Kane
Ella was my first love. I adored her with a devotion that felt unshakable. We used to talk about the future like it was a promise carved in stone—marriage, a home, the kind of life that seemed inevitable when you're young and certain.
Pablo—her stepbrother—was our quiet supporter. He always told us he was happy for us, that we deserved each other. I believed him.
Then one day, everything changed. Ella told me she didn't love me anymore. Her voice was gentle, but final. She said there was someone else, and she couldn't lie to me any longer.
That was the last time anyone saw her alive.
She disappeared that afternoon, and by the next night, we found her on the rooftop—broken, trembling, ready to end her pain.
Her death tore through me. It hollowed out everything I was.
Even after she admitted loving someone else, I never stopped loving her. Losing her left me adrift—paralyzed by grief, suffocated by silence. For years, I existed in a blur, half-alive and too tired to fight it.
The only time I felt even remotely human was when I was with women. Their warmth, their whispers, the temporary illusion of closeness—it all dulled the noise in my head. But they never stayed. They always left before I was ready to let go, claiming they'd found someone else.
Eventually, I learned the truth. Pablo had been threatening them.
The same man who once blessed my relationship had turned into something unrecognizable. Grief had splintered him. He began to live as Ella—mimicking her voice, her habits, her gestures. It wasn't an act. It was delusion born of pain—a way to keep her alive through himself.
It disturbed me... but I couldn't confront him. Because in my own way, I was doing the same thing—keeping her ghost close, refusing to move on.
Even Josh and Justin knew. None of us intervened. We just let Pablo grieve in his own madness. Because we were all trying to survive her death, each in our own quiet, destructive way.
Then Pablo's obsession shifted—to me. He became possessive, unrelenting. He warned me to stay away from women, threatened to hurt anyone who got too close.
His fixation dragged on for years, and I had no choice but to endure it. His affection—every forced smile, every lingering touch—made my skin crawl, yet I bore it in silence. I played along, did everything he asked, treated him like he was Ella... all to keep him from collapsing completely.
At some point, I accepted it—the idea that I'd live this way forever. Bound to him, trapped in the shadow of a ghost neither of us could let go.
But fate rarely asks for permission.
Because I met Elves.
He awakened something I thought had died with her. At first, I told myself it was sympathy, just concern for someone caught in a dangerous situation. But the moment our eyes met, that illusion shattered. Sympathy turned to something deeper—something I couldn't name at first.
There was a quiet pull in him, a beauty that disarmed me, stripped me of the walls I'd built. And before I could stop it, the instinct to protect him took root—strong, irrational, consuming.
My feelings grew fast, sharp, undeniable. But for once, I didn't fight them. After years of living in the dark, he was the first light I'd seen. The first reason to hope.
With one look, I knew—I'd found the person who might finally save me from the hell I'd learned to live with.
To protect him from his stalker—and to keep him close—I suggested that we live together under the pretense of work. When the chance came, I didn't hesitate.
"Let's live together," I said, keeping my tone casual.
"W-what?" he stammered, disbelief flashing across his face.
"Ken and Vest are married," I explained. "They live together. If we want to portray them convincingly, we need to understand what that feels like. Simple logic."
The words were only half true.
He looked at me, still dazed, his cheeks flushed under the sterile glow of the hallway lights.
"Simple...?" he echoed softly.
His confusion amused me more than it should have.
I stepped closer, drawn to the way his eyes flickered—caught between shock and something unspoken. My voice dropped, deliberate and low.
"Or would you prefer we sleep together first?" I teased, letting the corner of my mouth curve into a faint smirk as my hand brushed his waist, pinning him gently against the wall.
His breath hitched. His eyes widened before softening—surprise giving way to a heat he didn't know how to hide.
He wanted me. Maybe he didn't understand it yet, but I did. And that only made me want to show him. Not just desire—but surrender. The kind that asks for trust before it asks for touch.
My hand moved to his neck, firm and steady, fingers pressing just enough to hold him there—to make him look at me, to keep him from running. His pulse quickened beneath my touch.
"Don't look away," I said quietly, my tone low but unyielding.
