Ratch sat in his apartment as the city lights flickered beyond his windows, the soft glow of his laptop screen illuminating his face in the dark room. The first day of orientation had been exhausting, the cybersecurity club booth packed with freshmen asking endless questions about network protocols and encryption methods, but his mind had been elsewhere—fixed on that glimpse he'd caught of familiar dark hair across campus, the way his heart had stuttered when he'd almost seen Win's face before the crowd had shifted and the moment was lost.
He should have been reviewing orientation materials, preparing for tomorrow's activities, doing anything productive. But his phone buzzed with a notification that made his breath catch: InvisibleHeart had posted a new chapter of "Summer's End."
Ratch stared at the alert, thumb hovering over the screen. He'd discovered this story just yesterday, but already felt haunted by the anonymous author who wrote about love and loss with such raw honesty that it felt like reading someone's diary.
The notification showed a new chapter had been posted just hours ago. Chapter 2. Ratch hesitated, cursor hovering over the link, knowing that reading it would only make the ache in his chest worse, but unable to resist. He clicked.
I changed my shirt three times before our first real date...
The words pulled him in immediately, just as they had with the first chapter. But this time, as Alex described his nervousness about the date, his fear that "Kai was everything I wasn't—confident, magnetic, the kind of person who commanded attention just by walking into a room. And I was..." Ratch felt something twist painfully in his stomach. The way the author wrote about trust, about giving yourself completely to someone who made you feel precious—it was too familiar, too close to memories Ratch had been trying to bury.
"I wanted it to be you," I managed, reaching up to touch his face. "Don't stop, please. I trust you."
Ratch's breath caught as he read the intimate scenes that followed, the tender way Kai worshipped Alex's body, the reverence and care in every touch. His hands tightened on the laptop as the fictional first time unfolded on the screen, written with such devastating precision that Ratch could almost feel phantom touches on his own skin, could almost hear Win's voice whispering those same words against his ear.
I trust you.
The memory hit him like a physical blow—Win beneath him that first night, eyes wide and trusting, giving himself completely despite his fears. The way Win had trembled when Ratch marked his throat, the soft gasp when Ratch had taken him apart piece by piece, the way Win had clung to him afterward like Ratch was the only solid thing in his world.
Afterward, as we lay tangled together in the darkness, Kai traced patterns on my bare chest. What he didn't know was that this moment, this day, would last in my memory forever. There was a spot in my heart made that night for only him.
Ratch slammed the laptop shut, the words burning behind his eyes. He stood abruptly, pacing to the window, trying to escape the flood of memories that the story had unleashed. But he could still see Win's face in the glass reflection, could still feel the memory of Win's tightness around him, the sounds he'd made as his face was pressed into Ratch's neck, the way his hands had risen to Ratch's shoulders as he felt the slight pain of nails marking him permanently as his that night.
And then Win had left for Cambridge. Or tried to.
Ratch's phone sat on the coffee table, screen dark, but he could feel its presence like a weight in the room. For weeks now, he'd been ignoring the voicemails that accumulated there, the text messages that came less and less frequently until they'd stopped altogether. He'd told himself it was pride, that Win had made his choice when he'd chosen a scholarship over what they had. But standing here in the dark, still reeling from the intimate story that had brought back so many memories of their summer together, Ratch felt the foundation of his anger beginning to crack.
His hand moved almost without conscious thought, reaching for the phone. The voicemail icon showed seventeen unheard messages, most of them from the same contact: Win.
Win's voice filled the quiet apartment, and Ratch's chest tightened immediately at the familiar sound, rough with emotion and uncertainty.
"Ratch, it's me. I... I know you're probably angry, and I understand why, but please just call me back. I need to explain. Please."
The message was from three weeks ago. Ratch scrolled to the next one, two days later.
"I keep thinking about what you said, about me running away when things get real. Maybe you're right. Maybe I've been doing that my whole life. But I'm trying not to run now. I chose to stay, Ratch. I tore up the ticket. Doesn't that mean anything?"
