Hostile Affection

Chapter 15: Before Sunrise

Troye’s POV

I let the days pass me by. Quietly. Deliberately.

I didn’t want to ask.

Didn’t want to confront what I’d overheard—that late-night phone call, Nicco’s voice soft and familiar in a way that shouldn’t have hurt but did.

I’d recognized the name.

I’d recognized the tone.

Axel.

The ex.

But I said nothing. Because a part of me—no matter how small, how foolish—still believed Nicco would tell me. Eventually.

If it meant something.

If I meant something.

Still, things started to shift. Subtly at first.

Nicco wasn’t as consistent anymore. He stopped showing up to pick me up after work. Took longer to reply. Sometimes never did. Missed calls. Empty read receipts.

Even with our units just a few steps apart, he barely dropped by anymore. And it had been weeks since he last visited the café.

I tried convincing myself that people get busy. That he was tired. That maybe he just needed space.

But the fear was already there—quiet, patient, and cruel.

The kind that stayed with you through the day, whispering what you didn’t want to believe.

The kind that told you one morning you’d wake up, and he’d simply be gone.

---

I stirred awake a little past nine. The sunlight spilling across the sheets felt colder than usual.

Yesterday, I’d told Kent and Kiana I wouldn’t come in. I wanted the day off—I needed it.

Because today was supposed to be special.

Our sixth monthsary.

And yet, for the first time, Nicco hadn’t greeted me.

No text. No call. Nothing.

He usually greeted me first. Always.

That silence sat heavy on my chest.

Still, I told myself I’d make the day meaningful. Nicco had always been the one putting in the effort—driving to see me after work, waiting outside the café, bringing food when I forgot to eat.

Today, it was my turn.

I wanted to show him—no, remind him—how deeply he was loved.

---

By noon, I’d planned everything. A surprise dinner at his place.

Groceries first. Then hours in the kitchen, cooking his favorites from scratch. I set the table carefully, adjusting every fork, every glass until it looked perfect.

Petals formed a soft trail from the front door to the dining area. Flowers everywhere—white and gold, his favorites.

Even the bedroom—I’d prepared that too.

Tonight, I’d decided to give myself to him. Fully.

For the first time.

I’d even asked Kent for advice—half-laughing, half-serious—and got a teasing eye-roll and useless comments about candles and playlists instead. Kiana joined in, of course, both of them turning my nervous excitement into a running joke.

I didn’t mind. Because underneath their laughter was genuine happiness for me.

They knew what this meant.

To love someone again, after everything.

To finally believe you were safe.

I asked them to keep my little plan intact—if Nicco showed up at the café, they’d say I was sick. A harmless excuse. Just enough to keep him from suspecting anything.

By eight, everything was ready.

By nine, still no news.

By ten, still nothing.

At eleven, I was still seated at the table, watching the candles flicker lower, the food lose its warmth.

The condo, once soft and romantic, now felt like a stranger’s home—too quiet, too clean, too still.

Midnight came.

Then a message from Kiana:

“Nicco didn’t come to the café today.”

I stared at the screen, the words smudging as my eyes watered. I blinked hard.

Maybe he was stuck at work. Maybe traffic. Maybe something came up.

Maybe—

But one in the morning passed.

Still no footsteps.

No sound of keys unlocking the door.

By the time the clock neared two, I’d stopped pretending to wait.

I’d changed into something comfortable, sat on the couch, and tried to keep my eyes open. Tried not to cry.

But every second stretched thin, and the silence began to hum like a wound that refused to close.

---

Then I heard the door creak open.

The sound jolted me upright.

Nicco stepped inside, keys jangling, shoulders heavy. He looked surprised to see the lights still on.

And I—stupidly, instinctively—felt relief before the ache rushed back.

“Well,” I said, my voice low but controlled, “looks like that client meeting ran longer than expected.”

He exhaled, his eyes tired. “Please, Troye… not tonight. I’m exhausted.”

That was it?

I blinked. “You’re tired?” My tone came out sharper than I meant it to. “Do you even realize how long I’ve been waiting? It’s our sixth monthsary, Nicco. You didn’t even text.”

He looked away, jaw tense. “I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “I… I forgot.”

For a second, I thought I’d misheard him.

Forgot.

That word cut sharper than any accusation.

All the excuses he could’ve given—and that was the one he picked?

I swallowed hard. “You’ve changed,” I whispered. “Don’t lie and say you haven’t.”

He didn’t answer.

“Tell me the truth,” I said, my voice trembling now. “Do you still love me?”

He closed his eyes, as if the question itself pained him. “Please… don’t ask me that. You already know the answer.”

I shook my head. “Then say it.”