His eyes met mine, and I let the silence stretch—long enough for him to feel the weight of it. There was fear there, yes, but something else too. Curiosity. Want. The kind of confusion that burned hotter the longer he tried to hide it.
I leaned in, closing the distance inch by inch until my breath brushed against his skin. His lips parted slightly—an unspoken invitation he didn't even realize he'd given.
I didn't think. I simply followed the pull. My lips grazed his, light at first, a ghost of a touch meant to test the line between restraint and surrender.
Then he pushed me away—abrupt, startled, trembling.
"L-let's just live together instead," he stammered, eyes darting from mine before he turned and slipped inside his condo, shutting the door in one panicked motion.
I stayed where I was, the faintest smirk tugging at my lips.
He'd said it himself. Live together. An invitation I had no reason to refuse.
As I turned toward my own door, that quiet satisfaction settled deep in my chest.
This time, nothing will stop me. Not even Pablo.
The next morning, I woke early. Without bothering to brush my teeth or wash my face, I went straight to Elves' door and knocked—firm, unhurried.
A few seconds later, his muffled voice came through. "Who is it?"
"It's me," I answered, tone low and steady. "Kane."
There was no immediate response—only the sound of frantic rustling from inside, drawers opening, something clattering to the floor. I could picture him moving in circles, trying to make himself presentable.
"Just a sec!" he called out, more than once. It took him over five minutes to finally open the door.
When he did, he was slightly out of breath. His hair was slightly damp from washing his face, his shirt hastily tucked in, and the flush on his cheeks betrayed his rush.
"What do you need?" he asked, voice uneven.
I smirked inwardly but kept my expression calm. "I'm here to talk about our living arrangement."
Realization dawned in his eyes, followed quickly by color.
"I—I don't think I can live with you," he stammered. "Can't we find another way to work on our chemistry—"
Before he could finish, I stepped past him, uninvited, and walked into his condo. My presence alone was enough to make him fall silent. I made myself comfortable on the sofa, leaning back with deliberate ease.
"Come sit," I said simply.
He hesitated, eyes darting between me and the door, but eventually sighed and joined me—choosing the farthest corner of the couch like distance could save him.
I let him. For now. Because whether he knew it yet or not, he'd already started letting me in.
"Our living arrangement is temporary," I began, voice steady, deliberate. "Just until the end of the shoot. We need to get comfortable with each other and break through this awkwardness."
"I—I'm sure there are other ways," he countered, that familiar stubbornness slipping into his voice. "Besides, I don't feel awkward around you."
I almost laughed but didn't. Instead, I let one brow rise, slow and skeptical.
"Really?" My tone softened, though the edge beneath it remained. "You don't feel awkward... or shy around me?"
He swallowed hard but held my gaze.
"Not at all," he said, trying for composure. "You don't affect me."
Without warning, I closed the distance between us—slow, intentional. My hand lifted to his face, fingers firm as I cupped his jaw, holding him still.
"Even if I do this?" I murmured, brushing my thumb across his cheek, letting it linger dangerously close to his lips.
His breath hitched. His eyes widened, then blinked rapidly—fighting for steadiness he didn't have.
"No," he managed, his voice barely a whisper. "I don't feel shy or awkward... even if you're this close."
He tried to glare at me—tried—but the tremor in his voice betrayed him.
I pulled him closer, letting our lips brush—once, twice—slow enough for him to feel the intention behind it.
"Even if I do this?" I murmured again, the warmth of his breath mingling with mine.
"I'm not affected," he said, though the tremor in his voice betrayed him.
When I held his gaze, his resolve crumbled—his eyes darted away, searching for escape.
"You're lying," I said softly, tone calm but unyielding. "You get flustered when I'm near. You blush every time I touch you, and you can't even hold eye contact." I paused, leaning in just enough for him to feel the weight of my words. "How are we supposed to act like two people in love when you can't even look at me?"
Silence. He still wouldn't look at me.
I sighed quietly and drew back, giving him space—though the faint smile tugging at my lips betrayed the satisfaction I felt. He was trembling, frozen in place, breath shallow like he'd forgotten how to breathe.
"Elves," I said, my voice dropping to something gentler. "Breathe."
