not yet.

And that’s okay.

It’s not that he doesn’t feel something—I see it in the way he looks at me now. In the way he smiles when he thinks I’m not watching. In the way he instinctively curls into me when he’s cold. In the way he trusts me to touch him, to hold him, to kiss him like he’s mine.

And fuck, he is mine.

Even if he doesn’t say it out loud, I know. I know my baby’s heart.

And I’ll never rush him. Never push. He gets to love me in his own time, in his own way. I’ll be here.

Always.

Even if it takes forever.

Because he’s worth forever.

I feel my phone buzz again, but I ignore it this time. I don’t want to look away from him. He’s breathing easier now, fever dulled a little. Still too warm,  but not burning like earlier. The meds must be working.

I tuck the blankets tighter around him and shift just enough to lie back beside him, curling an arm around his waist and pulling him close again.

“Love you,” I whisper, barely a breath against his ear.

He doesn’t stir.

But I say it anyway.

Because I always will.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

Cir’s POV
It’s been three days.

He’s still sick—just enough to worry me, even though the fever’s not so bad and he’s sleeping better. I’ve barely left his side. He eats what I give him, drinks what I hand him, sleeps tangled in my arms like it’s the only way he can breathe.

It should be calming.

It’s not.

Because today, today, something snapped again.

I went out for twenty minutes. Twenty. Just to pick up extra meds and a new thermometer because I didn’t like how the old one beeped. When I get back to his dorm, I see them.

A bouquet.

Of fucking flowers.

Lilies and those stupid little baby’s breath things. Wrapped in tissue paper and twine like it’s a fucking romance drama.

And beside it?

A note.

“Get well soon, Phukan :)”
—With a smiley face. A goddamn smiley face.

No name. Just vibes.

There's also a snack bag. Some fruit gummies. A chocolate bar. A fucking strawberry milk.

I stare at it. My brain shorts.

And then I black out a little.

I’m inside his dorm room before I realize I’ve kicked the door open. Phu’s still on the couch, wrapped up in my hoodie, blinking up at me with those tired doe eyes.

“Baby,” I grit, voice low, dangerous. “Who. Sent. This?”

His brows furrow sleepily. “What—what is it, P’Cir?”

I hold up the bouquet like it’s evidence in a murder trial. “This. The fucking flowers, Phu.”

He sits up slowly, blinking at it. “I—I don’t know. I didn’t order anything.”

“There’s a note,” I snap, thrusting it at him. “No name. Who the fuck is this?”

Phu reads it, lips silently mouthing the words. His eyes widen slightly.

I’m already pacing. My jaw is clenched so tight it hurts. I want to throw the bouquet out the window. Or eat it. Or hunt down every person in his contacts list until I find the one dumb enough to try this.

“P’Cir…” Phu’s voice is soft. Careful. “It’s probably one of my classmates. They knew I was sick.”

“Which one?” My tone is sharp. Too sharp. “Give me names.”

He frowns. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s Jin or Nalin, or—”

“Nalin would’ve signed her name,” I cut in. “And Jin doesn’t do smiley faces.”

He swallows.

“Was it that architecture kid with the ponytail?” I growl. “The one who asked for your Line at the library?”

“I don’t know—”

“Do you want him sending you flowers? Hm?” I step closer, fists clenched. “You want someone else buying you strawberry milk and leaving little love notes outside your door? Is that what this is, Phu?”

He looks up at me; soft and confused and just a little hurt. “No.”

He starts sneezing again, sharp, pathetic little things that make his whole-body twitch forward in bed.

That’s it.

I’ve had enough.

I don’t care what he says. I don’t care how many pouty looks or stubborn refusals I get. If this doesn’t stop in the next few hours, I’m dragging his sick, gorgeous, infuriating little ass to the doctor myself. I’ll carry him there if I have to.

God, who would’ve thought my baby would be this damn hardheaded? I’ve been telling him to go for days now. But does he listen?

No.

Of course not.

Now here we are—still coughing, still sneezing, still refusing proper checkup while wrapped up in my hoodie, drinking hot cocoa like that’s going to cure viral hell.

I’m pacing. Again. Like a maniac.

“Has anybody been acting extra friendly lately?” I ask, voice deceptively calm. “Calling you, messaging you, maybe leaving other anonymous shit at your door?”

He blinks up at me from the couch, eyes already narrowing. “Not that I know of.”

Oh. He looks pissed now.

Good. That cools the fire under my ribs just enough for me to think straight.

Barely.

I run a hand through my hair, shaking my head. “You know what? Fuck this.”

He blinks. “What?”

“That’s it, baby. Let’s get your shit. You’re coming with me.”

“Wait, what—P’Cir—”

“No.” I cut him off, already grabbing his charger, his pillow, the stupid frog plush he secretly loves.

“I’ve had it. You’re not staying in this dorm anymore. It’s cold. There’s no humidifier. And clearly, you’ve got creeps with a floristry kink trying to flirt with you while you’re half-conscious.”

I know I’m being a prick. I know I sound controlling and dramatic and crazy. But I don’t give a shit. I want him with me anyway, and this—this bouquet bullshit—is the catalyst I needed.

What’s next? Edible arrangements? Anonymous poetry?

Let me make something very clear: No one sends my boy strawberries and fucking flowers and gets to live. No one.

“I’m fine,” he tries again, standing up slowly. “P’Cir, we have to talk about this.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.”

“You’re not letting me make a decision—”

“Damn right I’m not,” I growl, turning to face him fully now, chest heaving. “You’re sick, you’re stubborn, and you’re driving me up the fucking wall. You’ve practically been living with me anyway, so what’s the big deal? You want to sleep alone in this cold box with creepy admirers playing knock-and-run at your door? Fuck no. You’re coming with me.”

He folds his arms. “You can’t just force me to move in because you’re jealous.”

“Watch me.”

“P’Cir!”

I close the distance between us, grabbing his chin gently—gently, even though I’m burning inside and look him dead in the eye. “You’re mine, Phukan. And when you’re sick, you don’t get to suffer alone in a drafty room because you think you’re being polite and then getting flowers from somebody that wants to take you from me.. You come home with me. You get soup. You get medicine. You get sleep in my bed, in my arms. You get taken care of. By me. End of discussion.”

“I don’t want anyone else,” he says quietly, reaching for my hand. “I only want you, P’Cir.”

I look down at him—sick, pale, in my clothes, holding my hand like it’s the only thing tethering him to earth and suddenly I feel stupid. Insane. Possessive and protective and too much.

But he squeezes my hand. “You’re the one who takes care of me. Who cooks for me. Carries me. You even brush my hair when I’m too tired.”

I exhale, tension draining slowly. “Yeah, well. Because I love you.”

His eyes soften.

“I know,” he whispers.

And then so quietly I almost miss it “I think I’m almost ready to say it back.”

My heart stops. Then starts again. Then breaks into a sprint.

Almost. But not yet.

So I press my lips to his knuckles, and say, “Take your time, baby. I’ll burn every flower shop in the city down while I wait.”

He giggles. And I smile like I didn’t just mean every word.

And just like that, the fury collapses into a pit in my stomach. Fuck. I hate this. I hate how quickly I go from sane to this when it comes to him.

Phu’s POV

I’m not even sure how I ended up on the couch, in P’Cir’s hoodie with a glass of water I don’t remember asking for. I lay half-curled on the couch like a soggy tissue, buried under three blankets and one very loud boyfriend.

My throat hurts, my head feels like it’s full of wet cotton, and every breath whistles like an old kettle. But none of that matters because right now, I’m just watching him.

P’Cir - my boyfriend, my captor, my certified insane person—rage-pack a tote bag like we’re going to war, he’s tearing through the apartment like a one-man emergency response unit, shirt half-tucked, hair falling loose from the tie, muttering curse words under his breath as he tries to find my socks like they personally wronged him.

This man is a piece of work.

He’s gorgeous. Insane. Controlling... Temperamental as fuck.

And somehow… somehow I still feel safe.

Like, weirdly safe. Deep-down, whole-soul, safest-I’ve-ever-felt kind of safe.

Because for all his chaos, I know he’d never hurt me. Not even close. He’s the type of crazy that’ll rip out the sky if I so much as frown.

The kind that keeps checking the thermometer every five minutes and whispers “baby” under his breath like a prayer and a threat to the universe at the same time.

He’s not afraid of anything—except apparently my fever.

He slams a drawer shut with more force than necessary and spins around, looking five seconds from lighting the entire building on fire if I cough again.

He crosses the room in a frenzy, drops three different bottles of medicine into the bag, then circles back because he forgot my socks. Again. He’s sweating. I’m sweating. The room is a fever dream and he’s the main character.

I’d laugh if I had the energy.

Instead, I just sit there, curled in his clothes, watching him stuff tissues and meds into his bag like he’s about to go to war with a flu virus.

I lean forward, trying to reach out, trying to grab his wrist and calm him down a little. “P’Cir—”

And that’s when he stubs his toe against the table leg with a loud thud and a vicious, whispered, “Fuck me sideways.”

He lets out a string of curses that sound like a demonic chant, hops on one foot, glares at the table like it declared war on him personally.

He pauses. Hands on his knees. Breathing like he might combust.

I press my lips together and wisely say nothing.

Calming him down? Not today.

There’s no reasoning with a storm mid-spin.

Later. When I’m feeling better. I’ll ask around school who's suddenly being suspiciously nice to me. Just out of curiosity. I’d like to know if they really love me that much or if they just have a death wish—because before P’Cir, I never had secret admirers and they’re just stupid enough to flirt with the boyfriend of the craziest guy on campus

Now? Somebody is leaving me snacks and flowers with notes like they’re walking into traffic with their eyes wide open.

He grabs my sketchpad, my potted plant, another tissue box—just in case—and finally throws a blanket over me like he’s preparing for transport.

I don’t protest. I just blink slowly, fever-drunk and halfway amused, because somehow, despite all this.

I’ve never felt more taken care of.

Even if he is absolutely, completely, and unapologetically insane.

Cir’s POV

I'm already halfway through clearing his side of the room, flinging textbooks, charger cords, and that stupid plush keychain into his travel bag with way more aggression than necessary. Whatever I couldn’t pack right now, I’d come back for later. Hell, I’d carry the whole damn desk if I had to.

"Go get your skin shit from the bathroom," I mutter barely looking at him.

Silence.

I turn.

He’s not moving.

He's standing there with his arms crossed, foot tapping against the tile like like a pissed-off kitten. And oh, here it comes.

"You realize we've known each other for exactly three weeks, right?" he says slowly, like I'm stupid. "Twenty-one days, P'Cir. People don't just move in together after twenty-one days."

I drop the hoodie I'm holding and just stare at him.

"You've slept next to me every night for the past fourteen," I snap. "You have a toothbrush at my place. You use my fucking towels. You've stolen half my shirts. What the fuck do you think is going to happen if you move in? Huh? Have I tried to force you into anything? Am I pressuring you?"

He flinches. " P’Cir, there’s more to it than that. It’s not just about us sleeping together and would you stop swearing at me?”

"No, Phu. Fuck no. I'm pissed. Way the fuck off."

I drag both hands through my hair and pace, boots hitting the floor too hard, too fast. I'm spiraling and I don't care.

"Some fucktard sent my boy flowers. Flowers. Snacks. A fucking 'get well soon' note with a fucking smiley face. You think I’m gonna be chill about that shit? You think I’m just gonna sit here and smile while half the damn campus whispers about the soft little first-year Cir’s dating who’s suddenly getting anonymous fan mail like he’s in a rom-com "

"P'Cir—"

"Fuck me." I laugh, sharp and dry. "This'll be all over campus by tonight. Do you get what that means?"

"Calm down," he says.

I freeze. Turn. My eyes burn.

"Phukan. Get. Your. Shit."

His jaw clenches. His pretty mouth opens and closes like he’s trying to find the right words that wouldn’t set me off more. But I was already past reason. I was unraveling thread by thread.

" I don’t understand why you’re acting like this," he snaps finally. " I didn’t talk to anybody. I don’t want to talk to anybody. I have no intention of ever talking to anyone else again. I’m with you now!"

I blink.

Didn't expect that.

My heart stutters.

But I'm not done.

"Get your shit or we leave without it."

He rolls his eyes—actually rolls them and flops onto his bed, arms still crossed.

And then the fucking sneezing starts again.

Three in a row. Tiny, adorable explosions.

This. Fucking. Boy.

I stare at him.

Pale. Still sick. Stubborn as hell.

Mine.

All mine.

And he's driving me absolutely insane.

“Baby, you sure it’s just cold?” My voice comes out rough, tighter than I want it to be. “You’ve been sick for a while. Fuck it, I’m taking you to see the doc.”

I drop his stuff on the bed, my fingers itching to grab him, to just haul him up and drag him to the damn clinic myself. But of course, his stubborn ass has to put up a fight.

“No, P'Cir, it’s fine. I promise,” he protests, his voice weak, but there’s that familiar defiance in his tone. “They’re just a little worse than usual, but nothing to worry about.”

Yeah, I’ve been hearing that shit for days now, and each time I just get more pissed. I’m not backing off this time.

I study his face, eyes red and teary, nose all swollen and raw. The way he sniffles, trying to play it off, just pisses me off more. No way I’m buying it.

I don’t give a damn who laughs at me, or what anyone else thinks. Seeing him like this, weak and sick, is not an option.

My friends? They think I’ve completely lost it, but they have no idea. No fucking clue what it feels like to have someone burrowed so deep under your skin that you’d do anything to keep them safe. To keep them well.

I couldn’t care less if they didn’t understand. I didn’t need their approval.

This... whatever it is between us, it’s more than I’ve ever had with anyone. It's not just "fun," it's the big stakes, the serious shit that has you acting like a damn fool. "Until death do you part" shit that makes men do stupid things.

And I can feel myself slipping—no matter how much I tell myself I’ll keep it together. The thing is, when I look at him, I don’t know where to stop.

I don’t know where the lines blur between keeping him safe and keeping him mine.

I can’t see where he’s losing his mind.

His world seems so smooth, so calm. Meanwhile, I’m spending every waking moment trying to figure out ways to keep him close, keep him locked down, keep an eye on him.

He doesn’t know that.

Hell, he doesn’t even understand what it does to me when he smiles that innocent, sweet smile of his. I want to protect that smile, protect him, keep him away from anything that could hurt him.

But when he looks at me with those big, trusting eyes, even when he’s sick, he doesn’t see the storm brewing in me.

 Doesn’t see the way my heart pounds just a little too fast for a simple touch, how much I need him close.

"Phu," I say, voice low but sharp. "I’m serious. You’re not fine. You haven’t been fine. I’m not sitting here while you pretend like it’s just a cold. When we get to mines, I’m taking you to the doctor, whether you like it or not."

I’ve never—never—felt this fucking all-consuming need to protect, hover over, own someone in my goddamn life. With Phu, all the rules I used to live by got thrown out like trash.

The shit I used to laugh at other people for? The “whipped” comments, the checking-in texts, the clingy nonsense?
Yeah.
Now I was that guy. The guy I swore I’d never become.

And the scary part?

I didn’t even hate it.

It made me wonder sometimes—who the hell owned who? He walked into my life looking like some soft, shy breeze, and somehow ended up rearranging everything inside me. The way I moved. The way I breathed. The way I fucking thought.

That whole “love only one person” thing?
That shit’s no joke.

Nobody told me it would turn me into a raving, tyrannical lunatic. I wasn’t prepared for that part. But when I finally talked to my dad about it—when I admitted I was going off the rails—he and my brother laughed their asses off. Full-on, back-slapping, can’t-breathe type of laugh.

