Hostile Affection

Chapter 8: Read. Not Replied

Nicco’s POV

I woke earlier than usual.

The soft light of dawn had barely crept through the curtains, but my hand was already reaching for my phone. Habit. Muscle memory. The first thing I did—before my brain even caught up—was open my socials. Notifications. Mentions. Shares.

And there it was.

The post I’d scheduled last night was everywhere.

A glowing review of Caffeine Chapter—Troye’s café—was making its rounds across every platform I owned. The captions were clean, the photos crisp, and the words... genuine. I’d made sure of that.

It wasn’t fake hype or exaggerated flattery. It was the truth. His café deserved the attention. He deserved it.

I could almost picture his face when he found out—wide-eyed, flustered, probably overthinking every reason behind my sudden generosity. The thought made me grin.

If I wanted to get closer to Troye, this wasn’t the time for a bold charge. I’d already caught him off guard once. If I pushed again, he’d bolt.

No, this had to be slower. Smarter. The kind of pursuit that wasn’t loud but stayed—quietly, stubbornly, until he started to notice.

If I’m going to win him over, it has to be through the long game.

I’d asked Kiana for his socials last night, expecting at least an inactive i********: or a ghost account somewhere. But she’d just laughed and said, “He doesn’t have any. Personal reasons.”

No socials. None.

In this age of oversharing and online validation, that made him… fascinating. Mysterious. Almost unreal.

So, instead, I’d asked for his number.

Now, as I scrolled through the flood of comments, likes, and reshares, a small satisfaction unfurled in my chest. Caffeine Chapter was trending again. Just like that.

I chuckled under my breath. “You should be grateful I like you, Troye.”

The words tasted teasing, but there was truth in them.

For a moment, I hovered over my messages. Should I text him? Just something small—a good morning, maybe. A nudge to let him know I was thinking of him.

But then again, how bold was too bold?

Screw it.

My fingers moved before my mind could stop them.

Good morning, Cutie. I did it for free. No worries.

No frills. No explanation. Just me.

I hit send before I could regret it.

The message whooshed out, and I exhaled, heart thudding once—loud, fast. The kind of rhythm you pretend not to notice.

“That’s it,” I muttered to myself. “Damage done.”

Feeling my face heat, I tossed the phone onto the bed and headed for the bathroom. A long shower—yeah, that would help. Wash away the adrenaline. The anticipation.

The water was scalding, grounding, and for a few quiet minutes, I convinced myself I didn’t care whether he replied.

But when I stepped out, towel slung over my shoulders and hair dripping, my resolve cracked. My hand went straight for the phone like it had its own mind.

The screen lit up.

Seen.

Five minutes ago.

I froze.

Troye had read the message.

But he hadn’t replied.

A tiny drop of disappointment slid through me—sharp, quick, gone before I could name it. My stomach tightened, and I laughed softly to myself, trying to shake it off.

“Well… that’s something.”

I tossed the phone back onto the bed, half amused, half irritated. Maybe he was just slow to respond. Maybe he didn’t know what to say. Or maybe that silence was the answer.

“Relax,” I muttered, rubbing the back of my neck. “You’re overthinking.”

Still, the quiet buzzed around me, impossible to ignore.

I grabbed a clean shirt, threw it on, laced up my running shoes. Anything to shake the restless energy crawling under my skin.

But even as I tied the last knot, one thought lingered—low, stubborn, refusing to leave.

I’ll just come see you later.

I smiled faintly at my reflection in the mirror.

I was never really the patient type, anyway.

***

Troye’s POV

I arrived at the café earlier than usual—but even from the parking lot, I could already tell something was different.

There was a crowd.

Not just the regular trickle of morning customers, but an actual line—people chatting, laughing, scrolling through their phones as they waited. The sight made something flutter warm in my chest. The kind of warmth that came from pride… and confusion.

I parked in my usual spot, stepped out, and called out with my practiced morning cheer.

“Good morning, Ma’am, Sir! We’ll be opening in ten minutes!”

They smiled back, polite, expectant.

But behind my own smile, my thoughts were spinning.

Because less than an hour ago, Kiana had called me—no greetings, no buildup. Just her voice, sharp and breathless through the receiver.

“Troye,” she said, “whatever you did—thank you. We’re trending. The café’s everywhere.”

I hadn’t even asked why. She told me before I could.

“It’s Nicco. He posted a review. A full-on rave. Everywhere.”