Silence.

The kind that confirms what words can’t.

I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms. “Is there someone else?” My throat tightened. “If you don’t want this anymore, just say it to my face.”

“I love you, Troye!” he snapped suddenly, voice raw, almost desperate.

“Then why can’t I feel it?” I shot back, tears spilling before I could stop them. “Why do I feel like I’m the only one holding on? Is it because of Axel?”

He flinched.

And that was all I needed.

“Oh,” I said, my voice breaking. “You weren’t expecting that, were you?”

I took a shaky step back. “Yeah. I heard you. One night, on the phone. You didn’t even try to hide it. How long have you been talking to him? Are you seeing him behind my back? Do you still love him?”

He stared at me—guilt, pain, fear—all of it flickering behind his eyes but never forming words.

And in that silence, I understood.

He didn’t need to confess.

He didn’t need to explain.

The silence already did.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and forced myself to breathe. To move.

I looked at him one last time—his face unreadable, my heart breaking—and turned toward the door.

I didn’t slam it. Didn’t scream. Didn’t make it cinematic.

I just walked out.

And the soft click of the door behind me felt louder than anything he could’ve said.

Outside, the hallway lights hummed faintly, sterile and cold. I stood there, shaking, my phone heavy in my hand.

I dialed Kent first. Then Kiana.

My voice came out quieter than I expected.

“Can I stay the night?”

They didn’t ask why.

They didn’t need to.

And when I finally hung up, I realized something—something I didn’t want to face:

I didn’t want to go home.

Not to that place.

Not to the table still set for two.

Not to the food gone cold.

Not to the trail of petals that led to nowhere.

Because everything I’d built—all the patience, the trust, the quiet hope—was now just air.

Unspoken.

Unanswered.

And unraveling, hour by hour.

***

Nicco’s POV

I was alone.

Twenty minutes had passed since Troye walked out the door, and somehow the silence he left behind was louder than any argument we could’ve had.

The condo still smelled faintly of candles and something floral—roses maybe. The table he’d set was still there, food untouched, candles half-melted, petals scattered like soft, wordless questions. The kind that didn’t demand answers because they already knew them.

I wanted to run after him.

Wanted to stop him.

Wanted to explain everything.

But earlier—when it mattered—the words refused to come.

My mouth stayed shut even though my heart was screaming.

And now, every second felt like a punishment.

The chair across from me was empty, but I could still see him sitting there—his expression crumbling, his voice trembling when he said, “Do you still love me?”

God, how do you even begin to answer that when every part of you is still trying to breathe through the mess you’ve made?

I wasn’t doing anything wrong. That much I knew.

But maybe that didn’t matter. Maybe to him, it looked like betrayal anyway.

Yes, it was true—my ex had been calling.

But there were no secret meetings. No second chances. No rekindled love hiding between messages.

The truth was far more complicated.

And far more painful.

Axel had been abandoned—left by his husband, disowned by his family after he came out. And as if that wasn’t enough, he was sick. A brain tumor had given his life a deadline.

He called because he didn’t have anyone else.

Because when you’re dying, you reach for the people who once knew you best, even if they’re no longer yours.

And I—

I couldn’t ignore him.

Not out of love, but out of something quieter, heavier.

Compassion.

Because no one deserves to die alone.

I was helping. Paying for part of his treatment when I could. Answering calls when the pain became too much for him to bear alone. Listening when he said he was scared.

That was it.

Nothing more.

There was no love left there. No longing. No regret.

Only empathy—for someone whose world was falling apart while mine was barely holding together.

Because my heart…

It belonged to Troye.

It always had.

But tonight, that truth meant nothing.

All he saw was a lie. All he heard was silence.

And silence was cruel.

I dropped onto the couch, pressing my palms to my face. My chest felt like it was burning. I’d told myself I was protecting Troye from the weight of it, that I didn’t want to burden him with something so dark, so irreversible.

But maybe he would’ve rather known.

Maybe he would’ve wanted to understand.

Maybe the real mistake wasn’t keeping secrets—it was underestimating how much he could love me through them.

My phone buzzed on the table.

I stared at it for a long time before picking it up.

Then I called the only people he’d go to—Kiana and Kent.

If he wasn’t here, he was with them. He didn’t have many friends, and those two were the closest thing to family he had.

Kiana picked up first.

“Is he there?” I asked, my voice rough from holding back too much.

A pause.

“No, Nicco. He’s not.”

I swallowed hard. “Please, Kiana. Just tell me if he’s safe.”

Another pause. Then her sigh. “He’s not here. That’s all I can say.”

The line went dead.

Kent said the same thing when I called next.

Almost word for word.