Apparently, it never goes away.

“If it’s real,” dad said, “it only gets worse.”

Worse.

Like I wasn’t already five seconds from chaining the boy to my damn ankle.

So yeah, Phu’s in for a life.

I just hope he can put up with my shit, because if this madness escalates any more, I’m going to lose my mind every time he’s out of my sight. I already feel my teeth grind every time someone so much as looks at him too long.

I’ve packed enough of his shit to last him a couple of days. The essentials, the soft pajamas I like seeing him in, his chargers, the snacks he likes. I’ll come back for the rest once I can figure out how to move his entire closet without him calling campus security.

He’s still sitting on the edge of the bed when I return, hugging that ratty stuffed rabbit of his, giving me that look. Like I should be committed. Like he’s concerned for my mental health.

At least he’s not afraid of me. I’ll take that as a win.

I crouch in front of him and rest a hand on his knee.

“You ready?” I ask.

He doesn’t move.

Just tilts his head a little and mumbles, “Do you ever slow down, P’Cir?”

“Not with you.”

He sighs. But it’s not angry. It’s soft. Resigned. A little fond, maybe.

So I lean forward, kiss the center of his forehead, and whisper, “Come on, baby. Let me take you home.”

I grab my boy and leave. No more arguing, no more back and forth. He mumbles something about his hairbrush and a Sanrio he forgot—I’ll buy him ten more if I have to.

Now I can breathe easier. For the first time in weeks, my chest doesn’t feel like it’s in a goddamn vice grip. I was finally getting him where I wanted him—home. Mine.

It had only taken me two fucking weeks, but they’d felt like years. I’d lived every one of those days with my nerves frayed and my jaw clenched, waiting for something to go wrong, waiting for him to pull away, waiting for the universe to screw me.

But he hadn’t.

He was in the passenger seat now, curled up with his hoodie pulled over half his face, glaring at the road like it had insulted him personally. I didn’t even care that he was sulking. I’d take sulking. I’d take anything as long as he was with me.

I don’t know why it mattered so much to have him at my place. It’s not like his dorm was hours away. Hell, he could probably walk the distance if he was feeling dramatic. But that wasn’t the point.

I needed him there. His scent in my sheets. His shit mixed in with mine. His socks under the couch. His goddamn sketchpads on the kitchen table. His toothbrush next to mine. His face next to mine every morning.

I needed it all.

I wouldn’t rest easy until it was permanent.

Because no matter how much he rolled his eyes or muttered about my obsession, he hadn’t run. And I wasn’t going to give him the chance. Not again. Not ever.

Phu’s POV

I sit in the passenger seat, arms folded tightly across my chest, hoodie pulled up like it might shield me from him. From the madness. From the absolute chaos that is Cirrus Rueng.

He didn't even ask.

He just packed up half my room like a category five hurricane with abs, slung my bags into his car, and carried me out like a duffel bag. And now here I am. In his stupid, fast, black car. Watching the dorm shrink in the rearview mirror while he drives like he just stole me from my own life.

Well—technically—he did.

I sniff. Not because I’m crying. Because I’m still sick. Kind of. Okay, a lot. My nose is stuffy, my throat still hurts a little, and I did sneeze twice on the stairs. But it’s not like I was dying! I told him it wasn’t serious. Did he listen? No. P’Cir listens to no one. Not even me.

He was muttering something under his breath when he carried my bags down. Something about “rusty knives” and “gutting people” and “fuck me sideways if this isn’t the last goddamn straw.” I didn’t ask questions. I just grabbed Mr. Rabbit and followed before he could throw a fit about that too.

Now he’s silent. White-knuckling the steering wheel like it personally offended him. Jaw clenched. Eyes straight ahead. Like he just won the war but is still looking for the next enemy.

And the worst part?

I don’t even want to scream at him. I should. I should say he’s insane. That we’ve only known each other three weeks. That people don’t move in together this fast. That he’s completely irrational and unhinged and overbearing and obsessed.

But all I can think is…It’s kind of nice to be wanted this hard.

It’s terrifying.
But it’s warm too.

Somehow, in all the mess, he makes me feel like I belong to someone. And maybe that’s something I’ve needed longer than I want to admit.

Still. He could’ve at least let me grab my extra pajamas.

Chapter Text

Phu’s POV

The elevator dings.

I stare at the sleek hallway, all cold concrete and sharp edges, the kind of place you’d expect a villain in a movie to live. Expensive. Dark. A little terrifying. Just like him.

P’Cir jabs his keycard into the panel with unnecessary force because of course even his door has high-security clearance, and the lock makes a heavy click. He doesn’t look at me when he pushes the door open. Just strides in like a man possessed.

“Shoes off baby,” he mutters. Like this is my first time here. Then disappears inside.

I blink.

What the hell did I just agree to.

His place is huge. Like, huge. There’s a massive black leather sectional in the center of a sunken living room, a giant TV mounted on the wall, floor-to-ceiling windows that look out over the campus skyline like some kind of mafia boss hideout.

The lights are warm, golden, expensive. There’s a subtle scent of cedar and something spicy in the air.

And then I see it.

On the far end of the living room, on a separate shelf, sitting there like it's holy:
My mushroom sweater.
My frog plushie
And… my extra dreamcatcher?

“What the…?” I mumble, walking over.

“Been bringing your stuff over bit by bit,” P’Cir says behind me, like he didn’t just admit to premeditated boyfriend-level burglary. “Didn’t want to spook you.”

“Spook me? You broke into my dorm drawer to steal my dreamcatcher!”

“I didn’t steal it. I borrowed it. Permanently.”

“P’Cir—!”

He sighs like I’m the one being unreasonable and flops dramatically onto the couch, spreading out like a goddamn drama king panther.

“You’re here now, baby. What does it matter?” he grumbles. “Everything you need’s already set up. I cleared a drawer for your socks. Got your favorite cereal. Medicine’s in the cabinet above the sink. Toothbrush is in the cup on the left. Tissues by the bed in case your cold get worse tonight. Oh, and I bought the panda blanket you liked from the dorm lounge. It’s on the bed already. You’re welcome.”

I just stand there, speechless. My mouth opens. Then closes. Then opens again.

“P’Cir.”

“Yeah?”

“…You’re insane.”

He grins, slow and crooked, and suddenly the living room doesn’t feel so big or so cold anymore.

“Yeah,” he says. “But I’m your insane.”

And god help me—I think I might actually be okay with that.

CIR’S POV

So yeah, I've got my boy settled in our place.

God, that sounds so fucking good—our place.

It's been two days and I'm finally making good on my threat. Last night he kept me up the whole damn time sneezing and coughing.

I thought I could handle it—just a cold, right? I tucked him in tighter, gave him water, sat up while he dozed in and out. But this morning? He started wheezing. Running a fever.

I lost my fucking mind.

Now I've dragged him to the doc like some deranged caveman.

And he didn't even argue. That’s when I knew we were in trouble. My baby hates doctors.

The blonde behind the desk smiled at me like I was on some special goddamn menu, and I kept my face hard as I approached. “I need the doc. Like right now.”

“He’ll be free in less than five, but you can take a seat over there if you’d like.”

Do women still do that shit with their eyes? I guess she didn’t hear me or she didn’t see my boy back there practically fighting for air.

No fucking way.

So yeah, I’m losing my shit.

Because my boy—my tiny, stubborn, sweet-faced menace—is sitting in a fucking plastic chair looking like he might pass out at any second, and some chick wants to flirt with me?

Not today.

I level her with a look I save for the field and the few idiots who've tried to step to me when I’m already pissed off. “I said now.”

She blanches when I growl that last word. Now. Yeah, she heard it this time.

The second she caught sight of Phu behind me, barely upright in the chair and gasping like a fish out of water, her eyes go wide. She scrambles for the phone. "Doctor Chai to front, stat."

I turn back toward my boy. That pale little face. Sweat slicks his hair to his forehead. His fingers were trembling where they clutch the hem of my hoodie—he’d insisted on wearing mine today. Said it smelled like me.

He looks up at me, eyes glassy and red-rimmed. “P’Cir,” he breathes out. It was faint. Barely there.

My fucking heart split in half

His head’s lolling, and he’s gripping his hoodie like he’s trying to hold himself together. The color’s drained from his face, breathing like every inhale hurt. His lips looked too pale. Almost blue.

Fuck this.

I don’t wait.

I scoop him up out of the chair like he weighs nothing, which, spoiler, he doesn’t. He’s too tiny for this shit. Too pale. Too warm. I can feel the heat radiating off him through the layers he bundled up in.

“P’Cir…” he mumbles weakly into my chest, trying to protest. “Don’t cause a scene…”

“Shut up, baby. You’re getting seen now.” My voice is low, deadly calm. The kind of calm that comes right before I start breaking things.

A nurse opens a side door, eyes wide. “Sir—”

“He’s wheezing and burning up. We’re not waiting.”

She takes one look at Phu, sees what I see—his flushed face, glassy eyes, the trembling hands and steps the fuck out of the way.

That’s better.

I carry him in, lay him gently on the padded table like he’s made of glass, and smooth his hair back from his damp forehead. He’s blinking up at me like I just carried him through a warzone, and maybe I did.

My chest is so tight it hurts. I tuck his hoodie around him. “You hold on, alright? We’re almost through this. Then I’m locking your ass down for real.”

He blinks slowly. “Already moved in, P’Cir…”

“Yeah, well. I’m about to take it up a level.”

A doctor comes in after, he was younger than I liked. I didn’t trust that baby face, and he looks too nervous when he meets my eyes. Good. He should be. My boy is on the table looking like he’d been through hell, and if this guy fucked around, I’d end his medical career before lunch.

Phu tries to sit up, already apologizing for “causing trouble.”

I press him back down gently but firmly, brushing his damp bangs off his forehead. “Shut up, baby. You don’t apologize for being sick.”

He sniffles and leans into my palm.

And right then, I swear to God, if the doctor didn’t fix this—fast—I was gonna find someone who could.

“Cirrus—”

Good, my father’s friend comes in. Him-old, Him-I trust. I glare at the younger doctor and he pales and shuffles out of the room.

I turn to face the doctor “No time, doc. My boy’s sick. I need you to fix it.”

Thankfully, no one else was in the room or I might’ve body-checked them into the wall.

“What seems to be the problem?” he asks, fumbling with the stethoscope around his neck, pushing his glasses up like he isn’t about to be responsible for my entire life lying half-conscious on that table.

“He says it’s just a cold, but I don’t know. He’s been sneezing and coughing for almost a week. This morning, he started wheezing and he’s burning up. What do you think?”

“Well, I have to look at him first, son.”

“Yeah, okay.”

What the fuck is he waiting for then? He’s just standing there, squinting at me with this annoying little half-smile like I am the one being examined.

I open my mouth to snap again, but he beat me to it.

“I can’t get to him if you don’t move out of the way, son.”

“Oh.”

I step back. But not far. Just in case Phu needed me.

He always needs me.

“P’Cir?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“Calm down.”

“Uh huh. I’ll get right on that.”

The doctor finally steps in and starts checking him over, but I swear to god he was moving too slow. He put the stethoscope to Phu’s chest and I see my baby flinch.

“Deep breaths for me, okay?”

Phu tries, but it sounded awful—wet, wheezy, like something was stuck in there trying to claw its way out. My hands clench at my sides, nails digging into my palms. I could feel my heartbeat in my throat. This isn’t just a cold. It couldn’t be.

“Hmm,” the doctor mutters, and I nearly snap.

“What the fuck does hmm mean?” I bark.

He doesn’t even blink. Bastard must be used to panicking boyfriends or whatever. “It means I’m listening, Cirrus. I’m thinking. Give me a second.”

I cros my arms, breathing through my nose, eyes never leaving Phu. He looks so small on that table. Flushed and glassy-eyed, lashes wet, breathing through his mouth like his nose was useless.

“You said a week of coughing and sneezing?” the doctor asks.

“Yes.”

“Fever started back againtoday?”

“Yes.”

“Wheezing too.”

“Yes! I told you—he was up all night, and now he can barely breathe.”

The doctor gives a slow nod. “Sounds like an upper respiratory infection. Possibly bronchitis or the start of pneumonia. He’s congested and inflamed, so we’ll start him on a nebulizer to ease his breathing, and I’ll prescribe antibiotics if it doesn’t improve in 48 hours.”

Phu blinks up at him like he barely understood a word of that.

“What does that mean?” I snap. “He’s going to be okay, right?”

“He should be. But he needs rest. Fluids. And he cannot be out in the cold or exposed to anything triggering his lungs right now. Do you live together?”

“We do now.”

“Good. Keep him warm. Monitor his fever. If it spikes higher or the wheezing gets worse, bring him straight back. No waiting.”

I nodd like a soldier being given orders. "Okay. Good."

I watch him hook my baby up to some breathing machine, his chest rising and falling more steadily with each minute. I finally let out a breath I didn’t even realize I was holding.

“P’Cir…” Phu’s voice sounds so small under the mask, but I caught it.

I sit down next to him, hand curling tight around his. “I’m here, baby.”

“You’re scaring the doctor,” he murmurs, eyes fluttering.

“Yeah, well. He should be scared if you don’t get better.”

That earns me the faintest smile. He squeezes my hand back, eyes closing.

I look up at the doctor.

“He’ll be okay?”

“If he listens. And if you don’t give him a heart attack with all this yelling.”

“No promises.”

Because I wasn’t leaving his side.

Ever.

When they started talking CAT scans and shit, let's just say they're lucky the building's still standing. I called my dad to see who else he knew in the area that would be of help. He didn't even beat around the bush. Didn’t waste time asking a million questions or making it about him. Just said, “Give me a sec.”

He put me on hold for five minutes, and I spent every second pacing the waiting room like a caged animal, eyeing the closed door they’d taken Phu behind like I could punch it open if they didn’t hurry.

When Dad came back on the line, his voice was steady. “I’ll try to get ahold of the administrator and let him know he’ll be having a visiting doctor. In the meantime, do you need your mom and me to come out?”

“Not yet, Dad. That’s a long-ass flight, but if you can be on standby…”

“Alright, son. Keep us posted. Your mother wants to talk to you.”

There was a soft rustle on the line before I heard her voice.

“Cirrus, is Phu okay?”

I swallowed hard, eyes flicking back toward the exam room. “They’re working on him now, Mom. It’s some kind of respiratory infection but… it’s bad.”

Her voice went gentle the way only she could manage, still wrapped in steel. “You let us know the minute you think you need us. Your father and I will stay available, okay?”

“Thanks, Mom. I gotta get back in there.”

“Okay, son. Love you.”

“Love you too, Mom.”

I hung up, shoved my phone in my pocket, and took a breath that didn’t feel like it filled my lungs all the way.

Because until I heard that doctor say “he’s okay” with my own ears—I wasn't.

+++++++++++++++

Phu had an upper respiratory infection. That’s what the doctor said—RSI, treatable, not uncommon.

Didn’t fucking matter.

Because I still can’t unsee the way his lips looked when he was turning blue in that waiting room. I can’t unhear the sound of him wheezing so bad I thought I’d have to give him CPR right there in the goddamn car.

So yeah. Diagnosis or not, my only priority now is getting my baby back on his feet. The rest of the world can wait.

We’re finally back home. He’s looking better—skin warmer, color back, breathing more even. Last night, he slept through for the first time in days, curled up on me like I’m his whole bed. And I didn’t move an inch, didn’t sleep either, just kept one hand on his back making sure it kept rising and falling.