Ratch's hand shook slightly as he moved to the next message. Win's voice was more desperate now, tinged with something that sounded like panic.
"I know you're getting my text messages because they're showing as read. Why won't you just talk to me? Even if it's just to tell me it's over, I need to hear it from you. I can't... I can't just pretend this summer didn't happen."
Message after message, Win's voice growing more raw, more broken with each one. Ratch listened to them all, his throat getting tighter with every desperate plea, every attempt Win made to bridge the gap between them. By the time he reached the final message, recorded just five days ago, Ratch felt sick with the weight of his own stubbornness.
"I keep thinking about what it would have been like if I'd gone to Cambridge. If I'd been a coward and run away like I always do. But I didn't, Ratch. I chose to stay. I chose you." Win's voice was quieter now, resigned in a way that made Ratch's heart clench. "I know you don't want to hear from me anymore. I know I hurt you by not being honest about the scholarship from the beginning. But I need you to know that this summer... what we had... it meant everything to me. You made me feel like I mattered, like I was worth choosing. Even if you can't forgive me, I'll never regret that."
There was a long pause, and when Win spoke again, his voice was thick with hurt and anger. "Don't worry, I won't call or text you again. I get the message loud and clear. You told me to fight for you, for us, and in the end I was the only one fighting. You gave up, didn't even try to fight at all. And you said I was a runner? Look who ran in the end."
There was a long pause, and when Win spoke again, his voice was barely a whisper.
"I love you, Ratch. I should have said it when I had the chance. I'm sorry I waited until it was too late."
The message ended, leaving Ratch standing alone in his apartment, phone clutched in his trembling hand. The silence felt deafening after Win's broken confession, and Ratch realized that every day he'd spent ignoring these messages, Win had been tearing himself apart, thinking Ratch didn't care, thinking their summer had meant nothing.
I love you.
The words echoed in the quiet room, and Ratch felt something inside him finally break open. "I love you too, Win," he whispered to the empty room, and felt a tear slide down his cheek. He didn't bother to wipe it away, letting it fall as he finally allowed himself to feel the full weight of what he'd lost, what he'd thrown away through his own stubborn pride.
All this time, he'd been so focused on his own hurt, his own anger at being abandoned, that he'd never considered what it had cost Win to leave, what it had cost him to come back. Win had chosen to stay—had torn up his ticket to Cambridge, had given up everything he was supposed to want—and Ratch had punished him for it with silence.
He sank onto the couch, head in his hands, replaying every voicemail, every desperate attempt Win had made to fix what was broken between them. Win had chosen him, had been choosing him over and over with every unanswered call, every message left in the void of Ratch's stubborn pride.
For the first time in years, Ratch cried himself to sleep that night, and his dreams were filled with memories. Win beneath him in the hotel room, skin flushed and eyes wide with trust and desire. The way Win had gasped when Ratch marked his throat, the soft sounds he'd made when Ratch had taken him apart with infinite care. The way Win had looked at him afterward, like Ratch was something miraculous, something worth keeping.
"I wanted it to be you," Dream-Win whispered against his ear, and Ratch could feel the ghost of fingers tracing patterns on his chest, could taste the salt of Win's skin on his tongue. "Don't stop, please. I trust you."
Ratch woke with Win's name on his lips and an ache in his chest that felt like drowning. The morning light streaming through his windows seemed too bright, too cheerful for the devastation he felt, and he lay still for a long moment, trying to hold onto the fragments of the dream, the memory of what it felt like to be wanted that completely.
His phone showed several missed calls from friends, messages about where they were setting up their booth today and which orientation activities they needed to cover. But all Ratch could think about was Win's voice from the voicemails, the way he'd said I chose you like it was the most important decision he'd ever made.