We haven’t seen him. We don’t know where he is.

They were lying.

I knew they were lying.

But I couldn’t blame them.

If I were them, I’d protect him too.

I set the phone down slowly, the faint thud echoing in the empty room.

For a long time, I just sat there—listening to the hum of the refrigerator, the soft tick of the wall clock, the way the air conditioner breathed like it was trying to fill the silence I couldn’t stand anymore.

My hands were shaking.

Not from anger.

Just from the ache of wanting to fix something I didn’t know how to fix anymore.

Troye didn’t deserve this. He didn’t deserve my silence, my mistakes, my failure to explain when it mattered most.

I leaned back and stared at the ceiling. The lights blurred through my tears until everything looked softer, gentler, unreal.

I could still picture him—his eyes red, his voice small but steady when he said, “If you don’t want this anymore, just say it to my face.”

And I couldn’t.

Because I did want it. I wanted him.

I just didn’t know how to say all the things that needed saying without breaking apart while doing it.

Now he was gone, and all I had left were words I should’ve said and didn’t.

---

I don’t remember when I finally stood up. Maybe after the clock hit three. Maybe after I realized the candles had long burned out.

I walked over to the table. The food was cold, untouched, but I couldn’t throw it away. Not yet.

It felt wrong—like erasing evidence of something that had once been so carefully built.

My eyes drifted to the petals on the floor. They’d lost their brightness, wilting slightly from the heat.

It must’ve taken him hours to prepare everything.

Hours.

And I destroyed it all in minutes.

I pressed my hand against the back of the chair he’d sat in so many times before. The wood was cold. I didn’t realize I was crying until the tears hit my knuckles.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered to no one.

The words felt too small for what I meant.

If only he knew. If only I’d said it earlier—that Axel was dying. That I was trying to do the right thing, even if it looked wrong. That helping someone die with dignity shouldn’t have cost me the person I wanted to live for.

But it did.

And now, all I could do was hope he’d listen when I finally told him.

If he’d still let me.

I sat back on the couch and stared at the clock again. 3:28.

I hadn’t slept in two days. Work was a blur. My head hurt. My heart, worse.

I needed to rest—if not for my body, then for the courage I’d need tomorrow.

Because once morning came—

I’d go to the café.

And I’d tell Troye everything.

No more silence.

No more waiting for the right moment.

He deserved the truth, even if it broke us for good.

Even if he never forgave me.

Because at least then, he’d know—

I never stopped choosing him.

***

Troye’s POV

I couldn’t stop the tears.

They streamed down my face in quiet, relentless waves, each one heavier than the last. My chest ached, tight and unyielding, with every shallow breath, and even as Kent and Kiana sat on either side of me, trying to soothe me, it felt like nothing could reach the part of me that was breaking.

I hadn’t imagined myself here—not like this, on the edge of something fragile and uncertain. Not like this, wondering if the love I had fought so hard to believe in was enough.

But the doubts were sharp.

What if he still loved Axel?

What if… he loved him more?

“I told you,” Kent said gently, “you should’ve taken things slow.”

“You’ve been crying for a while now,” Kiana added, sliding a tissue into my hand. “You planning on telling us what actually happened?”

I sniffled, voice barely a whisper. “I think he still loves his ex.”

The silence that followed felt endless. Confusion flickered across both of their faces.

“Wait… what?” Kiana blinked. “Where’s this coming from? Last I checked, he was crazy about you.”

“Yeah,” Kent said, frowning. “This doesn’t sound like him at all. Are you sure you’re not just… spiraling a little?”

“I heard him,” I admitted softly. “On the phone one night. I recognized the name. The way he spoke—it was different.”

I swallowed, forcing the words past the lump in my throat.

“And lately… he’s changed. He doesn’t pick me up after work anymore. Rarely comes home. Replies late—or not at all. Like I’m no longer part of his day.”

Kiana frowned, calm but firm. “That doesn’t automatically mean he’s seeing someone else. You said it yourself—he’s juggling two jobs. Coffee critic and freelance civil engineer? His schedule must be a disaster.”

Kent nodded, adding, “And didn’t you tell us before that his ex got someone else pregnant? That’s not exactly the kind of person you go running back to.”

“Let’s give him the benefit of the doubt,” Kiana said, her tone softer now. “It’s possible he’s just overwhelmed. Or maybe… you didn’t wait long enough to hear him out?”

Kent sighed. “If you left before giving him a chance to explain, that’s not fair either.”

Silence settled between us, heavy and thoughtful, and I let the words sink in. Their calm, measured voices were a small anchor in the storm of my own spinning thoughts.