Still, I’m on fucking guard duty.

He, meanwhile, is acting like this is nothing. Says he wants to go back to class. Says because he can breathe now without sounding like he’s dying, he’s “fine.” Like hell he is.

I’m thinking until I know what the fuck is going on, he’s not stepping one foot outside. Not until I have answers. Not until I deal with whoever sent him that snack package, whoever thought getting my boy sick was a good idea. Secret admirer or not, I don’t forget shit like that.

We were lying in bed, his head on my chest, when I tried to ease into it.

“I got you a face mask to wear when you go outside.”

He tilted his head up, immediately frowning. “P’Cir, I can’t walk around campus looking like I’m in a war camp.”

I gently pushed his head back down. “You’ll wear it until I know what the fuck’s going on around here.”

He sighed. “P’Cir, I’m fine now. Besides, if someone was trying to hurt me, what good would a mask do? It’s not like they’re gonna release something in the air that’ll hurt everyone.”

He had a point.

But I didn’t care.

If I could dress him in full body armor and bubble wrap, I would. Strap a GPS to his wrist, put a fucking drone over his head. Anything.

Because nothing like this is ever happening again. Not on my watch.

And whoever’s behind this?

They better pray I never find out.

Phu’s POV

I try to explain to him—calmly, might I add—that an upper respiratory infection isn’t transmitted through flowers or snacks. That maybe, just maybe, it’s really just a coincidence and not a murder attempt.

Yeah.

That goes about as well as expected.

P’Cir looks at me like I’ve grown a second head. Or confessed to some unspeakable crime. Or told him I want to go backpacking alone through a war zone with no phone signal. Take your pick.

“I’m just saying,” I try again, voice as gentle as possible, “it’s not likely someone laced my gummies with... airborne bacteria.”

“You don’t know that,” he snaps, like he’s been waiting for me to say something logical just so he can destroy it with pure rage and whatever Cir-coded paranoia he runs on. “I don’t fucking trust anyone who breathes near you.”

I blink.

It’s like talking to a very large, very angry tiger who thinks I’m made of glass. Or worse—bubble wrap. He keeps acting like I’m going to break any second, even though I’m literally sitting upright now and haven’t wheezed in a full hour.

Progress.

I sigh. “P’Cir, you’re being a little dramatic.”

Wrong thing to say.

He goes quiet. Dangerous quiet. The kind of quiet that means he’s about to do something unhinged, like install cameras in my dorm room or interrogate the cafeteria staff using a lie detector.

So I do what any sane person would do.

I shut up.

Then I gently reach over and take his hand. “I’m okay now. Really.”

He doesn’t say anything for a long time. Just stares at our hands like he’s trying to memorize the shape of mine. Finally, he mutters, “If anyone tries anything again, I’ll burn the whole fucking school down.”

So. Yeah.

I’m not winning this one.

But I’m alive. And I’m loved. And I guess, in Cirrus-speak, arson is a love language.

Cir’s POV

We’re on the couch, Phu’s head resting in my lap, his fingers curled lightly around mine while we each speak on the phone. He’s quiet, answering his mom in soft little hums and “mm”s, I’m only half listening. My other ear is occupied with Coach barking down the line like I personally offended his bloodline.

Yeah, I missed practice. A lot of it. And I’d miss it again. Let him scream.

Scouts? Whatever. If I want in, I’m in—we all know that. Football’s not going anywhere. But Phu? He’d been sick. Scary sick. There was no way in hell I was going to leave him alone for even a second.

Coach says I’m throwing away my shot. I tell him I’d throw it again if it meant keeping my baby breathing steady. He doesn’t like that answer, all I’ve said seemed to be going in one ear and out the next. Coach can be an ass.

He keeps ranting. I let him. Doesn’t mean I’m listening too.

I glance down at Phu. He’s smiling softly, murmuring something sweet to his mom, playing with the hem of my hoodie with those small fingers. The sight alone makes all of Coach’s bullshit fade into background static.

We both end our calls around the same time. I toss my phone onto the coffee table and brush his hair back from his forehead.

“You hungry?” I ask, realizing neither of us has eaten in hours.

He shrugs against me, like he doesn’t care, but his body’s still a little too light, his cheeks still a little too hollow for me to let that slide.

“There’s not much here,” I say, scanning the empty takeout bags on the counter. “At least not the stuff you need.”

He doesn’t respond, just hums and snuggles closer. He’s been stuck inside for days, curled up under blankets, barely moving except to crawl into my lap.

I run my fingers through his hair again. “Wanna go out, baby? Just for a bit. Get some fresh air. I’ll take you somewhere with real food.”

He blinks up at me, sleepy but interested. “Like… outside outside?”

“Yeah,” I nod, smiling. “You think you can handle that?”

He grins, soft and warm, the kind that makes my chest ache. “Only if you carry me all the way”

I chuckle, already reaching for his hoodie. “Done.”

He hops up like he wasn’t sick as hell just yesterday and disappears into the room to get dressed. I watch the spot he just vacated and feel my chest loosen for the first time in days.

He’s moving again. Joking. Smiling. Sounds more like himself.

I lean my head back on the couch and close my eyes for a second.

God, I missed that voice.

We walk into one of the more popular eateries near campus, the kind that pretends it’s casual but secretly charges like a Michelin star place just because the chairs aren’t plastic. It’s where the so-called it kids hang out, trying too hard and watching everyone else do the same.

Only our friends know how bad things really got. As far as everyone else is concerned, Phu was just out with a cold or something. That’s how I want to keep it—for now. U

ntil I figure out who the hell was behind that weird-ass flower-and-snack gift and whether it’s connected to what happened to him, I’m keeping everything close to the chest.

Heads turn when we walk in. I don’t bother looking at them. Let them stare.

Phu walks beside me, a little slower than usual, but he’s upright and even has a bounce in his step. The fresh air has clearly done him good, he hasn’t stopped talking since we left the house. I’ve missed that. The nonstop chatter, the tangents, the random facts about buildings no one asked for.

We reach the booth and everyone’s already there—Wim, Jin, Tree, Nalin, Achi, and Rome. The girls are the first to react.

“Oh my god, baby Phu!” Tree squeals, immediately reaching for him.

Nalin clasps her hands together like she’s looking at a baby bird come back to life. “You look so much better!”

Phu smiles sweetly and bows his head in that shy little way he does, but Achi the shithead ruins it by standing up like he’s about to grab him into a hug.

I don’t even say a word. Just one sharp glare.

Achi freezes mid-step and throws his hands up like Who me? I was just stretching and sits the hell down. Smart.

I slide into the booth and pull Phu in after me, settling him at my side and slinging an arm around his shoulders. He’s still a little weak, and his head naturally leans against me. He smells like eucalyptus and baby soap and my person is alive and okay again.

He reaches for the menu like he’s about to go to war with it.

“What do you feel like, baby?” I ask, kissing his temple.

“A big fat juicy burger,” he says immediately, “Fried chicken. And bubble tea.”

His eyes sparkle, and I swear he licks his lips like he’s imagining it already.

Too bad I’m about to ruin that dream.

“No can do.”

His head snaps toward me. “What, why?”

He pouts like a kicked puppy. Full lower lip, glistening eyes. It’s so damn cute I have to steal a kiss

If I didn’t know better, I’d hand over my wallet and order everything on the damn menu. But I do know better. Last time I gave in, he ended up in the ER with his skin clammy and his breathing sounding like broken glass.

“Because your system just went through too much trauma. You need real healthy shit. Healing food. Not crap that’s going to shock your body. How about soup? Salad? Maybe some steamed veggies. There’s this rosemary chicken thing—” I scan the menu like a man on a mission—for bland, boring, body-healing food.

He says nothing.

I look over.

He’s shooting daggers at me with those big eyes, silently rebelling.

Yeah, I know that look. But I’m not backing down. Last time I let him do whatever he wanted, he almost died on me.

I sigh. “You’ll eat it and like it. In a couple days, we’ll see about your burger.”

“Who died and made you boss?”

I smirk. “Nobody had to die for that. It just is what it is.”

He huffs. Folds his arms. Tries to lean away from me.

I pull him right back, locking my arm around his waist. That starts a little tug-of-war as he scoots away in tiny, dramatic increments and I tug him back with matching stubbornness.

Across the table, Rome has the audacity to sip his drink and whisper, “I’m just here for the live entertainment.”

Tree snorts. “God, you two are a whole drama.”

Wim leans toward Jin and mutters, “Place your bets. Phu breaks free in five seconds, or Cir ends up spoon-feeding him.”

Jin deadpans, “Cir’s going to win. He always does. He’s terrifying.”

Phu, still glaring, turns to Nalin for backup. “Nalin. Tell him I’m not an invalid.”

Nalin gives a tiny smile. “You’re not. But maybe soup’s not so bad, hm?”

Phu gasps like she’s betrayed him.

Tree raises an eyebrow. “You do realize you almost died, right?”

“I did not almost die!” Phu protests, smacking my arm lightly.

“You were literally unconscious for two days,” I remind him.

He grumbles something about overprotective boyfriends under his breath and slumps back against my shoulder. I kiss the top of his head.

“Just a few more days, baby,” I whisper. “Let me keep you safe. Then I’ll buy you a whole damn tray of burgers.”

His pout softens slightly. He mumbles, “You’d better add fries.”

I chuckle. “Fries and bubble tea. Deal.”

He hums like he’s still debating whether to forgive me. But when the server comes and I order the healthy crap for both of us, he doesn’t argue.

Progress

PHU’S POV

We settle in with our friends and I can’t help but relax with P’Cir beside me, his arm still draped around my shoulders. The place is busy, filled with the usual crowd, but I barely notice them.

I’m too focused on the fact that I’m actually out of the apartment, finally able to enjoy a meal without feeling like I’m about to pass out. It’s been a while.

The waiter brings over our food, and I glance at my plate—a chicken salad with a side of lemon tea. It’s light but refreshing, and I’m not about to admit that to him.

And then I notice that his plate is exactly the same as mine. Chicken salad and lemon tea. He’s doing the same thing, eating like this to match me, just so I won’t feel like I’m the only one eating like a health freak.

I can’t help but smile. He can be so thoughtful.

We start joking with our friends. P’Wim is going off about some ridiculous thing that happened at practice, Achi is cracking jokes with Rome, and Jin is just shaking his head like usual. It feels normal, like everything’s back to the way it was before all this mess started. And for once, I feel like I can relax.

I’m coming back from the toilet when my phone buzzes, I pull it out, seeing a private number flashing on the screen.

I hesitate for a second. I don’t know why, but something about the number feels... off. Maybe it’s just a random caller, or worse, another telemarketer.

I answer the phone anyway. “Hello?”

There’s silence on the other end for a moment, then a voice that’s vaguely familiar, but I can’t place it. It’s calm, almost soothing, but still disguised.

“I’m happy you’re looking and feeling better,” the voice says, a touch of something unsettling in their tone.

I freeze, my grip tightening on the phone. Before I can respond, the line goes dead. No goodbyes, no more words, just the click of a disconnected call.

I stare at the phone in my hand for a moment, my pulse quickening. What the hell was that? Who was that?

I don’t even get a chance to process it before P’Cir comes over to where I stand,  his brows furrowed.

“You okay baby?” he asks, concern evident in his voice. I know he can tell something’s off just by the look on my face.

I don’t answer right away, still trying to make sense of the call. Finally, I slip my phone back into my pocket and look at P’Cir.

My throat feels tight, and for a second, I don’t know if I should tell him about the call. But I don’t want to hide things from him, especially not now.

“It was just... a weird call,” I say, trying to sound casual. “They just said they were happy I was looking and feeling better, and then they hung up.”

His expression darkens instantly. I can see the shift in him, the way his body goes still, like a predator sensing danger. “Who was it?” His voice is low, the edge of command there, and I know he’s ready to take action if it comes down to it.

I shake my head, trying to push the unease down. “I don’t know. Just a private number. They didn’t say much, but it felt... weird. Like they knew more than they should.”

His jaw tightens, his eyes scanning the room as if waiting for something to happen. I don’t blame him. After everything that’s gone down, I’m starting to get the feeling that whoever is behind all this isn’t done with yet.

“I’ll handle it,” P’Cir says, his tone sharp and final. “Just... don’t answer any more calls like that. I’ll find out who it was.”

I nod, trying to ignore the cold chill crawling up my spine. I don’t want him to worry more than he already is, but I can’t shake the feeling that this is far from over.

“Thanks,” I mutter, though I’m not sure what exactly I’m thanking him for—his reassurance, or maybe just his presence. He always makes me feel safer, even when things get strange.

We both return to the table, but I can’t shake the lingering tension. Achi’s still talking about his stupid story, but I don’t hear it anymore. All I can think about is that call.

CIR’S POV

I was pissed.

Someone was messing with Phu. With my heart. My head. And I don’t do well with that kind of shit.

But he’s still recovering, still a little too pale, still not strong enough for me to lose it right now. So I pull my shit together. We go back to the table. I sit like nothing happened. I eat like nothing happened. I laugh at a dumb joke from Rome like nothing happened.

But inside?

I’m already tearing the world apart.

They picked the wrong boy to fuck with. If they wanted to play, they should’ve picked someone who plays nice. Because I don’t. They mess with my baby, they’ll feel my wrath—dick or tit, I could give a fuck. I will come for you, I will find you, and I will make sure you regret every second of that phone call.

I just had to play it right. Keep my cool. Let them think they got away with it.

People like that always make a mistake. Always. A slip, a trace, a fucking breadcrumb and when they do? Game over. Let’s see how funny they find this shit when they realize I don’t just protect what's mine—I destroy for it.

I lean over and pepper kisses across Phu’s stupid, beautiful face.

“Don’t worry about it, baby,” I murmur against his skin. “I’ll handle it.”

He gives me a suspicious look. “I have to say,” he says slowly, “you’re taking this rather calmly... for someone who almost lost it over the flowers.”

Busted.

What can I say? In the short time we’ve had each other, my baby’s come to know me pretty well. Too well. But I still know how to play this game. I shrug, give him a little smirk.

“No sense in going off the deep end until we know what the person actually wants, is there?”

He’s still staring at me like I’ve sprouted a second head. Like he’s trying to see through me. I don’t let him.

I turn away, look at Jin, and throw out something about the game last weekend. He catches on immediately. My boy's got my back—didn’t even blink, just started talking football. Like nothing’s wrong.

Because this isn’t something you involve someone like Phu in. He’s the kind of person who gets soft. Who’d try to understand. Who’d want to give second chances even if the bastard deserved a brick to the jaw.

Me?

I’m gonna break his face. Then ask what the fuck he was doing near my baby.

PHU’S POV

I watch him out of the corner of my eye.

He’s pretending like nothing happened. Laughing with Jin. Elbowing Rome. Eyes relaxed, shoulders loose. But I know better.

My boyfriend is a walking earthquake in disguise.

Still… I decide to let it go.

There’s not much I can do when my boyfriend is a hurricane dressed in black and fury. If he says he’s going to handle it, he will. There’s something ironclad in the way he says it—like the sky could fall and he’d still catch it for me.

So I choose to believe him. Trust him. Let him be loud and protective and a little bit insane, because that’s just how P’Cir loves.

I pick at my chicken salad. It’s actually not that bad. The lemon tea is perfect, cold and sweet on my tongue. I laugh at something stupid Achi says, probably just to annoy Tree, and for the first time in a long time, I feel something close to normal again.

And then—click.

I blink, mid-laugh, chopsticks in my mouth like an idiot.