And just like that, I had gone quiet.

Not because I was shocked that he’d done something like that—I knew Nicco wasn’t the type to move halfway—but because I didn’t know how to react to a kindness I hadn’t earned.

I didn’t have social media. By choice.

No Twitter, no i********:, no f*******:.

So, I hadn’t seen what he’d written.

All I knew was that Nicco had posted something powerful enough to pull a crowd this big on a random weekday morning.

And I hadn’t even replied to his message.

Inside, the café was already alive.

The smell of freshly ground beans filled the air. Cups clinked. The sound of laughter and early morning chaos filled the small space I called home.

Kiana was behind the pastry counter, her hair tied up, eyes bright. Kent was already busy at the espresso machine, humming under his breath.

I slipped behind the counter, tying my apron as Kiana looked up.

“Look at you,” she said, grinning. “Bringing in the crowd.”

“I didn’t do anything,” I said automatically.

She tilted her head, amused. “Exactly. You didn’t. He did.”

“Who—” I started, but she was already smirking.

“Nicco. The review. The tweets. The posts. He made you go viral.”

I froze for a second, my fingers tightening around the knot of my apron. “I told him no.”

Kent spoke up from the machine, his tone lazy but curious. “So he just did it anyway? For free?”

Kiana nodded. “Yup. Didn’t even ask for anything in return.”

I ran a hand through my hair. “Wait—how did he even get my number in the first place?”

She didn’t even blink. “Me. He asked for it last night. Said you’re impossible to find online.”

“I am impossible to find online,” I muttered.

“Exactly. You’re like a cryptid,” she teased. “I gave him your number. You’re welcome.”

“Kiana—”

“Oh, relax. He used it for good, didn’t he?”

I didn’t respond.

Because Nicco had used it. Earlier that morning.

A text. Short, teasing, bold.

> Good morning, Cutie. I did it for free. No worries.

I’d seen it. Read it.

And stared at it far too long before locking my phone again.

It wasn’t that I was annoyed.

I just… didn’t know how to respond to someone who gave so much without being asked.

He didn’t owe me anything. He didn’t even like me that much—at least, I didn’t think he did. And yet, there he was, lifting my café up with just a few words.

So I did what I always did when I didn’t know how to handle things.

I worked.

By seven sharp, the café opened—and the crowd poured in.

It was chaos. Glorious, beautiful chaos.

Every table filled. Every cup in motion. Laughter spilling from corners I hadn’t heard in weeks. Orders flying, tickets stacking, espresso shots streaming like music.

And through it all, that quiet, impossible thought echoed in the back of my head:

He did it for free.

By nine, the storm began to calm.

The morning rush softened into a steady hum, and for the first time that day, I let myself breathe.

I sank onto a chair, sore and tired, the weight of the morning pressing pleasantly on my limbs. My shirt clung to my back, my throat felt dry—but none of it mattered.

Because we were full.

Alive.

And people were smiling.

Old regulars had returned—faces I hadn’t seen in months. Some of them had even waited in line just to step back inside.

I looked around and felt that strange, steadying warmth again.

Please let this continue, I thought, fingers curling around my cup. Please let this be the start of something steady.

But as I sat there, letting the noise fade into the background, another thought began to rise—the one I hadn’t said out loud to anyone.

A secret.

A month ago, I signed a contract.

A publishing deal.

A real one.

Midnight Montefalco—the name I had buried under silence—was coming back to life.

Not even Kent or Kiana knew yet. I wanted to tell them soon. They deserved to know.

But before I could decide how, the bell above the door chimed.

And the world stopped.

I looked up.

And there he was.

Nicco.

Wearing a sweat-damp running shirt, loose shorts, and sneakers. His hair was still wet, his skin glowing faintly from the run, and yet—he looked unfairly composed.

Charisma just hung around him. Not the loud, flashy kind, but the quiet kind that drew attention without trying.

The air shifted.

Everything slowed.

The sound of chatter, the clinking cups—all of it fell into a strange, muted distance.

And suddenly, it was just him.

My chest tightened, my pulse stuttered.

I didn’t even realize I was staring until Kiana’s voice cut through the haze beside me.

“You’re staring, Troye,” she whispered, amused. “Dial it back.”

I blinked hard, heat rushing to my ears. Looked away too fast, too deliberately.

But my heart—it didn’t listen.

It was still pounding.

Still chasing the shape of his name inside my chest.

And I couldn’t help but think—

He came.

He really came.