As if obeying a command, he gasped for air, one hand pressing against his chest as he tried to steady himself.
"If you can stay calm when I get close, then I'll believe you," I said, my tone low, laced with quiet authority. "Otherwise, we'll have to work on it—together. We have to, or this project won't work."
I knew he was a professional—disciplined, resilient. He'd endure anything to give a convincing performance. And I used that against him, deliberately, selfishly. Because it was the only way I could stay close enough to feel him without crossing the line I'd drawn for myself.
He pressed his lips together, lost in thought. Then, without warning, his eyes filled with tears. The sight caught me off guard.
"What's wrong?" I asked, my voice steady but laced with concern.
"I've never been in love before," he confessed, his tone small, trembling. "I've never kissed anyone. Never gone on a date. Never done any of those things people write love stories about. And now you want me to live with you and act like I know what that feels like? My heart doesn't even understand what it's doing half the time you're near."
His voice cracked, and tears slipped down his cheeks.
Did I push too hard?
The thought came quietly, heavy. I'd wanted to challenge him—to make him face what he felt—but maybe I'd gone too far.
"I'm sorry," I said softly, moving closer.
My hand reached for his before I could stop myself. I took it gently, resting it on my lap, my thumb brushing over his knuckles.
"Let's do it your way," I said, offering a faint, reassuring smile when he finally met my eyes. "What do you suggest?"
He hesitated, then spoke so quietly it was almost a whisper.
"I... want to be courted first," he said.
I leaned in slightly, pretending not to have heard him. "What was that?"
His cheeks flushed, but he repeated himself, clearer this time. "Court me first. Take me on dates... help me feel comfortable around you."
I pulled back slightly, blinking as I studied his face, trying to gauge whether he was serious.
"I... I don't know if I like you. Not completely," he began, his voice quiet but steady. "I've never felt this way before, so I don't know what it's supposed to feel like. But... if this is it—if this is what liking someone feels like—then maybe I do. Still, I want my first relationship to follow the proper steps. I don't want to skip ahead. I don't want to rush."
His honesty caught me off guard, and for a moment, all I could do was watch him. The corner of my mouth twitched upward before I could stop it.
He said he liked me—and I hadn't realized how much I'd needed to hear that until now.
I'd never been one for courting. I'd always taken the fast route—straight to the point, straight to the physical. But with him, I wanted to do it differently. I wanted to take my time. Earn every glance, every blush, every heartbeat.
"Okay," I said, my voice low but certain.
"Okay?" he echoed, uncertain.
I nodded once.
"Okay. I'll court you." Then, after a beat, I added, "Are you free for dinner tonight?"
He hesitated, eyes flicking up to meet mine.
"Yes," he said softly, biting his lower lip as a faint blush crept up his cheeks.
I couldn't look away. The way his color deepened, the way he tried—and failed—to hide it... it was disarming.
I stood, giving him a faint smile before heading toward the door. Just before leaving, I turned back to look at him—taking in his face a moment longer.
"You look even better without makeup," I said quietly, sincerity threading through my voice. "Don't hide that."
His cheeks flushed instantly. He glanced away, hand moving to the back of his neck in that familiar, nervous habit.
"Thank you," he murmured, still avoiding my eyes.
I couldn't help the small grin that followed, but I let him off the hook and turned toward the door.
As I stepped out, a quiet anticipation stirred in my chest. For the first time in years, I was actually looking forward to the days ahead.
Later, sitting alone in my living room, I felt... lost. I didn't know where to start.
I'd been in relationships before—too many, probably—but I'd never courted anyone. I always skipped straight to the physical, never the slow build. The closest I'd ever come to "courting" was buying someone a drink at a bar and seeing where the night went.
But now, the man I wanted—the first man I'd ever wanted—was asking me to court him. And I had no idea how.
After a long moment of hesitation, I picked up my phone. If there was ever a time to ask for help, it was now.
I called Justin first, but he didn't answer. Typical.
Since he was the only friend I had aside from Pablo, I didn't have many options. So I called my brother instead.
The line rang a few times before I finally heard his groggy voice.
"Hello?" he mumbled, clearly not checking who was calling.