P’Cir grins at his phone.

"Did you just—?"

"Yup." He doesn’t even try to hide it. He’s already typing furiously, thumbs moving fast, satisfied smirk on his face.

Seconds later, my phone pings.

@cirrIng: How is my baby still the cutest even with a whole tree branch in his mouth 💀🍜 #CIR’SHEART

I groan. "P’Cir, take that down!"

"Nope," he says smugly, slipping his phone back into his pocket. "Too late. Forty likes already."

I bury my face in my hands. Wim and Nalin are cackling. Achi’s already reposting it with some stupid GIF. P’Cir just wraps his arm around me and kisses the top of my head like he didn’t just embarrass me in front of the whole campus.

His whole account is basically a shrine at this point. Pictures of us at the beach, me passed out with drool on his shoulder, videos of me tripping over nothing, smiling while I eat, sketches I didn’t even know he kept.

It’s like he’s trying to be the loudest man on earth about how much he loves me without saying it out loud.

And honestly?

I kind of love it.

Even if I look like a chopstick-eating gremlin in that photo.

I lean into his side and smile.

Let the hurricane handle it.

I’ve got enough sunshine right here.

We’re walking back to the car, and I’m stuffed and warm and just a little sleepy from the lemon tea. P’Cir has his arm slung casually over my shoulder like I might suddenly float away, and I let him. He always touches like he’s trying to anchor me to something solid—like he’s afraid I’ll disappear again.

“I think I wanna go by my dorm,” I say, trying to sound casual.

He stops walking. “No.”

I blink up at him. “No?”

“Nope. You live with me now.” He doesn’t even hesitate. Doesn’t even look like he’s joking.

I roll my eyes. “I just need to get a textbook you didn’t pack, not move back in, Your Highness.”

“You’re not setting one foot in that dorm alone,” he says flatly. “Textbook or not. You're still recovering and you’re not sleeping in that dusty shoebox again. You live with me.”

“I’m not sleeping there!” I laugh, poking him in the side. “I just need my structures notes if I’m gonna keep up. I’m not going back to classes yet, I know but I still wanna study.”

He narrows his eyes at me, like I just confessed to planning a bank robbery. “You’re supposed to be resting.”

“I am resting. Just… academically.” I tilt my head and flash the sweetest smile I can manage. “You’ll come with me, won’t you, P’Cir? Big scary boyfriend to protect me from my dusty closet and innocent campus lawn?”

He groans but starts walking again, hand still firmly on my shoulder. “Fine. But we’re in and out. No touching anything, no talking to anyone, and no getting distracted by sad dorm snacks.”

I grin. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He shakes his head, muttering something about how I’m lucky I’m cute and that he should’ve just burned the dorm down and been done with it.

Honestly, I believe he would’ve.

And that’s probably why I love him.

The outside of the dorm looked the same as always—students milling around, doors propped open with water bottles or shoes, the hum of campus life buzzing in the air

Nothing seems out of place. You’d never guess anything had happened here at all.

But the moment I stepped into my room, I knew something was wrong.

It wasn’t obvious. Nothing was broken. Nothing missing at first glance. My sketchbooks were stacked neatly where I left them, the little model tower on my desk still had its crooked toothpick railing. My hoodie was still slung over the back of my chair, the one Cir always stole. It all looked exactly the same.

But it didn’t feel the same.

The air was wrong. Still. Heavy. The kind of quiet that didn’t feel peaceful, just… too clean. Like someone had been here while I was gone. Like someone had touched things and tried too hard to put them back just right.

My heart picked up a little.

P’Cir had packed my things in a rush the day we left, just grabbed what he could and rushed me out. Maybe that explained the mess. My drawers were half-open, clothes half folded. My textbook sat tilted on the edge of the bed, probably left in his scramble. Maybe I was imagining it. Maybe I wanted to believe that…

But no.

My sketchbook was open. To the wrong page.

I never left it like that.

And my pen, the one with the cracked clip that I always tucked into the spine, was gone.

I stand there, still, staring at it. The rest of the room fading.

Behind me, I hear P’ Cir step into the doorway.

“You okay?” he asks, voice cautious.

I nod slowly, even though I wasn’t sure. “Yeah,” I lie. “Just... weird seeing it like this again.”

He steps up behind me, warm and solid, and slide his arms around my waist. I lean into him.

“I just need the textbook,” I murmur. “Then we can go.”

He doesn’t  ask anything else. He just kisses the top of my head and wait.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about it—how everything looks right, and still feels wrong.

I cross the room and sit on the edge of the bed, textbook in my lap, but I don’t open it.

I just stare.

It was stupid, probably. But all I can think about is that night. The first time he ever touched me like that. The way he knelt between my legs like I was something sacred. The way he looked up at me when I was falling apart in his hands. Gentle. Careful. Like I was glass. Like he wanted to make sure I’d never forget how wanted I was.

I haven’t forgotten.

Even now, with my body still tired and my throat still catching a little when I talked too much, I remember every second of that night—how careful he’d been, how patient. That was weeks ago. We haven’t gone past that since.

Mostly because I got sick not long after and P’Cir being P’Cir treated me like I’d shatter if he breathed too hard near me.

But I am. Or at least, I thought I might be. I just didn’t know how to tell him.

The door creaks softly behind me, and I don’t have to turn around to know it’s him. I feel him the second he steps into the room—P’Cir’s presence is always loud, even when he isn’t saying a word.

He doesn’t speak for a moment. Then I feel the bed dip behind me, his arms winding around my waist, his chin nudging against my shoulder.

“You’re remembering,” he says quietly, almost smug, almost sweet.

I turn to face him, and before I can say anything, he leans in and kisses me.

Slow. Deep. His hands framing my face like he’s trying to remind me how loved I am. Like he didn’t want me to think about anything but this, but him.

I kiss him back, heat pooling in my chest and spreading through my limbs. My hands clutch at his shirt, pulling him closer. He groans against my mouth, and I can feel it—that sharp pull between us, like we’d both been holding back too long.

But then, just as quickly, he pulls back, panting, his forehead resting against mine.

“We should go,” he whispers, brushing my hair out of my face. “I want to get you home. Inside. Warm. Safe. You need to take your meds.”

My cheeks burn, not from embarrassment but from wanting. I nod even though I don’t want to stop. Even though I want him to continue, to take me.

He kisses the corner of my mouth, tender this time. “Soon, baby. I swear. When you’re better. When I don’t have to worry about anything but how to make you fall apart.”

My breath hitches.

So I just nod again, take his hand, and let him lead me back home.

FROM THE SHADOWS…

He was back.

I knew he would be.

Even after everything. Even after being taken away, carried off like some precious doll in that asshole's arms. Of course he would come crawling back to this place. Back to our space.

I watched from the far end of the hallway, half-concealed behind a half-open door and the blur of disinterested students. Just another face in the crowd. Nobody looked at me twice.

But I saw everything.

He hesitated when they entered. He always had good instincts—sharp, for someone so soft. I could see it in the way his hand lingered on the door frame. The way his brows furrowed just slightly, even though he said nothing. Something felt off to him. He was right. Something was off.

I’d left it the way I found it. Almost.

Took only what I needed.

I didn’t touch the things that mattered—the things that smelled like him, the shirt he always wore to bed, the little plastic rabbit on his desk. That would’ve been crossing a line. I’m not a monster.

I just needed to be sure.

He disappeared so quickly. I had to know he was okay. I had to know he wasn’t gone for good. And when I couldn’t see him anymore, when he stopped going to class, when his dorm went dark—what else was I supposed to do?

Then he brought him back. That smug, cocky bastard with the too-pretty face and the filthy hands. Cirrus. Thinking he can own him.

I saw them through the crack in the blinds.

Phu sat on the bed. Cir walked in, and everything about the air in that room changed. Like they’d done this before. Like it was theirs, not mine.

They kissed.

He touched him like he meant something.

I didn’t even realize I was gripping the edge of the door until my knuckles turned white.

He doesn’t know what he has. He doesn't deserve to be the one who sees Phu laugh like that. Or blush. Or trust.

Not like I do.

One day, he’ll slip. One day, he’ll hurt him—he will, they always do. And I’ll be there. I’ll be the one Phu turns to when it all falls apart.

Because no one knows him like I do.

No one loves him like I do.

Chapter Text

Cir’s POV

If he hadn’t threatened to withhold kisses, I would’ve skipped this damn test.

Easily.

Willingly.

Without a second thought.

But no. My tiny menace of a boyfriend pulled the most dangerous card he had in his deck—his pout, paired with a dead-serious “no kisses until after your test.” The brat. He knows I can’t function without a daily dose of his affection. He’s weaponized it.

So now I’m dragging my ass to class to pass a test I haven’t studied for, all because he blackmailed me with love. And I’d do it again.

Before I leave, I do everything I can to make sure he’s okay. He’s still recovering, still a little sniffly and sleepy-eyed, which means I don’t like the idea of being gone longer than a second. But we compromised; if I fed him, tucked him in, and promised to come right back, I could go. Barely.

He’s curled up in my bed wearing one of my oversized football jerseys, and it practically swallows him. It shouldn’t be legal how cute he looks in it. Tiny arms, tiny legs, giant shirt. I could die.

After breakfast and meds, I sit beside him on the edge of the bed and grab the remote. “You want cartoons or something depressing and moody?”

“Something with blood,” he murmurs sleepily, sniffling once. “But pretty colors.”

“Say less,” I mutter, scrolling through Netflix. I land on Arcane—it’s violent, colorful, and confusing enough that he won’t get bored.

He watches me move around the room like he always does. He probably thinks I don’t notice, but I do. His eyes track every step, every stretch, every sigh. He’s watching for something. Waiting.

But I don’t bring up the call again. Or the flowers. Or the snacks. Or the fact that I nearly flipped a goddamn table when he got that phone call yesterday. I’m playing it cool. Acting like it’s just another morning.

I kiss his forehead.

“Be good while I’m gone.”

“Come here, P’Cir.”

That soft, coaxing tone. I glance back.

He’s giving me that look. Big eyes under his lashes, bottom lip slightly out. Damn him. That was the same look that worked on Mom every time I got caught sneaking out in high school. It still works now.

I walk back to the bed and drop down beside him, dragging him into my lap.

He’s still warm and sleepy and snuggly in my jersey, his hair a little messy. My hand rests on his stomach, under the fabric, skin to skin. I kiss him once. Just a brush of lips. Not the kind that could lead to something more, even though I want to.

“What’s up, baby?”

He hums a little at the pet name. He always does. Loves it when I call him sweet things. Hates it when I say “Phukan,” which is exactly why I use it only when he’s in trouble.

He eyes me carefully. “What are you up to, P’Cir?”

I give him the most exaggerated innocent look I’ve got. Big eyes. Raised brows. Head tilt. The whole thing.

He doesn’t buy it for a second.

“I know you. Don’t give me that innocent little boy face,” he says, poking my chest. “You can’t go crazy at school looking for my admirer. Please just let me deal with it, okay? Whoever it is… it’s my problem.”

I blink.

Then I sit back slightly and give him the look. The one I reserve for when I’m seconds away from losing my shit.

“You’ve lost your fucking mind.”

His eyes go wide.

“Are you serious?” I ask, voice low and deadly. “Didn’t you just get through telling me you know me? Then you should know—there’s no way in hell I’m letting you anywhere near whoever the fuck this is if they show their face.”

He starts to open his mouth.

“I mean it, Phu. You go within two feet of him, I’m likely to kill his ass. As it stands now, I might just stomp the fucker half to death for fun. So unless you want to see the father of your future children arrested for murder on campus grounds, you’ll stay your sweet little ass away from him.”

He gasps. “I’m calling your mum. You’re out of control.”

I grin. “Tell her I said hi.”

He glares, all huffy and pink in the face. Little fists curled at his sides. Grandma used to call that “piss and vinegar.” All attitude, all bark.

Too bad none of it changes anything.

My baby had learned pretty damn fast how to bring me to heel.

A pout here, a kiss there, that big-eyed look paired with a trembling “P’Cir...” like he didn’t know the kind of power he held. Cute. Dangerous. Effective as hell.

But what he hadn’t learned yet—what he would learn—is that when it came to him, all bets were off.

He might be able to talk me out of pounding one of my teammates for being an idiot on the field, might get me to unclench my fists when some professor grades him unfairly, but in situations like this?

No dice.

I cup his cheek, soften my tone. “I’m not letting anyone fuck with you, baby. I don’t care what it takes. So let me handle it, yeah?”

He sighs dramatically and throws himself back on the pillow, muttering something about how I need therapy and a leash.

“I told you not to worry about this shit, didn’t I?” I say, my voice low but firm, thumb brushing along his cheek as I lie beside him, our legs tangled under the blanket. “Now leave it alone. I want you to rest. You’re still not one hundred percent, and I don’t like it.”

He rolls his eyes.

I narrow mine. “And stop rolling your eyes at me.”

He opens his mouth—no doubt to give me more lip—but I cut him off the only way that ever works. I kiss him. Deep. Long enough to short-circuit whatever clever rebuttal he had brewing.

It works.

For now.

But I know him.

I know how he’ll gnaw at this like a pup with a bone, too stubborn for his own good. He’ll pace around when I’m gone. Try to rationalize it away like he always does.

That’s why, as soon as he falls asleep tonight, I’m lighting up the phone tree.

I’ve already got a plan. Formed it while he was slurping his damn lemon tea last night and looking like a gremlin with a straw. He had no idea. And he won’t, if I can help it. I don’t need my nosy little angel sniffing around this mess, trying to protect me when it’s the other way around.

I can’t be with him every minute, we’ve got different classes during the day—but I’ve already looped in Jin. He’s got classes with Phu, he’s one of his best friends and my teammate. I trust him to have eyes open and fists ready if needed. Until I can take over after class, he’ll handle it.

Whoever this creep is, he’s not getting anywhere near my baby.

If he does, my boys know what to do.

We take him down. Quietly if possible. Loudly if necessary.

Coach’ll lose his shit if something happens on campus, but I couldn’t give a flying fuck. I doubt he’d be calm if some lowlife started sniffing around his wife.

I don’t care about rules. I care about Phu.

And then, of course, because this is us, that kiss turns into more.

Soft lips. Quiet moans. His hands fisting my shirt like he doesn’t know what to do with himself. I’m not sure either of us mean for it to happen, but it always does—this slow slide into heat and need and too much skin, not enough time.

My hand slips under the jersey, and presses flat against his stomach. He trembles a little. Kisses me deeper and I groan into his mouth.

God.

I want him.

But I stop.

I always stop.

Not because I don’t want to take him apart, show him how much I love him with every inch of my being. Not because I’m not ready. I’ve been ready since the second he said my name in that soft voice like it meant something.

But because I know he’s not ready. And I’d rather die than rush him. I’m not touching him until he says he wants it. Out loud. Clearly. Not with flushed cheeks and bitten lips and trembling hands, but with words. His words.

And the fuck of it is?

I love that about him. About us.

It’s sick, I guess. The way I used to treat sex like a game, and now I’m out here acting like some chaste knight guarding his virgin prince. But this is Phu. He’s not like anyone I’ve ever touched.

He’s everything I never thought I’d get to have.

And now that I do? He’s it. The end of the line. I’ll never want anyone else again. Not in this life.

All the experience I ever had?

It’s his now.

His to benefit from.

His to command.

And that thought—knowing this beautiful, brilliant, stubborn, bratty boy is mine, and I’m his, that is what settles me. It’s the kind of peace I never knew I needed.