***

Nicco’s POV

I picked the table nearest the bookshelf—far enough from the crowd, close enough to observe.

Not that I came to observe.

Okay. Maybe a little.

I hadn’t ordered yet. I figured I would, eventually. But for now, my attention was buried in my phone, scrolling through the chaos that had erupted in our group chat.

Nicco. That review.

Bro. Are you okay?

Who is he and when do we meet him?

I couldn’t help but grin.

If I tell you now, I might jinx it, I typed. Then deleted it. Let them squirm a little.

I was mid-scroll when something shifted—an energy that pulled my focus up from the screen.

And there he was.

Troye.

Standing right in front of me. Breath slightly uneven, like he’d walked over before convincing himself it was a good idea. His face unreadable. Hands still.

“Good morning,” he said. “And… thank you, by the way.”

That’s it?

“That’s your reply to my text?” I asked, raising a brow. “Wow. Impressive.”

He smiled—sheepish, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. Ridiculously on brand. Awkward, sincere, frustrating.

“Sorry,” he said. “I didn’t know Kiana gave you my number.”

“She didn’t give. I took,” I said, shrugging. “You’re not exactly easy to find. You don’t even have social media, for God’s sake. What are you—an urban legend?”

He didn’t answer that. He never did. His silence always made me talk more than I planned to.

Fine. Might as well get to the point.

“You free this Sunday?”

His brows furrowed. “Yes… but why?”

Seriously?

I almost laughed. God, you’re pretty. But you’re so slow.

“Dinner,” I said simply.

He hesitated, like he was mentally filing a request form before answering. I leaned in a little.

“I promise. Just dinner. Not a date. Don’t panic.”

That seemed to help.

“Okay,” he said finally.

Just one word. Soft. Careful.

But it was enough.

I smiled for real this time. “No backing out, alright?”

He nodded. No fuss. No dramatics. Just quiet agreement.

And then… he stayed.

Didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

Just stood there like he’d forgotten the rest of the world existed.

I tilted my head, trying not to grin too wide. “Well? Since you’re here, might as well take my order, Mr. Café Owner.”

That got a laugh out of him—nervous, but genuine.

He reached for the small notepad tucked into his apron. “What’ll it be?”

I glanced at the menu behind him but didn’t read a single word.

“Surprise me,” I said. Then, almost as an afterthought, “Something warm. Something sweet. Like you.”

And I saw it land.

The pause. The slight twitch of his lips. The pink rising slowly up his neck.

I leaned back, satisfied. “Relax. That’s my last flirt for the morning.”

A beat. Then I smirked.

“…Maybe.”

He didn’t reply. Just scribbled something on the pad like his life depended on it.

“One warm, sweet, maybe-you coffee. Got it,” he muttered.

Then he turned and walked away—too fast to be casual, too slow to be flustered.

I watched him go, a grin tugging at my mouth, fingers still tapping idly on the table.

Sunday couldn’t come fast enough.

***

Troye’s POV

The moment I returned behind the counter, I was ambushed.

Kent and Kiana were already waiting—eyes full of questions, lips twitching with barely contained curiosity. I’d seen them earlier, stealing glances my way, whispering like kids passing notes in class. Now, they stood there like detectives about to make an arrest.

Kiana crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at me. “Okay, what was that, Troye? Don’t play dumb. You’ve been keeping secrets.”

Kent leaned in, grinning like the devil himself. “You’re glowing. Spill.”

I sighed. There was no point dodging them anymore.

“Fine,” I muttered, setting the order slip on the counter. “We’re having dinner. On Sunday.”

Kiana gasped, dramatic as ever. “Wait—you said yes?”

“I mean… yeah,” I said, trying to sound casual, even as my fingers fidgeted against the counter. “He said it’s just a normal dinner. Nothing more. And after what he did for us—for free, no less—it’d be rude to say no.”

Kent leaned on the espresso machine, shaking his head like some wise old father figure about to deliver a life lesson. “All I’m saying is—don’t go surrendering Bataan just yet.”

I blinked. “What?”

Kiana burst out laughing so hard I thought she might choke on air.

I didn’t even bother asking. Whatever it meant, I didn’t want to know. Not right now. With a shake of my head and a half-smile tugging at my lips, I turned and walked toward the kitchen—leaving those two behind, still laughing, still teasing, still being the kind of chaos I never knew I’d grow to love.

Sunday was coming.

And ready or not, it was already waiting.