"Did I wake you?" I asked, my voice lower than usual, the edge of nerves slipping through.
"No, it's fine," he said, yawning. Then, with concern creeping in, "Did Pablo try to hurt someone again?"
"Who's that?" I heard Justin's voice in the background, still thick with sleep.
Josh didn't answer him right away. I could hear the sound of sheets rustling, followed by footsteps.
It was already nine in the morning, and they were still in bed. I couldn't help the faint smirk that tugged at my lips. Of course they were. They'd probably kept each other up all night.
"No, it wasn't Pablo," I replied.
"Oh? Then what is it?" Josh asked, his voice suddenly more alert.
"Did you ever... court Justin before you slept with him?" I asked, the words slipping out faster than I intended.
There was a short silence. Then, predictably, Josh burst out laughing.
"Who even courts these days?" he said between chuckles.
My sentiment exactly.
Courting. It indeed sounds outdated. Most people skip the pretense, go straight to bed, and call it a connection. It's cleaner that way—less risk, fewer expectations. But Elves wasn't like most people. His innocence, his sense of principle—they were untouched, almost disarming. He was the kind of person who made you want to slow down.
"So, you never courted him?" I pressed.
"Never," Josh said easily. "We were attracted to each other, admitted it, and that was that. And for the record, he's the first—"
His sentence cut off abruptly. Then another voice came on the line.
"Good morning!" Justin greeted brightly. "So, who's this woman who wants courting first?"
I exhaled a quiet laugh, the tension easing from my chest.
His enthusiasm was relentless, but for once, I didn't mind it. Maybe part of him genuinely wanted to see me move on—to find someone who could finally replace the ghost of Pablo's sister.
"He's a man, Justin," I said before I could stop myself—realizing too late that I hadn't meant to share that detail yet.
"Oh," he replied, the surprise in his tone barely concealed. "I didn't know you were into that."
I heard faint rustling on his end, like he was stepping away from someone—probably from Josh—to keep the conversation private.
"I didn't know either," I admitted, my voice quieter now. "Not until I met him."
Justin let out a soft chuckle.
"And who's this lucky guy?" he asked, playful as ever.
"Elves," I answered simply.
There was a sharp intake of breath on the other end, followed by silence long enough to make me glance at my phone to check if the call had dropped.
When he finally spoke again, his voice carried a mix of surprise and hesitation. "Sorry... I didn't see that coming. Elves has never been in a relationship. He's... too innocent for someone like you, Kane."
My jaw tightened. Irritation stirred—low, unexpected, sharp.
"Yes, Elves is innocent," I said, my tone firmer than I intended. "But he likes me. And I like him."
The words came out steady, but the undercurrent was unmistakable—possessive, protective. Even I could hear it.
For reasons I didn't yet understand, I wanted Justin to know—clearly, undeniably—that Elves was mine.
Justin hesitated before letting out a long sigh.
"Alright," he said finally, his voice softening. "If you're serious about courting him, here's what you do: take him to an Italian restaurant—he loves Italian food. Get him a bouquet of red roses; they're his favorite. And if you can, take him on a night drive. He likes the quiet... the scenery."
His tone was warm—too warm. There was a tenderness there that made something in me twist.
The fact that he knew these details—his favorite food, his favorite flower, even the kind of night he enjoyed—sat uneasily in my chest. My mind wandered where it shouldn't, painting possibilities I didn't want to see.
I tried to shake it off, but the thought lingered: Does Justin feel something for him too?
The suspicion gnawed at me, though I forced myself to stay silent. I let him keep talking, absorbing every detail, every suggestion. By the time he was done, I had a clear list of Elves' preferences playing over and over in my head.
When I finally glanced at the clock, I realized he'd been talking for more than ten minutes.
"Thanks," I said curtly, my voice cooler than I intended.
"You're welcome," Justin replied, though his tone had shifted—cautious now.
I ended the call without a goodbye. I didn't trust myself to say anything else. If I did, I might've said too much—or worse, let my possessiveness slip through my composure.
I was tempted to ignore Justin's advice, but if it could help me win Elves over, I swallowed my pride and followed it.