I kiss his forehead again, tuck the blanket around him, and linger just a second longer.

“I’ll be back before you miss me,” I whisper.

“I already miss you,” he grumbles, not looking at me.

God help me.

I’m so gone for him, it’s stupid.

And if anyone thinks they can touch what’s mine… they better start writing their will.

I press another kiss to his forehead, softer this time, and pull him close until he drifts off against my chest.

***

I’m running on three hours of sleep, adrenaline, and the residual high of having Phu moaning under me from this morning. So yeah, I should be distracted. But I’m not.

I’m focused.

Because someone has been messing with what’s mine and now that my baby is safe at home, warm and tucked into bed with his meds and my jersey wrapped around him, I can finally do what I’ve been waiting to do.

Start hunting.

After my fuck-ass test, I round the corner of the stadium and spot them right where I expected—Jin leaning against a wall looking half-bored, Wim perched next to him, Ozone eating something out of a suspicious-looking cup, and Rome loudly attempting a handstand for no reason at all.

“Don’t break your neck,” I grunt as I walk up.

“Someone’s cranky,” Rome grins, flipping upright. “Phu keep you up all night or—?”

“Shut up.”

That shuts him up quick. The tone in my voice does it.

Jin straightens immediately. “What happened?”

I glance around. No one close. Good.

I cross my arms, lower my voice. “Phu’s got a secret admirer.”

Ozone stops mid-bite. “Like...a crush?”

Idiot

“No,” I say, flatly. “Like someone sent him snacks he didn’t order. A gift box. Then flowers. Then a phone call from a private number saying I’m happy you’re looking and feeling better.”

Wim's brows knit. “When?”

“Yesterday. At lunch.”

Rome whistles low. “Creepy.”

“It gets worse,” I continue. “Phu’s room was off when we went back to grab his textbook. Nothing obviously missing—but he felt it. I felt it. Something had been touched. Moved.”

The air around us shifts.

Ozone curses under his breath.

Jin’s face goes blank in that quiet, calculating way of his.

“Why didn’t you tell us sooner?” Jin asks.

“Because I needed to keep Phu calm. He just got better. I wasn’t going to send him into another spiral while he’s still recovering.”

“You think it’s someone on campus?” Wim asks carefully.

I nod. “Yeah. I think they’ve been close. Close enough to see things. Maybe even follow him.”

Rome grimaces. “That’s messed up.”

“Which is why,” I say, looking at each of them, “I need eyes everywhere.”

Jin is already nodding. “I’ll walk him to class. I’ll check who sits around him.”

“I’m in,” Wim says quickly. “No one’s getting near him without us knowing.”

Rome raises a brow. “Do I get to break kneecaps or am I just intimidating background muscle?”

“Observation first,” I grunt. “Then we break things.”

Ozone nods, unusually serious. “I’ll ask around quietly. See if anyone’s been acting weird.”

“Thanks,” I say. And I mean it. These guys—they’re mine too. Not in the same way Phu is. But they’ve had my back longer than anyone. Well except Jin.

“We tell Phu?” Wim asks.

I shake my head. “Not yet. He wants to handle it himself, but...this is bigger. I just want him safe.”

They all nod again.

And with that, the mission is on.

Phu’s POV

I’m not used to silence. Not this kind of silence anyway.

P’Cir’s house is... too quiet when he’s gone. Clean. Massive. Cold in the kind of expensive way that says no one really lives here. Except I guess I do now.

His scent lingers on everything, though—on the blankets he tucked around me before leaving for his test, on the jersey I stole (again), and on the stupid lemon tea he made me promise I’d finish before noon.

I’m curled on the couch with a blanket, halfway through an episode of some fantasy show we started together, when the doorbell rings.

It’s either food I didn’t order or—

“PHU!”

I don’t even get to the door before I hear the crashing of Tree’s boots and the unmistakable squeal of Nalin’s voice. Achi’s probably behind them making trouble, as usual.

I manage to swing open the door just before Tree can break it down.

“You’re alive!” she says, hands on her hips, but I can see the worry around her eyes.

“Barely,” I say, stepping back to let them in.

They don’t waste time.

Tree brings a tote bag of oranges and juice. Nalin brings cupcakes she probably baked at 3 a.m. in stress. Achi? Brings himself and a smirk.

They spread out like they own the place, and weirdly, it makes me feel less alone.

“How are you feeling?” Nalin asks softly, brushing hair out of my face like I’m a toddler.

“I’m fine now,” I lie. “Mostly. Just tired.”

Achi flops beside me on the couch. “You look like a kicked puppy wrapped in Cir’s laundry.”

I punch his arm weakly. “Shut up.”

“Don’t mind him,” Tree mutters, unpacking the juice. “He’s been worried too.”

“Not worried,” Achi says, peeling an orange. “Just curious what kind of headlock P’Cir had to put you in to get you to rest.”

I look away, flushed. “It was less a headlock and more… aggressive cuddling.”

They all snort.

But as the laughter fades and they start chatting over the show in the background, I start noticing things.

Like how Tree keeps glancing at her phone like she’s waiting for something. Or how Achi keeps shifting, like he knows more than he should. Nalin’s too quiet, even for her.

I narrow my eyes.

“Okay,” I say finally. “Spill.”

They all freeze.

“Spill what?” Achi asks innocently. Too innocently.

“Whatever it is you’re not telling me. Come on, you guys are awful liars.”

Tree sighs. “We’re not lying.”

“Then what are you hiding?”

Nalin bites her lip.

Tree shrugs, suddenly very interested in organizing the fruit bowl.

Achi just avoids my eyes.

Oh no.

P’Cir’s up to something.

Again.

I lean back on the couch, arms crossed. “Tell P’Cir that if he’s mobilizing some secret mission behind my back, I will withhold affection for a week.”

Tree whistles. “Harsh.”

“I mean it.”

Nalin blinks. “Even forehead kisses?”

“Yes!”

They all go quiet again.

Yeah. They definitely know something.

I bury my face in my hands and groan. “Why can’t I have a normal boyfriend?”

Tree pats my head gently. “Because you’re not a normal boy.”

Achi grins. “And besides, would you really want him to be anything else?”

…I hate that they’re right.

The front door swings open with dramatic flair. I don’t even need to look up to know who it is, there’s only one person who enters a room like a storm wrapped in designer cologne and possessiveness.

“Baby!”

Cir’s voice echoes through the house as he strides in, dropping his bag like it personally offended him.

I barely blink before he’s in front of me, crouching down like I’m made of glass and might shatter if he breathes too hard.

“You look pale.” His hand is already on my forehead. “Did you nap? Did you drink your lemon tea? Why do you look like you’ve moved since I tucked you in this morning?”

“P’Cir—”

“Is that juice on the table?” he interrupts, narrowing his eyes at Tree, who’s mid-pour. “Where did this come from? Is it pressed? Baby, you know you’re not supposed to have—”

“It’s from me,” Tree deadpans.

He blinks at her, then nods. “Right. Carry on.”

“Hi to you too,” Achi mutters, kicking his feet up on the ottoman.

Cir’s eyes narrow. “You’re still here?”

“Nice to see you too, bossman,” Achi replies, raising a brow.

Nalin, sweet as ever, just gives him a shy smile from the armrest. “Hi, P’Cir.”

Cir softens a little for her. “Hey, Nalin.”

He turns back to me and leans in, tilting my chin like he’s inspecting me for cracks.

“You’re warm again,” he says. “Did you take your meds? Did you lie to me when I called?”

“I might’ve exaggerated how fine I felt,” I mutter, cheeks heating.

“Unacceptable,” he says, and kisses my forehead like it’s a sacred ritual. “I leave for two hours and you’re already pushing your limits.”

I glance at my friends, who are watching this entire exchange like they’ve discovered a new species.

Tree’s jaw is actually hanging open a little.

Achi whistles low. “Damn.”

“Now I see why you’re always flushed when you talk about him,” Tree mutters.

P’Cir raises an eyebrow. “What was that?”

“Nothing,” I squeak, covering my face.

“You’re embarrassing him,” Nalin chides gently.

“He’s mine,” Cir says proudly, tugging me closer. “And on that note—”

He stands and turns to my friends with a smile that’s a little too charming.

“Thank you for coming. Love the support. You’re amazing. But my baby needs rest, and I need thirty uninterrupted minutes of cuddling him like a pillow I paid full price for.”

Tree snorts.

Nalin starts gathering the juice and snacks.

Achi groans. “He kicks us out and makes it sound polite. I hate it here.”

“You’re not invited next time,” Cir shoots back.

“Rude.”

“Door’s that way, Romeo.”

They leave laughing and grumbling, and the second the door shuts, P’Cir’s arms are around me again.

He exhales against my neck. “Finally.”

“P’Cir...”

“Shh. You’ve had enough excitement. I have you now.”

I want to press. To ask him what exactly he’s been up to and why everyone is acting suspicious. But then he nuzzles into my hair, tugging me into his lap like I’m something he won at auction and refuses to let go of.

“Just let me hold you for a bit,” he murmurs.

And even though I’m still suspicious...

I let him.

For now…

0=0=0=0=0=0=0=0=0=0=====0=0=00=0=0=0=0=0=0=0=0=0=0=0=0=0

Phu’s POV

It’s my first real day back on campus, and P’Cir is treating it like I’ve just been discharged from a battlefield.

“You have your water?” he asks, stuffing the bottle into my bag like I’m five. “Your cough drops? Extra sweater? Do you want me to carry you?”

“P’Cir, I’m fine.”

He doesn’t look convinced. In fact, he looks vaguely offended by the suggestion.

“You still sniffled this morning,” he mutters.

“I yawned, not sniffled.”

“Same difference.”

I press a kiss to his jaw to shut him up for a second. It works—momentarily.

He sighs like the world is testing him. “Fine. I’m letting you go to class. But—” he raises a finger before I can get too smug, “Jin is walking you straight to the field after class. No stops. No side quests. No errands. No chatting with weird classmates.”

“I’m not a video game character.”

“You’re my character,” he says, adjusting the strap of my bag like it personally offended him. “And I’m the final boss.”

“Please stop talking before I get secondhand embarrassment.”

He doesn’t.

Instead, he turns to Jin, who just arrived behind me looking entirely too amused. “Jin,” Cir says, deadly serious. “You’re walking him to me after class. Don’t let him out of your sight.”

“Yes, Dad,” Jin says coolly.

Cir ignores the sarcasm. “If he so much as coughs—”

“I’ll carry him,” Jin deadpans.

“Good.”

I groan and bury my face in my hands. “I’m not a child.”

P’Cir leans down, kisses the top of my head like I’m some fragile heirloom.

“Text me if anything feels off. And I mean anything. If someone looks at you too long, if you feel dizzy, if someone breathes wrong—”

“I will sneeze in your mouth the next time you try to kiss me, I swear.”

Cir grins, unbothered. “Cute. I’ll still kiss you.”

Jin tugs me gently by the wrist, pulling me toward class before Cir gets any more dramatic. “Come on, walking chaos,” he says under his breath. “Let’s get you through this day alive so we can keep what’s left of P’Cir’s sanity”

I glance back once—P’Cir’s still standing there, arms crossed, watching us walk away like a hawk.

He’s totally going to text me before the hour’s up.

And honestly? I don’t mind.

I barely make it halfway into my first lecture when my phone vibrates.

P’Cir: Baby, hope you’ve not sneezed?

I text back a quick yes, followed by a very stern I am not dying, please focus on your own class.

I tuck my phone away. Five minutes later, it buzzes again.

P’Cir: Send me a selfie so I know you're not pale.

Oh my God.

I send him a picture of the most deadpan face I can muster, hoping he’ll get the hint.

He sends back a heart emoji. And a drooling one. And one of those little fork-and-knife emojis.

I don’t even know what that means.

Next class. I barely make it to my seat before someone walks in with a takeaway cup.

“Uh… Phukan?” the girl says, confused. “Someone told me to give this to you? It’s a honey ginger tea. From… Cirrus?”

I blink. “You know Cir?”

“No,” she says, shaking her head quickly. “I don’t think anyone really knows Cir. I just got paid to deliver this.”

Right. Okay.

I sip the tea—it’s exactly the way I like it.

“Wow,” Jin says from beside me, clearly amused. “He’s really leaning into the ‘spoiling you rotten’ agenda, huh?”

“I told him I was fine,” I mumble, cheeks heating.

Ten minutes later, another student walks in with a box.

This time it’s steamed buns.

The note taped to it says: Don’t make that face, you didn’t have enough breakfast.

“Is this going to happen all day?” Tree asks, peering over at me with a raised brow.

“I didn’t ask for this!” I whisper-shriek.

Nalin giggles behind her hand. “It’s kind of romantic.”

“It’s P’Cir,” Achi says, smirking. “This is probably him being restrained.”

The messages keep coming, too.

P’Cir: Have you smiled at anyone else today? Don’t. Its only for me.

P’Cir: Did anyone sit too close to you? I’ll kill them.

P’Cir: Tell Jin to report back immediately after class. I need intel on how you're breathing.

P’Cir: Also I miss you. Did I already say that? I miss you again.

At this point, Jin’s laughing under his breath every time my phone buzzes. I try to glare at him. It doesn’t work.

By the end of the day, I’ve been hand-delivered a pastry, another tea, and a protein bar with my name written into the wrapper.

Rome, who catches up with us after our last class, stares at the last delivery like it personally insulted him. “Does he do this every day? Or is this like a ‘first day back from near-death’ special?”

“Don’t encourage him,” I mutter.

“Too late,” Jin says, grinning. “He’s already decided you’re the sun and the rest of us are just orbiting planets.”

I sigh. “I’m never living this down, am I?”

“Not a chance.”

But even as I groan, I can’t help the little flutter in my chest. The fact that he won’t stop fussing—even when I beg him to chill—is just so Cir. Loud. Overbearing. Possessive.

But underneath it all? Unapologetically devoted.

Cir’s POV

I’m pacing at the edge of the field, stretching half-heartedly while keeping my eyes glued to the far side of campus.

He should’ve been out of class by now. Jin’s usually punctual. Phu’s even more so when he knows I’m waiting.

I tap my foot.

Where the hell are they?

“Cir.”

I stiffen before I even turn. That voice could flatten my mood from across the city.

I turn slowly. “Lukprae.”

She appears like a bad memory—one of those you think you’ve buried, only to find it clawing its way back to the surface

She’s got her hair up, face made like she’s here to audition for a role she’s already claimed, arms crossed tight over her designer jacket. Always acting like she’s still the queen of campus, even though I dropped her months ago.

I don’t even try to hide my irritation.

“What is it that you want, Lukprae?” I ask flatly. “I’ve told you before, I’m not interested. Been there, done that.

Her face turns a very unbecoming shade of puce, all tight lips and wounded pride. Honestly? It would almost be funny if I wasn’t this close to losing my temper.

Usually, I don’t speak to women like this. I’ve never had to. If I ended something, it stayed ended. Maybe a few games of attention-seeking, sure—but nothing like this. No one ever dared invade my space the way she has.

“Are you serious?” she snaps, stepping into my space like she owns the air around me. “Are you seriously telling everyone that he’s your boyfriend?”

I blink at her. “Didn’t realize we were on speaking terms.”

She ignores it. “You kissed him. On campus. In front of people.”

“Good observation. Anything else?”

“You can’t just use me and cast me off like some—some plaything,” she snaps. “I’m not like these other idiots you bring to bed and forget the next morning.”

I stare at her.

“You said you understood,” I say, voice low and cold. “You knew the rules—once, and that’s it. You agreed. It’s not my fault you thought the rules would change for you.”

