letters that staved

PART 2

Franc was stretched across my bench like he owned it. Eyes closed, breathing steady, mouth slightly parted. Just there… looking like a scene out of some indie film where the mysterious stranger sleeps under streetlights and steals hearts by accident.

“Are you seriously planning to sleep there?” I asked, squinting.

He didn’t move. Didn’t open his eyes. Just said, “Obvious ba? I’m already lying down.”

The nerve. Was he always this blunt?

“I swear, you’re kind of rude in person,” I snapped. “Fine. Good luck waking up dangling again like cheap Christmas decor.”

He still didn’t flinch. Just curled into himself like a kid resisting bedtime.

I looked at him—properly, now that we weren’t hanging out in the dark alley of potential hauntings.

His lashes were long. The kind you don’t notice at first, but then they hit you. His lips were soft and pouty, but not in a try-hard way. In a way that made you wonder if they knew secrets. His collarbone peeked out from his shirt, and I felt a weird need to look away even though I didn’t want to.

I shook it off. “Hey! Wake up. Don’t sleep there. Just go to my place. I’d feel guilty if something happened to you. It’s literally a few minutes away.”

Franc didn’t open his eyes, but one corner of his mouth curved into a smirk.

Then he moved.

Stood up like the drama king he was.

“Let’s go. I assume you have an electric fan?”

What the—

This guy just skipped the thanks and went straight to fan privileges? Bold.

“No promises,” I muttered, turning around to hide the flush rising in my cheeks. “And don’t get too comfortable. I’m not running a hotel.”

As we walked, I could feel his gaze occasionally drifting toward me. I didn't look back. But my ears burned. My steps felt too rehearsed.

He broke the silence first.

“You always pick up stray guys from haunted alleys?”

“Only when they’re disturbingly hot and hanging upside-down,” I replied without missing a beat.

He chuckled—a low, amused rumble. “Disturbingly hot, huh?”

“Don’t push it. You’re lucky I’m nice.”

We reached my building quickly. A small, second-floor unit with paint chipping and a stubborn doorknob that needed threatening to open.

Inside was simple: sofa, single bed, a dusty TV, and yes—a fan that creaked but worked.

“Fan!” Franc exclaimed like it was a hidden treasure in a mythic RPG. “You weren’t lying.”

“Told you,” I said, plopping onto the edge of my bed while he made himself comfortable on the floor near the fan, legs stretched, arms behind his head.

“Comfy,” he said. “Your place has personality.”

“It’s got no ghosts, so yeah, I’d say it’s an upgrade.”

There was a pause. Then, he glanced at me—not in the flirty way, but the kind that searches for something unsaid.

“You sure about this?” he asked.

I raised an eyebrow. “Sure about what?”

He gave a slight shrug. “Letting a stranger crash here. What if I’m a criminal?”

“You’re too pretty for crime,” I replied. Then added, “Also, if you were dangerous, you wouldn’t have called me ‘bro’ while dangling from wires. That’s not exactly villain behavior.”

He smiled again. Like he was getting used to smiling around me.

I got up to grab us each a soda, tossed one to him, and sat down again, facing him.

“Let me guess,” I said, popping the can. “This is the part where you tell me you’re secretly a misunderstood rich kid escaping from a toxic life.”

“Nope. I’m just... Franc. A mess sometimes. But real.”

That answer hit harder than expected.

Real.

I respected that.

And maybe that’s why the next moment came out so fast I didn’t even think.

“Franc.”

He turned to me. Waiting.

I met his gaze and let it linger.

“Yam... s*x tayo.”

For a second, the world paused. The fan still creaked. The soda fizzed. But everything else blurred.

Then he blinked.

“You’re straightforward,” he said, voice low and unreadable.

“Just stating facts,” I replied. “You want memorable, right?”

His eyes held mine.

Then—he smiled.

The kind of smile that didn’t answer anything but left every possibility wide open.

“You’re dangerously honest,” he said, standing slowly.

“You’re distractingly attractive,” I shot back.

We stood there—two strangers whose night started with wires and ghosts and ended with fire and choice.

He stepped closer. Our distance disappeared.

Then he tilted his head slightly.

“Yam,” he said again.

And in that name, I heard everything else he didn’t say.