Ratch showered and dressed, his mind already working, already planning. He'd wasted weeks wallowing in his own hurt, letting his pride make decisions his heart couldn't live with. But if there was even a chance that Win still felt something for him, if there was any possibility of salvaging what they'd had that summer, Ratch wasn't going to let his own stubbornness cost him everything again.
The campus was busy with the usual morning rush when Ratch arrived, students weaving between buildings with coffee cups and backpacks, the energy of new beginnings crackling in the air. He made his way to the cybersecurity club booth, going through the motions of setting up displays and organizing brochures while his eyes scanned the crowd for familiar dark hair and delicate features.
He didn't have to wait long.
Win appeared outside the orientation building with Tawan beside him. Ratch watched as they came to a stop, Tawan saying something that made Win pull out his phone and hand it over. Ratch felt his jaw clench as he watched Tawan's fingers move across the screen before handing the device back. Win tucked the phone into his pocket with a small smile that made Ratch's chest tighten with something dark and possessive. As they began to part ways outside the building, Win's gaze swept across the area and landed directly on Ratch.
Their eyes met for the first time since their separation weeks ago, and Ratch felt his breath catch. There was shock in Win's expression, followed quickly by something deeper—pain, or sadness—before a group of students passed between them. The moment stretched, electric and painful, until Ratch finally forced himself to look away and disappear back toward his booth, unable to handle the intensity of Win's gaze.
Win's words from the voicemail echoed through Ratch's mind as he walked away. But here Win was, moving on without him, getting close to someone else. Someone who could make Win hand over his phone with easy trust, who walked beside him across campus like he belonged there. Someone who was there when Ratch wasn't, filling the space that Ratch had abandoned. Damn his stubborn pride.
Ratch's phone buzzed with a new message, the sound cutting through his thoughts. Unknown number, just like the ones that had been coming sporadically for weeks.
You had your chance. Some people don't get second opportunities.
Ratch stared at the message, jaw clenching. The words felt pointed, personal, like salt in an open wound—a confirmation of what Ratch was already beginning to realize. That his pride might have cost him the only person who'd ever looked at him like he hung the stars.
He deleted the message and set the phone aside, but the damage was done. The combination of Win's desperate voicemails, the anonymous story that felt too much like his own life, and now this pointed reminder of his failures left Ratch feeling raw and desperate in a way he hadn't allowed himself to feel since that terrible afternoon when Win had first told him about Cambridge.
"You look like hell," Bom said, appearing at Ratch's elbow as he returned to the booth. "What happened? You just went pale and looked like someone punched you."
Ratch focused on arranging the recruitment flyers with more force than necessary. "Nothing. Just tired."
Bom crossed his arms, studying Ratch's face. "Cut the bullshit, Ratch. I know you better than that. You've been a mess since yesterday, and now you look like someone just ripped your heart out. What happened? It's him again, isn't it?"
"Drop it, Bom," Ratch said through gritted teeth, but his hands were shaking slightly as he straightened the display.
Bom studied his friend's face, clearly seeing more than Ratch wanted to reveal. "Look, whatever's going on, you can't keep doing this to yourself. You're falling apart."
Ratch didn't answer, his eyes fixed on the orientation building where Win had disappeared with that hunted look still burning in his memory. The image tormented him—he hated seeing the pain in Win's eyes, hated that he was the cause of that fear, hated that Win looked at him like he was something to run from instead of run to.
An hour passed. Students filtered in and out of the building, orientation sessions cycling through their schedules. Ratch tried to focus on the freshmen who approached the booth, answering questions about cybersecurity programs and club meetings, but his attention kept drifting back to the building entrance.
Then he saw them.
Win emerged from the orientation building with another student beside him, both of them talking animatedly about something that had the other boy gesturing wildly with obvious excitement. Win was smiling—not the careful, guarded expression Ratch remembered from their summer's end, but something genuine and relaxed. Win trusted him, and Ratch hated it. They moved down the steps together, the other student clearly in the middle of some enthusiastic explanation.
Ratch shoved the flyers he was holding into Bom's hands. "I'll be right back," he said, already moving.