Her eyes flash with something venomous. Entitlement. Wounded ego.

She scoffs. “He’s not even—He’s not like us, Cir. You don’t actually think this is going to last?”

I step forward, smile lazy and sharp. “You know what the funny thing is, Lukprae?”

“What?” she sneers.

I lean in just a little, voice low.

“He already lasted longer than you ever did.”

Her jaw clenches.

“I never claimed you,” I continue casually, like I’m talking about the weather. “But I’ve claimed him. Publicly. Repeatedly. With full intention.”

“You don’t even know who he really is,” she spits.

“Oh, I know exactly who he is,” I reply, dead serious now. “He’s the boy who owns me. And you—” I let my eyes sweep her from head to toe, unimpressed “—are just someone who can’t stand not being chosen.”

Her face twists.

And then “I’d be careful if I were you,” she says, low and bitter. “Not everyone on this campus wants to see you and your pretty little boyfriend playing house.”

I go still.

There it is.

The slip.

The tell.

I don’t say anything. Just stare her down long enough that she looks away first.

“I’m not afraid of threats,” I say quietly. “But I am very good at eliminating problems. You’d do well to remember that.”

“And let me make something very clear,” I continue, stepping in just enough for her to feel the weight of my words. “If you do or say anything to upset Phu, I will personally destroy you.”

She flinches.

“No digging into him. No snide remarks when you see him around campus. No talking shit to his friends. No subtle, passive-aggressive little jabs. You will leave him alone.”

She opens her mouth to protest.

I cut her off.

“You’ve been warned.”

Then I move past her like she’s nothing. Because she is.

I see them then—Jin and Phu, heading toward me from the other side of the quad. Phu’s in my hoodie again, cheeks pink from the breeze, his face lighting up the second he sees me.

That feeling in my chest?

Yeah. That’s him.

The second I see him; my body relaxes and Lukprae sees it too.

I toss over my shoulder, not even bothering to look at her again, “Now get out of my way. I’m waiting for my heart.”

The last part?

A deliberate jab.

Because if she thought she could still compete, if she thought there was any chance left, she needed to hear it.

He’s my heart.

She never even made it close.

Phu’s POV

From a distance, I can already see him—tall, broad, unmistakably mine—standing at the edge of the field like a storm barely held together.

P’Cir’s posture is tense. Hands flexing and unflexing at his sides. Jaw tight. That little crease between his brows is back. The one that only shows up when he’s barely keeping his temper in check.

I slow my steps instinctively.

Jin walks beside me, silent now. He noticed too.

“Did something happen?” I ask quietly, eyes never leaving Cir.

“No idea,” Jin mutters. “But I’d bet my scholarship someone pissed him off.”

As we get closer, His whole-body changes.

Like someone unclenched a fist inside him.

That intensity shifts, melts- and suddenly he’s not vibrating with anger anymore. He’s just focused. Lasered in on me like I’m the only thing keeping him tethered to the ground.

I open my mouth to say something—to ask him what’s wrong—but he’s already striding over.

“P’Cir—?”

And then he kisses me.

Hard.

One arm wraps around my waist, the other cradles the back of my head, and suddenly I’m weightless. Breathless. Drowning in him.

It’s not soft. It’s not sweet. It’s a claim.

Deep. Possessive. Final.

Right there on the field, in front of everyone.

I vaguely hear someone whistle. Someone else gasps. I think I hear Jin mutter “Damn.”

But all I feel is him.

He kisses me like he needs to feel every inch of me. Like I’m the only thing that matters. Like I’m the antidote to whatever poison was coursing through him just minutes ago.

When he finally pulls back, he’s breathing like he ran a mile.

And I’m just blinking up at him, heart pounding, brain short-circuited.

“P’Cir... what was that?” I whisper.

He doesn’t answer right away.

Just rests his forehead against mine, eyes closed.

“Nothing,” he mutters. “Just missed you.”

I know that’s a lie.

Something happened.

But his hand is warm on my lower back, his thumb stroking my skin like he needs to reassure himself that I’m still here.

So I don’t push.

Not yet.

But I will.

Because P’Cir doesn’t kiss like that unless he’s trying to drown something.

And whatever it is?

It’s not going away quietly.

After that kiss, the kind that turned my legs into noodles and my brain into static—P’Cir gently guides me across the field without another word.

His hand never leaves the small of my back. Not once.

The way he holds me… not too tight, but firm enough that it’s clear: I’m his. Anyone looking can tell.

He brings me to the bleachers near the side of the field, where Rome and Wim are already waiting with drinks, snacks, and varying degrees of chaos energy.

Rome waves dramatically. “Look who survived the Day of intense distant PDA.”

I roll my eyes, still dazed. “Barely.”

“Come sit, Phu,” Wim says, patting the bench beside him. “Your seat of honor awaits.”

P’Cir makes me sit between the two of them, adjusting the back of my hoodie before squatting in front of me to check my face for the fifth time today.

“Do you need anything? Water? Another jacket?”

“P’Cir, I’m fine.”

He hums like he doesn’t quite believe me, then presses a lingering kiss to my cheek.

I pretend not to notice the girls whispering behind us.

Or the guy across the field who just dropped his water bottle mid-stare.

“Stay here,” P’Cir mutters, eyes dark. “Don’t move. Wim. Rome. Eyes on him.”

“We got him,” Rome says with a lazy salute.

“You act like I’m gonna float away,” I mumble, flustered.

P’Cir smirks but doesn’t answer.

Instead, he takes out his phone, angles it toward me.

I blink. “What are you doing?”

“Taking a picture.”

I squint. “For what?”

“For me.” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

He snaps it before I can hide.

“Delete that!”

“Not a chance.”

He studies the picture with that unreadable expression of his—the one that makes it feel like I’m the only thing he sees in color. Then I hear the telltale tap-tap-tap of him posting.

“…You posted it?”

His only reply is a satisfied little hum, and then:

Caption: “Practicing for him, Winning for him #MINE #CIRSHEART.”

Of course.

Wim peeks at his phone and snorts. “You are so whipped, dude.”

“You say that like I didn’t know already,” P’Cir mutters, not even looking up.

Rome leans over to see the post. “Damn. He didn’t even crop it. You’re looking like a whole boyfriend today.”

“I am his boyfriend,” I say before I can stop myself.

They both go still.

Then Wim grins like a cat. “You said it this time.”

I slap my hands over my face.

P’Cir just stands up, smug as hell. “I’ll be done with practice in an hour. Don’t go anywhere baby.”

He ruffles my hair, kisses the top of my head, and heads off toward the field.

Beside me, Jin appears changed into his jersey just in time to kiss Wim’s temple as he joins P’Cir on the field.

I used to get a weird feeling watching them.

That little twist in my stomach. That unspoken fear that I’d always be outside looking in.

But now?

Now I just smile.

Because I’m not on the outside anymore.

I’m P’Cir’s.

And he makes sure the whole damn world knows it.

***

Practice is going well.

The sky is clear, the field is full of movement, and—for once—things feel normal.

P’Cir is on the field, shooting shots with the team, glancing over at me more times than necessary but pretending it’s all part of “strategy.” Jin’s out there too, cool and focused as always.

I’m in P’Cir’s hoodie, surrounded by my friends, legs curled up on the bleachers like I belong here.

I’ve missed this, the rhythm of campus life, the buzz of people around, and most of all, feeling like I’m not just surviving.

Rome is sitting on one side of me, dramatically narrating P’Cir’s every move like it’s a nature documentary. “And here, we see the rare and dangerous species, Boyfriendus Obsessivus, marking his territory with sweat.”

“Stop,” I say, laughing.

Wim sits on my other side, unbothered as ever, flipping through something on his phone. Achi and Tree have joined us too—Tree glaring every time someone catcalls Nalin from the sidelines as the cheer team rehearses their pyramid formations.

Nalin’s at the front of the formation, graceful and lethal as always, flipping into position like she doesn’t even touch the ground.

Achi’s too busy pretending not to care while sneakily recording the cheerleaders’ jumps with hearts in his eyes. Ozone leans over, teasing him. “Thought you were the unattached playboy.”

Achi shrugs. “I can have hobbies.”

P’Cir with hair tied back in his usual half-up style doing his usual thing on the field: commanding attention, moving like the game was made around him, yelling like he owns the damn world. Jin is equally focused, a calm contrast to P’Cir’s live wire energy.

The cheerleaders are near the front of the field now, rehearsing a tricky lift—three girls holding one up, and Lukprae, of course, is the one at the top. Perfect posture. Too much makeup. Eyes darting to the bleachers more than they should.

She’s looking at me.

Actually, no—at P’Cir.

I glance toward the field and see P’Cir watching her too. Jin is beside him, saying something, but P’Cir isn’t listening. His hand is on his hip, towel draped over his shoulder, head tilted slightly as he watches the pyramid form.

Rome notices first. “Look who thinks she’s still the queen.”

Achi scoffs. “Her aura screams last season.”

Wim mutters, “She’s too close to the field.”

I don’t say anything. But my stomach tightens.

And then we all watch—me, Rome, Wim, Tree, Achi—like it’s happening in slow motion.

Then he does it.

Like a joke, like an afterthought—but it’s so Cir.

He walks over to one of the balls near the sideline, lines up his foot dramatically—too dramatically—and fake kicks the football straight in their direction.

The ball never leaves the ground.

But the motion—that loud, sharp grunt and sweeping arc of his leg—is so deliberate it causes a chain reaction.

And lets it fly.

Invisible. Silent.

But timed perfectly.

The cheerleaders flinch.

The two girls supporting Lukprae visibly twitch at the movement, startled by the motion, maybe it was P’Cir’s gesture, maybe a shout in the crowd. Their balance shifts, wobbles—and it’s like everything slows down.

Lukprae falls.

Hard.

A collective gasp ripples across the field.

The squad drops formation and rushes to her. A few girls scream. Someone runs for the coach. She’s on the ground, unmoving for a second before groaning and trying to sit up, clutching her ankle and hissing in pain.

Everyone around me jumps to their feet.

“What the hell just happened?” Achi blurts.

“Oh my god,” Nalin whispers from the field, frozen mid-step.

“It was an accident, right?” Wim says, blinking.

“He didn’t even touch the ball,” Rome says slowly.

“Didn’t have to,” Tree mutters, eyes narrowed on the field.

Tree’s already halfway down the bleachers before stopping, eyes narrowed, glancing between Lukprae, the girls who dropped her… and P’Cir.

P’Cir, who hasn’t moved.

Still standing where he was. Wiping his face with his towel. Completely neutral. Not a trace of guilt.

But his eyes flick to me and for a split second, that smirk twitches.

Just barely.

Rome is the first to speak what we’re all thinking.

“…he did that on purpose.”

“No way,” Achi mutters.

“Rome’s right,” I say quietly. “He meant it. He timed it.”

“But he didn’t touch anything,” Wim argues, brows furrowed. “He didn’t do anything.”

“Exactly,” Tree mutters. “He didn’t have to.”

I keep staring at Cir.

He jogs back to the bench now, grabbing his water bottle like nothing happened. A few teammates crowd around Lukprae. Coaches too. She’s sitting up now, swearing under her breath and clutching her ankle.

But P’Cir?

He doesn’t even look over again.

Just lifts his bottle to his lips, then glances at me over the rim, eyes full of unspoken smugness.

He’d warned her.

I feel a shiver crawl down my spine, and I’m not sure if it’s from awe… or concern.

P’Cir doesn’t bluff.

He’s my boyfriend.

And he doesn’t play when it comes to me.

Chapter Text

PHU’S POV

After practice, the mood is weirdly light.

The earlier chaos on the field forgotten- or ignored.

Rome is already talking about food like we haven’t been snacking all afternoon, and Achi’s dramatically announcing his cravings like someone’s about to take his order. Wim is giving Jin a shoulder massage with his water bottle, and Tree’s fussing over Nalin, who’s still stretching even though practice ended ten minutes ago.

They’re all laughing. Teasing. Talking like nothing insane just happened.

Like a whole human being didn’t just plummet from the sky after my boyfriend aimed a fake- kick at her with malicious precision.

Me?

I’m quiet.

Too quiet.

P’Cir notices immediately.

He always does.

I’m walking beside him, holding my water bottle and overthinking about seventeen things at once, when his arm slides around my waist and—whoop—I’m suddenly in the air.

“P’Cir?!”

He scoops me up like I weigh nothing—like this is just a casual Tuesday—and starts walking to the parking lot with zero shame.

“Cir! Put me down!”

“Nope.”

“Everyone’s watching—”

“Let them.”

He carries me to his car, pops the door open, and unceremoniously drops me onto the passenger seat.

Then he slams the door, walks around the front, gets in, and immediately hits the lock button before anyone else can reach the handle.

I blink.

“What—?”

He rolls down his window just as Rome approaches, confused.

“Hey, are we—?”

“Take Jin’s car,” Cir says coolly.

Rome stares. “You serious?”

“Do I look like I’m joking?”

A beat.

Then a sigh. “You’re insane.”

“Yup.”

He rolls the window back up, then turns to me. All the amusement melts from his face, replaced by something quieter. Sharper.

“Why are you so quiet, baby?”

I look down at my lap. My hands won’t stop fidgeting with the hem of my hoodie.

He waits.

Doesn’t push.

Just watches me, eyes soft but unreadable.

I swallow. “You... made her fall.”

Silence.

Then: “No, I didn’t.”

I look up sharply.

He shrugs, casual. “I didn’t touch her.”

“P’Cir.”

“Did I lie?”

I don’t answer.

Because technically, no. He didn’t lie. But he knows what I mean.

“I warned her,” he says simply. “Told her if she kept messing with you, there’d be consequences.”

“She could’ve gotten seriously hurt.”

“She’ll be fine,” he says. “Sprained ankle at most. Maybe bruised pride. But she’ll think twice before walking into your orbit again.”

I stare at him. “You can’t just go around wrecking people who don’t like me.”

“I can, and I will,” he says. “I don’t care if it’s a cheerleader or the fucking dean—if they touch you, even with words, I’ll end them.”

He’s calm when he says it.

Like he’s talking about the weather.

My heart thuds painfully in my chest.

“I didn’t ask you to do that,” I say quietly.

He leans closer, gaze dark but oddly tender. “I know. That’s the point.”

I turn my face toward the window, feeling everything and nothing all at once. “It scares me sometimes, how far you’ll go for me.”

Cir’s hand slides across the console, resting gently on my thigh.

“Good,” he says, softly. “Because I’ve only just started.”

The car ride is quiet for a while.

P’Cir has one hand on the wheel and the other on my thigh, fingers drumming lightly like he’s thinking too much. The streetlights flash in slow rhythm through the window, painting his face in soft gold and shadow.

He’s calm now.

Too calm.

The kind of calm that means he’s plotting something. Or already has.

I wait.

Wait until we’re far enough from the field. Wait until I’ve processed the chaos of the day. Wait until we’re back in that bubble of quiet, where it’s just the two of us and his driving and my rapidly fraying nerves.

Then I ask.

“P’Cir.”

“Yeah, baby?”

“What are you planning about the stalker?”

He doesn’t look at me.

His fingers stop drumming.

“Nothing,” he says.

I blink. “What?”

“I said nothing,” he repeats, flatly this time.

I sit up straighter, frown tugging at my mouth. “You’re not doing nothing. You’ve already got Jin watching me in class. Wim looking out. You’re stalking every shadow like it owes you money.”

“I’m keeping you safe.”

“By not telling me anything?”