The rest of the day went into planning the date—details, timing, reservations—all while trying to silence the unease simmering beneath my calm.
That evening, I chose a maroon slim-fit suit that had been sitting untouched in my closet for years. I'd originally planned to wear it to Josh and Justin's wedding, but tonight felt no less significant.
Standing before the bathroom mirror, I adjusted my collar and allowed a faint smile to form. I looked... presentable. Confident. The kind of man Elves wouldn't be able to look away from.
I paired the suit with a white leather loafers, keeping my hair slightly tousled—just enough to preserve my usual laid-back edge.
After pocketing my keys, wallet, and phone, I stepped out and stopped in front of Elves' door.
For reasons I couldn't quite explain, my pulse began to race. The feeling was unfamiliar—uneasy, almost juvenile. It reminded me of high school, standing outside a girl's house before a dance.
I cleared my throat, straightened my shoulders, and took a slow breath. Then, with steady fingers, I pressed the doorbell.
With the bouquet of red roses hidden behind my back, I waited.
When the door finally opened, I was met with the sight of Elves—and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe, for the first time in years.
He stood there in a fitted suit, hair neatly pushed back, a pair of clear specs framing those soft eyes. Through them, our gazes locked, and the world seemed to pause.
"Are you trying to copy Kent?" I teased, my tone light, masking the way my pulse had quickened.
He chuckled and gave my shoulder a playful nudge, his laughter smooth and unguarded.
"Maybe subconsciously," he said shyly, his cheeks tinged with warmth.
I smiled at that—unable to stop the quiet pride that rose in me. He looked perfect.
Mine, a thought whispered at the back of my mind, uninvited but impossible to ignore.
Then, I pulled the bouquet of red roses from behind my back and held it out to him.
His face lit up immediately as he took the flowers into his hands.
"I love red roses. Thank you," he said, smiling wide. "I didn't think I'd be getting these from anyone else anytime soon."
My brow furrowed before I could stop it. The words lingered—anyone else.
Who else had been giving him roses?
Please, don't let it be Justin, I thought, the muscles in my jaw tightening.
I forced a small smile, but beneath it, a quiet possessiveness simmered—one I didn't bother hiding anymore.
He must have sensed the shift in my mood, because he smiled—soft, innocent, unaware of the storm he'd just stirred.
"Justin gives them to me whenever we meet," he said fondly, glancing down at the roses.
"Do you meet without Josh?" I asked before I could stop myself, my tone sharper than I intended.
"Sometimes," he answered simply, as if it were nothing.
But to me, it wasn't nothing.
I felt the irritation crawl up my spine, hot and unwelcome. The thought of confronting Justin—of making him understand that Elves wasn't someone he could casually gift or linger around—flashed through my mind.
Elves was mine. Whether Justin knew it yet or not.
The only thing that kept me from acting on it was the man standing beside me—the one who was still watching me with those open, trusting eyes.
I forced my jaw to unclench and gestured for him to go ahead.
"After you," I said evenly.
He hesitated, shy for a moment, then nodded and stepped forward. His movements were graceful, careful—so much so that even his silence drew my attention.
As we walked toward the parking area, I followed half a step behind, my gaze fixed on him. Possessive. Protective. And utterly unwilling to let anyone else come between us.
As we reached the car, I moved ahead and opened the passenger door for him. My silent gesture didn't go unnoticed; he stepped inside with a quiet "thank you."
Once he was settled, I rounded the hood and slid into the driver's seat, my pulse steady but charged with anticipation for the night ahead.
Without a word, I leaned over, reaching across him to fasten his seatbelt. My movements were slow, deliberate. Our faces ended up just inches apart, and the moment he realized it, he instinctively leaned back, his breath catching.
I gave him a small, apologetic smile and straightened, clicking my own belt into place.
"Ready?" I asked, keeping my tone light.
He nodded, his lips curving into a sweet, unguarded smile—the first real one he'd given me since we met.
He's starting to feel comfortable around me, I thought, a quiet swell of satisfaction rising in my chest.
As I started the engine and pulled out onto the road, one thought stayed with me: He was finally letting his guard down—and I'd make sure no one else got close enough to take that from me.