"What? Wait, where are you going?" Bom called after him, but Ratch was already crossing the quad with purposeful strides. He'd wasted weeks without him, trying to shut off all this hurt. No more.
"Win," Ratch called out when he was close enough.
Both Win and Pat turned. Win went very still, the easy expression sliding off his face and replaced by something wary and guarded. His hand instinctively grabbed Pat's arm, gripping a little too tight. Pat looked between them with obvious confusion, clearly not recognizing Ratch but sensing the sudden tension and Win's obvious distress.
"We need to talk," Ratch said, his voice carrying an edge of command that made Win's eyes widen. "Alone."
Win's jaw tightened. "I don't think that's a good idea."
"I think it is," Ratch said, stepping closer until he was invading Win's personal space. "We have things to discuss."
Pat frowned, clearly uncomfortable with the situation but not understanding the dynamics. He stepped closer, trying to position himself between them, never taking his eyes off Ratch. "Win? Is everything okay?"
Win's gaze flickered between Ratch and Pat, uncertainty clear in his expression. He slowly released Pat's arm before saying, "It's... complicated."
"Five minutes," Ratch said quietly, but there was steel in his voice. "That's all I'm asking."
When Win still hesitated, Ratch made the decision for him. He reached around Pat and grasped Win's wrist, not roughly but with clear intention. "Come on."
"Wait, what—" Pat started, but Win raised his free hand.
"It's okay, Pat," Win said, though his voice was tight with tension. "Just... give us a second."
Ratch tugged Win toward the side of the building, away from the main flow of students but still within Pat's line of sight. Pat remained where he was, clearly torn between respecting Win's request and his obvious concern about what was happening.
Once they were around the corner, partially hidden but not completely out of view, Ratch released Win's wrist and turned to face him. The space felt charged, electric with weeks of unspoken words and suppressed emotion.
"You've been avoiding me," Ratch said.
Win's chin lifted in defiance. "How was I avoiding you when you were the one that's been ignoring me?"
"I listened to your messages," Ratch said, watching Win's eyes widen with shock. "All of them. Last night. Every desperate call, every time you begged me to just talk to you."
Win's carefully constructed composure began to crack. "Ratch, I—"
"You said you loved me," Ratch continued, stepping closer until Win had to tilt his head back to meet his gaze. "In the last one. You said you loved me and that it was too late."
Every step Ratch took forward, Win took back, until his back was nearly against the wall. Win raised his hands up to help create some distance between them, but his eyes never left Ratch's face. "I meant it. Both parts."
"What if I told you it wasn't too late?" Ratch asked, bracing both hands against the wall on either side of Win's head, caging him in. "What if I told you I've been an idiot, and I'm sorry, and I want to fix this?" He dropped his head down onto Win's shoulder as he spoke.
Win's breath hitched, hope and disbelief warring in his expression. "You can't just... it's been weeks, Ratch. Weeks of nothing. I tried so hard to reach you, and you—"
"I know," Ratch said roughly, lifting his head again, unshed tears visible in his eyes. "I know, and I'm sorry. I was hurt and stupid and proud, and I made you pay for my mistakes. But I'm here now."
Win stared up at him, eyes bright with unshed tears. "I don't know if I can do this again. I don't know if I can trust that you won't just disappear when things get difficult."
"Then let me show you," Ratch said, and before Win could respond, before he could think or protest or run, Ratch closed the distance between them and captured Win's mouth in a kiss that was desperate and claiming and weeks overdue.
Win went rigid for a heartbeat, shocked into stillness, but then he melted against Ratch with a soft sound that was part relief and part surrender. His hands came up to fist in Ratch's shirt, pulling him closer, and Ratch felt something inside him finally snap back into place as Win kissed him back with all the hunger and longing he'd been holding back.
From his position near the building steps, Pat watched in stunned silence, finally understanding that whatever was happening between Win and this stranger was far more complicated than he'd realized.