Cir finally glances over, jaw tight. “Because you don’t need to worry about it.”

“But I am worried!” My voice rises despite myself. “You act like I’m this delicate little thing that can’t handle the truth, but guess what—I’m already in the middle of it! The gifts, the flowers, the creepy phone call? They’re happening to me, not you.”

“And that’s exactly why I’m handling it,” he snaps. “So you don’t have to.”

“But it is my business!”

His grip on the steering wheel tightens.

I’m breathing hard now, anger and anxiety swirling together.

“You can’t just decide what I can or can’t handle, P’Cir. That’s not how relationships work. You don’t get to lock me in a glass box and wage war behind my back.”

“I’m protecting you—”

“Without me! You’re protecting me from who! You won’t even let me go back to my own dorm without acting like I need a bodyguard!”

Silence.

P’Cir stares out the windshield, jaw working like he’s biting back everything he wants to say.

Then finally, low and sharp: “I’ve already lost sleep over this. I’ve watched you wheeze in bed while some fucker played games behind the scenes. So forgive me if I don’t want to sit down and brainstorm solutions with the boy I nearly lost.”

His voice cracks just slightly on the last word.

And that—that—makes the anger in my chest falter.

Only for a second.

Then I bite my lip, try to push down the lump forming in my throat.

“But you don’t trust me,” I say, voice quieter now. “Not really. Not with this.”

Cir slams the car into park in front of the diner and turns to face me, fully, his expression unreadable.

“I trust you,” he says. “I just don’t trust the world with you. And until I figure out who’s behind this... you’ll have to hate me for it.”

I stare at him.

And I realize—

He means that.

He’s prepared for me to hate him if it means I stay safe.

That makes something twist deep in my chest. Not just fear. Not just love.

Something helpless.

Something scared.

P’Cir’s phone rings next. I already know what it is. He answers, mutters a quiet “Yeah, we’ll be in soon,” and hangs up.

I stare out the window, arms folded tight.

“I’m not hungry,” I say, flat.

P’Cir doesn’t even blink.

“I don’t give a shit,” he replies, just as flat. “You’re eating.”

“I said I’m not hungry.”

“And I said I don’t care.”

I glare at him, but he’s already getting out of the car. He walks around to my side, opens the door, and just looks at me. Like I’m being difficult on purpose. Like I’m a grumpy toddler refusing vegetables.

“I’m not going in there,” I mutter, eyes on the ground.

“You are,” he says calmly. “Because if you don’t, I’ll pick you up and carry you in.”

“You wouldn’t.”

He leans in slightly. “You want to test me, baby? Right here in front of your friends and half the football team?”

I flush. “P’Cir—”

“You’ve barely eaten all day. You’ve been quiet. You’re mad at me. Fine. Be mad. But you’re not going to bed empty. I’m not waking up to you fainting because you’ve been living off of lemon tea and sarcasm.”

I exhale shakily. “Then take me back to my dorm.”

That makes him go still.

His jaw tightens.

Then, very calmly: “Not a chance in hell.”

“It’s my dorm—”

“It’s a crime scene waiting to happen.”

“That’s dramatic—”

“That’s accurate.”

He steps back slightly, giving me space to climb out, but not backing down.

“You can hate me. You can ignore me. You can call Treeand tell her I’m unbearable. But you’re not staying in that dorm again until I find out who’s creeping around behind your back. End of discussion.”

“I’m not a prisoner—”

“You’re not. You’re my boyfriend. Which means you’re my priority. And I protect what’s mine.”

There’s silence between us for a moment.

Then I mutter, “I still don’t want soup.”

P’Cir finally cracks the tiniest smile. “Fine. We’ll get you dumplings.”

“Dumplings and fried rice.”

“You’re pushing it.”

I stand, brushing past him toward the entrance.

He catches my hand. Squeezes it. Doesn’t say anything else.

Neither do I.

But I don’t let go.

Not yet.

Phu’s POV

The restaurant is bright and noisy—too much chatter, too many clinking plates, too many reasons to pretend everything’s normal.

We sit at the long table near the window, our usual spot. Tree and Nalin are on one end, already sharing a plate and giggling softly. Rome and Achi are being loud on the other side, arguing about something stupid like whether spring rolls count as a meal or an appetizer. Jin and Wim are next to them, heads leaning together like they’re in a bubble of their own.

And me?

I’m between P’Cir and the window, sitting stiffly, trying not to fold in on myself.

I haven’t said much since we walked in.

P’Cir noticed.

Everyone noticed.

He keeps glancing at me—tiny side glances like he’s checking if I’ve moved or combusted. His hand hasn’t left the back of my chair. Every few minutes, his fingers drift up to brush my hair, then retreat like he’s not sure if he’s allowed.

Rome’s the first to break the tension.

“So, Phu,” he says casually, stabbing a shrimp dumpling with wild enthusiasm, “you’re quiet today. You usually have at least two Achi insults by now. What gives?”

I give a noncommittal shrug. “Tired.”

Achi raises an eyebrow. “You sure you’re not just sulking?”

P’Cir kicks him under the table. I see it. Achi glares, rubs his shin.

“Ow.”

“Shut up,” P’Cir mutters.

Wim leans toward me gently. “Do you want to go home early?”

“I’m fine.”

Another lie.

Tree and Nalin glance between us. Even Jin, usually unreadable, sends me a quiet look like Do I need to drag him outside and beat him?

P’Cir picks up a small bamboo steamer and opens it slowly.

“Baby,” he says, voice low. “Eat something.”

He places a piece of honey chicken on my plate with his chopsticks.

I don’t move.

Then he leans in again, just enough for the others not to hear.

“I ordered the fried rice you like. Extra egg. And the milk tea.”

I still don’t look at him.

But he’s trying. I see it.

When the server brings the drinks, there’s an extra cup placed directly in front of me. I didn’t ask for it.

“Cir requested it earlier,” the waiter says, oblivious to the tension.

I pick up the straw, take one slow sip.

P’Cir visibly relaxes like I just told him I’m not leaving him forever.

Still, the silence hangs.

The others are trying so hard not to look like they’re eavesdropping. Achi has his phone out pretending to scroll, but the screen is upside down. Rome keeps stuffing food in his mouth, failing miserably to mind his business.

Then P’Cir does something I don’t expect.

He places his hand on my thigh under the table. Not to grope. Not to pull me closer.

Just… rests it there.

A grounding weight. Quiet. Solid.

His pinky brushes softly back and forth, the motion so gentle it makes my throat tight.

I hate how easily I melt for him.

I sigh, finally picking up my chopsticks.

One bite of honey chicken.

P’Cir immediately refills my plate.

Rome snickers. “Whipped.”

Tree shushes him.

Jin murmurs, “Glad you’re eating again, Phu.”

And it’s weird because the food tastes good, and Cir is being careful, and our friends are still our friends but there’s still this weight pressing on my ribs. This ache I haven’t named

P’Cir leans in again.

Quiet. Almost inaudible.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs.

I close my eyes.

One second.

Two.

I’m not sure what he’s apologizing for, or if he knows what he’s apologizing for but…

I nod.

Just once.

And he squeezes my thigh like it’s enough.

Halfway through dinner, after P’Cir’s quiet apology and me finally taking a few bites of food, things ease a little. The tension doesn’t vanish but it simmers down enough for me to breathe.

I finish my drink, push my plate back, and stand.

“Bathroom,” I mutter to no one in particular.

P’Cir moves to stand “Want me to…”

“N-No I’m fine, I’ll be in and out”

P’Cir’s hand slides off my thigh reluctantly, but he doesn’t follow.

That alone surprises me.

I navigate the maze of tables, duck past a waiter, and make my way into the small, quiet bathroom at the back of the restaurant. It’s warm, dimly lit, smelling faintly of soap and citrus cleaner.

I take my time.

Splash a little water on my face.

Dry my hands slowly.

I just needed a second. Not to cry. Not to fall apart. Just… to think. To stand somewhere without all those eyes on me. Without P’Cir looking at me like he’s trying to memorize every inch in case I disappear again.

I breathe in.

And that’s when I hear the door creak open behind me.

I don’t need to look up.

Only one person opens a door like he owns the entire establishment.

I meet his eyes in the mirror.

P’Cir quietly closes the door behind him and leans against it, arms crossed. He doesn’t speak at first. Just watches me.

I grab a paper towel. “You followed me.”

“You’ve been quiet all night.”

“You apologized.”

“I meant it.”

I nod once, but I don’t say anything.

He steps forward, slowly. Like he’s approaching something fragile. Or wild.

I watch him in the mirror as he comes to stand behind me, not quite touching, but close enough that I feel his heat at my back.

“You still mad?” he asks quietly.

I shrug.

His hands slide forward, resting lightly on the edge of the sink on either side of mine, caging me gently. Not forcing, just… surrounding.

“You scare me sometimes,” I say, barely a whisper. “Not in a bad way. Just in that way where I know you’ll burn down the world for me and I can’t always stop you.”

His chin drops to my shoulder. “I’ll always burn for you. But I’ll learn to ask where the fire should go first.”

I close my eyes.

His voice is quiet now, almost tender. “Baby, I know I’m… a lot. But you’re it for me, Phu. You are my world. So if I overstep, it’s not because I don’t trust you. It’s because I don’t trust anyone else with you.”

I turn slowly to face him, the air between us thick and close.

He’s looking down at me with that same storm-in-his-eyes intensity. The kind that always makes my chest ache and my knees weak.

“I know,” I whisper.

His hand lifts to cup my jaw.

“I just need you to tell me when I go too far. Even if I don’t like hearing it.”

I lean into his touch.

“You really don’t like hearing it.”

“Nope,” he says with a crooked smile. “Hate it. Makes my eye twitch.”

I laugh before I can stop myself.

He leans down slowly.

And kisses me.

Soft.

Deep.

Unrushed.

Like an apology wrapped in warmth.

Like a vow made of breath and lips.

When we break apart, I whisper against his mouth, “I think I’m ready to go home.”

His eyes soften even more. “Ours?”

I nod.

“Ours.”

He laces our fingers together and leads me out of the bathroom like he didn’t just make me fall in love with him a little more behind a locked door.

Cir’s POV

We get home late.

Dinner was awkward, but fine. My boy finally ate, which meant I could breathe again. Sort of.

Now he’s curled up on the couch in my hoodie, looking up at me like I hung the goddamn stars.

We’re tangled together, lazy kisses and wandering hands turning slow and hot. He’s warm and pliant under me, soft sounds slipping from his mouth every time I nuzzle into that spot beneath his ear. My hands are under his shirt now—his skin smooth, his breaths coming quicker.

He arches just a little. Whispers something under his breath that makes my blood thrum.

Then—of course—my phone rings.

Fucking timing.

I groan against his neck.

“Don’t answer it,” Phu whispers, pulling me closer.

I glance at the screen.

It’s one of my guys.

Shit.

I pull back slowly.

“P’Cir…” he says softly, already sensing it. “Don’t go.”

“I have to, baby,” I say, trying not to look at him because if I do, I might stay. “It’s something I need to handle.”

He sits up, looking at me through those big, wet eyes that always destroy me.

“What if you didn’t?” he asks, voice smaller now. “What if you just stayed here with me?”

“Phu…”

His hands curl in my shirt. “I’m not trying to stop you. I just… I think maybe… maybe we should go all the way tonight.”

I freeze.

Look down at him.

My brain short-circuits. My entire body forgets how to function.

He’s flushed, lips kiss-bruised, fingers clenched in my collar like he’s not sure if he wants to pull me closer or run away. He’s serious.

I feel my control start to unravel.

“Baby…”

And then I narrow my eyes.

Something shifts.

I sniff.

“You little shit,” I whisper. “You’re trying to manipulate me.”

His cheeks turn red instantly. “I am not—”

“You so are. You think offering me your virginity will keep me home.”

His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again.

Then, defeated, “...Maybe.”

I almost laugh.

Almost.

But instead, I lean in, nose brushing his. “Nice try, baby. You’re lucky I like your schemes. But when we do that, it’s not gonna be because you’re worried I’ll get myself killed.”

“I’m not—!”

I cut him off with a kiss. Slow. Sweet. One of those kisses that says I’m yours even when I’m gone.

“I’ll be back soon. When I get back,” I murmur against his lips, “we’ll talk about it. All of it. But I want to give you that moment right. I’m not touching you for the first time while I’ve got bloodlust in my veins.”

He glares at me, even though his hands are still clinging to my shirt.

“It’s not just about that. I’m worried about you, Cir. I’m always worried about you. Because you’re not just my boyfriend, you’re—” he swallows, voice going soft and dreamy—“you’re my present and my future. And I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

My breath catches.

“And I…” he falters, but looks straight at me.

“I love you.”

His voice, all dreamy and terrified, slices right through every wall I’ve ever built. Fuck.

I stop.

Everything inside me stops.

Fuck.

His voice is soft. Sincere. Scared.

But it cuts straight through the haze building in my head like a damn siren.

I close my eyes.

Shit, he’s going to make me soft.

I feel the words crash into me like a tidal wave. It rushes through every cell in my chest and makes something inside me ache in the best fucking way.

He knows what he’s doing—he doesn’t even say stuff like this often, and now he’s using it like a damn nuke. Right when I’m about to go full hunter-mode.

And of course it works.

Is there anything more dangerous than your baby calling you, his future?

Is there anything more perfect than hearing “I love you” in that soft, trembling voice for the first time?

Nope.

I close my eyes and let the words hit me. Let them settle. Let them burn.

That’s why he’s mine. Only he gets to turn me into this.

Only he could make me feel this kind of high right before I’m supposed to go out and rip someone’s head off.

I open my eyes and look at him, the sharp edges of me melting whether I like it or not.

“Fuck, baby…”

I pull on my hoodie, grab my keys, and glance back at him—still small, still flushed, still trying to lure me in like some honey trap.

I love him so bad it’s ruinous.

“Why do you do this shit to me?” I mutter, half to myself. “How am I supposed to rip a motherfucker’s head off if you’re putting dreams of romance and happily-ever-after in my damn head at a time like this?”

He’s going to turn me into a sap.

“I love you more,” I say, leaning down to kiss his forehead. “So much more.”

He looks up at me, lip wobbling just a little.

“So you’ll stay home and forget all this nonsense?” he asks, all hopeful and manipulative.

Ah. There it is.

I chuckle darkly. “Aha. That should do the trick.”

He gives me thwe stink eye, “P’Cir I just said I love you”

I smirk. “Yeah baby, Nice try.”

I lean in one last time, kiss him slow and deep, and whisper against his lips:

“I’ll be back. Then I’m all yours.”

And I promise—this time without words—

I’ll come back.

Because he said he loves me.

And now I have to survive the night.

For him.

***

It’s been a while.

Too long, maybe.

The smell of sweat and blood in the air hits me the second I step into the dim-lit warehouse, old instincts flaring alive under my skin like firecrackers. The thump of boots on concrete, the roar of a crowd hungry for blood, the raw chaos humming through the floor.

Yeah.

I remember this.

The rush. The wildness. The perfect lack of rules.

I used to come here when things got too loud inside my head. When football wasn’t enough. When the weight of the world and my own rage got too damn loud to carry in silence. I didn’t come for money. Never have.

I came to burn.

But ever since Phu… ever since him, I haven’t needed this.

He quiets the storm.

He became the calm and the thunder.

And yet here I am again, walking past cages and men with busted knuckles and cold eyes, pulled back into the pit by a single text from my contact:
"Got something. But I only talk in person. You know where."

Of course I fucking know where.