Kiana reached over, squeezing my hand. “Why don’t you go back? Talk to him. See where he stands. Don’t let one night of silence decide everything.”

“She’s right,” Kent said. “If this matters to you—and I know it does—you owe it to both of you to try.”

I didn’t respond immediately. I let the words settle, let the weight in my chest shift a little. Slowly, the sobs quieted, my breathing steadied.

And then, when I finally stood, I wasn’t completely okay—but I was clear.

I would go back.

Not to plead. Not to beg.

But because love—real love—deserved one more chance.

The ride back felt endless, thirty minutes stretching into hours in my mind. Every second asked the same question: Are you ready to face what you left behind?

When I finally stepped inside the condo, the silence hit me like a wave—familiar, but also strange. Dim city lights filtered through the windows, the hallway stretching out quietly before me. I made my way to Nicco’s unit, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The door was unlocked. My fingers trembled slightly as I pushed it open, careful not to make a sound.

I walked in.

The bedroom door stood ajar. I pushed it gently, and there he was.

Nicco, curled on one side of the bed, chest rising and falling slowly. Even in sleep, the fatigue clung to him, shadows etched into his face deeper than any exhaustion could account for. His brows were furrowed, like the dreams he wandered through weren’t kind.

My chest clenched.

I walked slowly toward him, each step lighter than the last, until I was sitting at the edge of the bed. My fingers hovered, hesitant, before brushing lightly against his cheek.

The warmth. The weight of everything we hadn’t said. The ache of almost losing something that mattered.

He stirred at my touch.

His eyes fluttered open, bleary but unmistakably gentle when they met mine. “You’re here,” he murmured, voice heavy with sleep. “I’m sorry.”

I shook my head, a faint, trembling smile tugging at my lips. “Yes… Babe. I’m sorry too.”

But he reached for my hand.

“No,” he said, sitting up slowly, like the weight of his guilt had grown too heavy even in sleep. “Let me say this. These past few weeks… it’s been a lot. My engineering clients were demanding back-to-back revisions. At the same time, the guestings and features for my food and coffee critiques didn’t stop. I thought I could handle it all, but I didn’t realize I was shutting you out.”

I stayed silent, letting him speak, letting the silence carry the pain we’d both felt but never named.

“And about Axel… I owe you the truth,” he added, voice soft. “I should’ve told you sooner.”

I stiffened slightly but remained.

“Yes… he’s been calling me,” Nicco admitted. “But not because we’re rekindling anything. It’s… not like that at all.”

A pause. A breath.

“He’s dying, Babe. Brain tumor. Doctors say six months. His wife left him. His family turned their backs when they found out he’s gay. He’s got no one.”

My breath caught. Six months.

“He’s not asking for love or second chances. He just… needs help. And I’m helping. Financially. Making sure he has enough to buy food and medicine when the pain hits. But I don’t see him. I don’t hide anything from you. I swear, Babe.”

I looked at him—really looked. In his eyes, there was no guilt. No flicker of anything but kindness. Compassion. And maybe something more heartbreaking than betrayal: unwavering goodness.

“You’re still helping him… even after everything,” I whispered.

He gave a small shrug. “It’s what you do when someone’s life is slipping away, no matter what they did. I don’t love him anymore. There’s only one person who holds my heart now.”

Tears threatened, but I blinked them back. My voice was barely a whisper. “I’m sorry… for doubting you. For leaving without giving you a chance to explain.”

“Hey,” Nicco whispered, cradling my cheek. “You came back. That’s what matters.”

And just like that, the tension cracked—not in a loud explosion, but like ice melting under warmth long overdue.

A soft laugh escaped him as he rubbed his eyes. “Actually… I was planning to prank you earlier.”

I blinked. “What?”

“I didn’t forget our sixth monthsary,” he said with a boyish grin. “I just wanted to make it seem like I did.”

Before I could react, he reached into the drawer beside the bed and pulled out a small velvet box.

My heart skipped.

“I didn’t think tonight would turn out like this,” he said quietly, gaze never leaving mine. “But maybe it was meant to. Maybe we needed to break a little… to realize just how much we want to stay.”

Then he got off the bed and knelt in front of me.

I gasped, breath catching. Time seemed to fold in on itself.

“I don’t ever want to let you go,” he whispered, voice trembling, eyes glistening in the low light. “I’ve waited for someone like you all my life. So… Troye…”

He opened the box. A simple, elegant ring sat nestled inside.

“Will you marry me?”

The room was quiet—but my heart wasn’t. It roared with everything we hadn’t said: every I love you, every please stay, every promise still unspoken.

And suddenly, everything made sense.

The doubt. The distance. The falling.

The rising again.

This—this was love.