And now I’m standing at the edge of the ring, hands in my jacket pockets, jaw tense as I scan the crowd. The guy running tonight’s fights sees me and breaks into a shit-eating grin.

“Well, well. The Storm returns.”

“Cut the dramatics,” I mutter.

“Come on, Cir. One round. That’s all I ask. You want your intel, you know how this works.”

I sigh.

One round.

Get in. Get out.

No bruises. No marks.

Phu’s waiting at home, probably sketching something or cuddled under my hoodie on the couch with one of his dumb dramas on loop. If he sees me with a split lip or busted knuckles, he’ll panic. He already thinks I’m on the edge. I can’t give him more reasons to worry.

I nod once. “One round. I win clean, you talk.”

“Deal.”

I pull off my jacket and shirt, the roar from the crowd swelling when they see me step forward. I’m leaner than I used to be, but sharper. My fists curl loose and deadly at my sides. They remember me here. They remember Storm.

“Next match!” the announcer shouts, voice echoing through the tin and smoke. “We’ve got a legend back in the pit tonight! You know him! You fear him! Give it up for STORM!”

The crowd goes feral.

I don’t care.

All I can think about is Phu.

His voice this morning, soft and sleepy when he kissed my neck and told me not to stay out too late.

His fingers toying with the hem of my shirt before I left, like he wanted to say something but didn’t.

His “I love you” still fresh in my head like it tattooed itself into my bloodstream.

I can’t fuck this up.

They bring out the other guy—bigger, heavier, probably thinks he’s got the edge. I circle him once, cold and focused.

He swings fast.

Too fast.

He wants blood.

I want clean.

I dodge. Strike. Step back. Duck. Hit.

Every movement calculated, sharp, and ruthless.

But not brutal.

I won’t come home smelling like violence. Not tonight.

This one’s for information.

But more than that?

This one’s for Phu.

Because I’ll tear down every cage and every ring and every last fucker in this city to keep him safe.

But I’ll do it in a way that won’t make him flinch when I touch his face after.

I dodge the final blow, spin, and land my hit on his face with my feet.

The guy crumples.

I don’t wait for the cheers.

Just wipe the sweat off my brow, pull my shirt back on, and stalk over to the organizer.

“Well?”

He whistles. “Still got it, Storm. Damn shame you don’t come around more.”

“Talk.”

He leans in, grin fading just enough to tell me this is serious. “The flowers. The notes. The calls. We’ve never seen that style before.”

My blood chills.

“Someone new in your life?” he asks. “Someone soft?”

My eyes narrow. “Don’t play with me.”

He raises both palms. “Not playing. Just telling you—you got someone watching your sunshine. And it ain’t just love letters.”

I clench my jaw.

I knew it.

But hearing it confirmed makes something snap loose in my chest.

I don’t say another word. Just turn around and head for the exit, pulling out my phone.

Cir: On my way. You up, baby?

Because I need to see him.

Right now.

And not just to make sure he’s safe.

But to make sure I don’t forget who I’m fighting for.

Phu’s POV

I’m curled up on the couch in one of his hoodies, flipping through my textbook but not really absorbing anything. He left about an hour ago—said he had to “handle something” and kissed my forehead like I wouldn’t worry.

Of course I’m worried.

I haven’t heard from him since he left, and every passing minute has me checking the clock, trying not to spiral. I know he’s intense—Cir doesn’t do halfway—but I hate not knowing what’s going on.

The show I started has long since faded into background noise. I’ve reread the same paragraph in my architecture textbook at least six times, and I still don’t remember a word of it.

Just as I start to reach for my phone to text him, the lock on the front door clicks.

My head jerks up—finally—but the footsteps that follow are not P’Cir’s.

Lighter.

Multiple.

The first person I see is Ozone sauntering in like he owns the place, a bag of snacks under one arm and his phone in the other.

“Hey,” he grins. “Still alive?”

“Barely,” I mumble, setting my phone aside.

Behind him, two more figures step into the apartment—and I freeze.

P’Cir’s mother and father.

I recognize them immediately, from the pictures on Cir’s shelves, from the way he talks about them. But seeing them in person—in his home—is entirely different.

Ratri Rueng is about my height and stunning, dressed like she just stepped out of a luxury boardroom, with sharp cheekbones, immaculate eyeline and her hair in a soft chignon, her blazer perfectly tailored. Her eyes sweep the room—and land on me.

Beside her, his dad is all calm warmth, silver at his temples, his features softer and more grounded than I expected. He holds a phone in one hand, like he was mid-text before stepping inside.

I shoot up to my feet.

“Um—Sawasdee Krub,” I say, already blushing. “I’m—Phukan. But you can call me Phu.”

His dad smiles kindly, stepping forward to offer his hand. “We know who you are. It’s good to finally meet you, Phu.”

I shake his hand quickly, nerves tumbling in my stomach. “It’s—it’s really nice to meet you too, sir.”

Ozone flops onto the couch like this isn’t the most awkward moment of my life. “They wanted to see P’Cir. I figured we’d drop in.”

I turn to Ratri, bowing slightly. “khun mae.”

Her lips twitch—not quite a smile, but not cold either. “You’re very polite.”

I swallow.

“Cir talks about you. A lot.”

“Uh?”

Ozone snorts. “All the time. You’re lucky he hasn’t proposed to him yet.”

“Ozone!” I hiss, mortified.

Their dad chuckles under his breath. “Well, we’ve heard plenty. But I’m glad we finally get to meet you properly.”

“I’m sorry P’Cir’s not home. He, um—he had to go out.”

Ratri nods once, surveying the living room. “You stay here often?”

I fumble, suddenly very aware that I’m standing in Cir’s oversized hoodie with messy hair and no socks like I live here. Which, I sort of do now—but also not officially.

“Yes, ma’am. He… packed up most of my dorm room when I got sick and wouldn’t let me stay alone.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then—to my shock—Ratri hums quietly and says, “Good.”

I blink. “Good?”

She finally meets my gaze with a rare softness. “You’re good for him. He’s steadier. Focused.”

“I—I just want him to be okay.”

Her eyes linger on mine for a second longer, then she nods. “And he wants you safe. I suppose you’re both terribly stubborn.”

Their dad chuckles again. “That would explain everything.”

“So where did Rames go?’ she asks

“He left a little while ago. He didn’t say where. Just that he had to take care of something and would be back soon.”

There’s a beat of silence.

Then Ratri sighs, turning toward the kitchen like she owns it. “I’ll make tea.”

Their dad gives me an apologetic smile. “Don’t mind her. She’s just not used to being left out of the loop.”

Ozone plops down beside me on the couch, snagging one of P’Cir’s throw pillows and hugging it. “So, you’ve met the storm. Now welcome to the hurricane.”

I sit back down slowly.

I wasn’t expecting this.

Cir’s parents?

Now?

I tug the sleeves of his hoodie down to my fingers, trying to make myself smaller. “I—sorry the place’s a mess. I didn’t know anyone was coming.”

“It’s spotless,” Their dad says kindly.

“I—usually try to tidy before the housekeeper comes, P’Cir doesn’t like it”

“You’ve been here a while then?” Ratri calls from the kitchen.

My throat catches.

“Um. I—I mean…”

Ozone snorts. “Mom, he basically lives here. Cir moved his stuff in after three weeks of meeting him”

“Ozone!”

“What? It’s true.”

Ratri returns with three teacups on a tray, handing one to her husband and another to me.

She sits.

Crosses her legs.

Eyes me again.

“So,” she says. “You’re the reason my son isn’t punching people anymore.”

I blink. “I—I—um—what?”

Their dad hides a smile behind his cup.

Ozone grins wickedly. “Told you. Hurricane.”

I flush. “I—I didn’t mean to change him. I just—he’s… really good to me.”

Ratri hums. “He’s obsessive.”

“He’s loyal,” I correct softly, without thinking.

She blinks.

Then—just barely—she smiles.

The door opens a few moments later, and P’Cir walks in mid-sentence, tossing his phone into his jacket pocket, then he freezes when he sees us.

Me. His parents. Ozone.

His brows shoot up. “What the hell—?”

“Language,” Ratri says mildly, already picking up one of the framed photos on his shelf.

P’Cir blinks. “You—you met him?”

“I’m not invisible,” I mutter under my breath.

His dad claps a hand on his shoulder as he passes. “You chose well.”

P’Cir’s gaze darts to me, then back to them. “Wait. Nobody scared him off?”

Ratri snorts delicately on the armchair. “Don’t be dramatic. He made a good impression.”

P’Cir stares.

I smile sheepishly.

He exhales, crosses the room, and gently grabs my wrist—pulling me to his side like he needs to confirm I’m still there.

“You okay?”

I nod. “They’re… actually really nice.”

P’Cir glances at his mother suspiciously.

She ignores him and sips from her  tea.

Ozone throws a pillow at him.

And Cir leans in to whisper, “Okay, maybe this wasn’t the nightmare I thought it’d be.”

Phu’s POV

P’Cir’s parents left about an hour ago.

The apartment is quieter now, but I can still feel the echo of them here—Ratri’s graceful elegance, their dad’s warm kindness, and Ozone’s gleeful chaos filling the space like a weird kind of family weather system.

P’Cir and I are curled up on the couch again, this time in silence. I’m pressed against his side, tucked under his arm, listening to the steady beat of his heart.

I want to ask.

I’ve been wanting to ask.

So I do.

“Where did you go earlier?”

His arm tenses just slightly.

“Had to handle something,” he says, and kisses my hair before I can press.

That’s all he gives me.

Normally, I’d keep asking. I’d gently poke at the walls he thinks I can’t see. But tonight?

I’m too tired to fight for answers.

So I just nod against him and let it go—for now.

He’ll tell me when he’s ready.

Or maybe he won’t.

Either way, I’ll still love him.

Cir’s POV

It’s been two days since my parents dropped by unexpectedly.

And somehow, Phu survived.

More than survived—he charmed them. My mom even said good when she heard he’d basically moved in. Good. I thought I’d hallucinated it.

But still.

The night they left, Phu asked where I’d gone earlier that day.

I told him I had to handle something.

He waited for more.

I gave him a kiss and a “don’t worry.”

He didn’t push.

Too tired, probably.

But I could feel it—the way he wanted to ask again but didn’t. The way he curled a little closer anyway. The way he trusted me, even when I didn’t give him the full truth.

I’ll tell him. When I can.

Right now, I need to make sure he’s okay before I start unpacking the darkness I’ve been dragging behind me like a goddamn anchor.

The last few days have been mostly normal.

Classes. Practice. Kisses between sets. Ozone being annoying. Jin and Wim being nauseatingly domestic.

And Phu?

Still mine.

Still sleeping next to me in my shirts, stealing my fries, and making every ugly part of me feel just a little more human.

But of course, peace never fucking lasts.

I’m walking back from training, damp towel slung over my shoulder, phone buzzing in my pocket.

Rome.

I answer on the second ring.

“What’s up?”

“Uh, Cirrus?” he says, voice tight.

Cirrus? He only says that when he knows I’m going to snap.

“I’m listening.”

“I’m at the quad near admin, and this dude just came up asking around for Phu.”

I stop walking.

“Define asking around.”

Rome exhales. “Said he had a delivery for him. Flowers. Food. Same shit you showed us that time.”

My vision narrows.

I look up.

The sky is clear.

Too clear.

“Did he say who it was from?” I ask, already turning back toward campus.

“Nope. Got cagey when I pressed. But he asked for directions to the architecture block.”

My jaw clenches so tight it hurts.

“Where are you now?”

“Still on him.”

“Don’t lose him.”

“I won’t.”

I end the call.

My feet are already moving.

Next call—Wim.

Then Jin.

And three guys from the football team who owe me favors.

By the time I reach the edge of campus, I have a full team ready.

Someone thought they could sneak up on my boy again?

Someone thought I wouldn’t burn the whole fucking university down?

They thought wrong.

This time, I’m not just intercepting.

I’m ending it.

They’re standing by the benches near the courtyard.

Two of them.

The other who is definitely a student on this campus smirking when he sees me coming—like he was waiting for a show.

“Cir himself,” hesays, mock-saluting. “You coming to pick up your boyfriend’s flowers?”

I stop.

Tilt my head.

The other guy laughs. “Didn’t know the campus psycho had a soft spot. Cute little thing like that, no wonder people are lining up.”

Blood.

I taste it.

Not in my mouth.

In the air.

I smile.

Wider.

Too wide.

I think I say something. Something like “Say that again.”

But I don’t remember.

Because after that—it’s all static.

The rushing of water in my ears.

My limbs go heavy.

My vision dims around the edges, like a camera lens pulling back too far.

And then everything goes dark.

I hear someone screaming.

Maybe it’s me.

Maybe not.

Hands on me.

Pulling.

Voices yelling.

Something rips. My shirt?

A hand grips my arm. My shoulder.

But nothing registers.

Until I feel…Tears.

Hot.

Wet.

And a voice. Cracking. Desperate.

“P’Cir—please, please come back—I’m sorry—I’m so sorry—please come back to me.”

His voice.

My baby.

That one sound slices through the haze like a blade through fog.

I blink.

Hard.

I’m standing over the guy—one of them—crumpled on the grass.

Rome, Jin, Achi—everyone’s surrounding me.

My hands are red. My knuckles sting.

But none of it matters.

Because Phu is here.

Climbing into my arms.

Clutching me so tightly it hurts.

I don’t even realize I’ve been holding him just as tight.

I collapse right there on the lawn with him in my lap and my body trembling like I just ran a marathon straight through hell.

He’s crying.

Still apologizing.

Still saying my name like it’s the only thing he has left.

“Shh,” I whisper, voice rough. “It’s okay, baby. I’m okay. Stop crying now.”

I rock him.

Back and forth.

His smell grounds me more than anything else. I bury my face in his neck, clinging to it like oxygen.

I have to talk to my dad. Because what the fuck was that?

I’ve blacked out in fights before but never like this.

Never with a heartbeat pulling me back from the brink.

I can still hear the noise—people shouting, the guy groaning, my teammates explaining something to security but I don’t see any of it.

All I see is Phu.

His breathing.

His face.

His fear.

I lift a shaking hand and press it over his chest.

Then gently place his over mine.

“Breathe with me, baby,” I whisper. “Just breathe with me.”

He’s shaking, but he listens.

Eyes wide and wet and terrified.

I hold his face and kiss him—softly, slowly.

A promise.

A tether.

“I’m here,” I murmur. “I’m good now. Don’t be scared. Your man’s back.”

His bottom lip trembles.

He nods.

And slowly—slowly—his breathing evens out.

And for the first time since the darkness took me, I breathe too.

Chapter Text

CIR’S POV

Sirens.

Fucking sirens.

Red and blue lights strobe across the courtyard like some kind of rave I didn’t RSVP to, and the paramedics are crouched on the grass like they’re starring in a drama.

Well. Shit.

One of the guys is groaning. The other is still unconscious.

I probably should’ve stopped at one.

Or two.

Hell, I probably should’ve walked away.

I glance down at my bloodied knuckles. My pulse is still hammering. My shirt is ripped down the middle, I’ve lost a shoe somewhere, and my baby is sitting on the grass trying to hide in my hoodie like he’s one wrong breath away from crying again.

The flashing lights reflect in his wide, tear-slick eyes.

I was supposed to be watching anime with him right now.

I was supposed to be curled up with him in bed, feeding him snacks and kissing the fever out of his cheeks and making dumb comments about whatever slice-of-life show he made me watch.

But no.

These fuckers had to open their mouths about my boy.