Hostile Affection

Chapter 5: Kissed Before Coffee

Troye’s POV

I hadn’t received a single message. No text. No call. Just silence.

When Jaze finally returned to the café an hour later, he looked like he’d lost a battle. The paper bag that was supposed to be our peace offering was still clutched in his hand—untouched, unaccepted. One glance at it was all I needed to know.

We had failed.

A cold knot twisted in my stomach. What if we had only made things worse? What if, instead of easing the tension, we’d just pushed Nicco further away?

“What happened?” Kiana’s voice cut sharp with worry as she rushed toward him.

“It didn’t work,” Jaze admitted, barely above a whisper. “Sir Nicco got mad.”

Kent stepped forward, arms folded. “Tell us everything.”

Jaze let out a heavy sigh before recounting the disaster—Nicco’s glare, the near-slam of the door, the complete absence of warmth or forgiveness. Not even a flicker of hesitation, like he hadn’t thought twice about shutting us out.

I pressed a hand to my forehead. Worse than I imagined.

“God,” Kiana muttered, pacing the floor. “What if he posts a review? A bad one. That’ll ruin us.”

My chest tightened at her words, but I forced myself to stay calm. Panic wouldn’t save us. If anything, it would only send everyone spiraling.

“Let’s get back to work for now,” I said, my voice steady despite the turmoil in my gut. “We’ll talk about it later.”

They nodded reluctantly and returned to their stations. But the café was nearly empty, the usual chatter replaced with an unsettling quiet. It gave my thoughts too much room to fester. I couldn’t stop replaying Jaze’s words, couldn’t stop imagining what Nicco might be typing at that very moment. A post. A tweet. A one-star review. It would only take one to bury us.

By closing time, I couldn’t take the silence anymore. I asked Kent and Kiana to stay behind. There was no point pretending my mind wasn’t still tangled in it.

“I really thought the plan would work,” Kent muttered, sinking into one of the chairs. His hand rubbed the back of his neck like he could knead away the tension.

“There’s a high chance he’s going to write something now,” Kiana added, slumping into the seat beside him. “And not the kind of publicity we need.”

I stared blankly at the counter, my reflection faint in the glossy wood. They were right. We were sitting ducks, waiting for Nicco to decide our fate. We needed to move. To do something that wasn’t just another empty gesture.

And then it struck me. A bold, reckless idea. The kind that left no room for half-measures.

“Let’s set up a meeting with Mr. Samaniego,” I said.

The air shifted instantly. Both Kent and Kiana looked at me like I’d grown a second head.

“Wait,” Kiana said, incredulous. “Who’s going to meet with him?”

“You should,” Kent said quickly, a grin tugging at his lips. “Use your beauty, Kiana.”

She shot him a glare sharp enough to cut glass. “Oh please. I read somewhere he’s not even straight. If anything, you two are the better candidates.”

The words hit me harder than I expected. Not straight? My chest tightened, and for a moment I forgot how to breathe. So that was the truth behind Nicco’s sharp edges—meticulous, stylish, and probably even more intimidating up close.

“I’m not meeting with him,” Kent said quickly, raising his hands in mock surrender. “He looks terrifying. You go, Troye. You haven’t even met him yet.”

Me.

My first instinct was to refuse. Everything in me screamed to stay out of it. But this was my idea. My push. My responsibility. If I wanted to save this place—our dream—then I couldn’t keep hiding behind excuses.

“Fine,” I said at last, exhaling a breath that felt heavier than it should. “I’ll do it. But you two are setting up the appointment.”

Kent and Kiana exchanged a look, then both let out a relieved sigh.

“Deal,” Kiana said, already pulling out her phone.

I leaned back in my chair, the weight of my decision pressing down on me. My chest was tight, my pulse uneven. This was it. There was no turning back now.

***

Nicco’s POV

I slammed my laptop shut and threw my arms into the air.

“Finally! It’s done!”

The words burst out of me before I could stop them, raw with relief. A full week of hell—days eaten alive by revisions, nights shredded by sleeplessness—and the damn project was finally ready for presentation.

“Good. That thing gave you a headache for seven days straight,” Venice muttered, eyes never leaving her screen as her fingers flew across the keyboard.

Jacob sprawled on the couch, grinning like the lazy bastard he was. “So, we’re hitting the bar after your presentation, yeah? You promised a party.”

“Not the usual place,” Yasser cut in, stretching his arms. “What about Climax this time?”

Franco wrinkled his nose. “Nah. Cloud 9. Better drinks.”

I rolled my eyes. “Wow. You’re all making demands like my presentation’s already been approved.”

“Come on, man. It’s you,” Jacob said with absolute confidence. “It’s a done deal.”

I reached for my phone, ready to check my notifications, when a pop-up appeared at the corner of my laptop screen.

New Email: Invitation from Caffeine Chapter.

My brows furrowed. I clicked it open.

A formal request for a meeting. Subject line stiff, polite, forgettable—until I saw the name in the body of the message.

Troye Maxwell Mondejar.

I froze. The surname thudded in my memory with the weight of something I knew but couldn’t place right away. Mondejar. Prominent. Familiar.

Who the f**k are you, Troye Maxwell Mondejar?

The irritation I’d been keeping at bay stirred again, rising hot in my chest. Images from that morning shoved their way back into my mind—the sharp ring of the doorbell, the crew member standing awkwardly at my doorstep, that insulting little peace offering shoved into my space. A pathetic attempt at appeasement.

Venice’s voice broke into my thoughts. “What’s with the face?”

I tossed my phone onto the table, jaw tight. “Caffeine Chapter just invited me to a meeting.”

“Why? Maybe they want to apologize officially?” Yasser asked.

“Probably.” I leaned back in my chair, arms crossed. “But does anyone here know a Troye Maxwell Mondejar?”

Franco tapped his chin, eyes narrowing. “The first name doesn’t ring a bell. But the surname? Definitely.”

Jacob snapped his fingers. “Could be related to Tobias Mondejar. He owns Climax, right?”

Climax. Of course. One of the hottest bars in the city. That explained the flicker of recognition.

I didn’t confirm it aloud, but the thought gnawed at me. If Troye was connected to Tobias, then what the hell was he doing at a struggling café? Why hadn’t I seen him during my visit? Why hide then, and suddenly show up now, attached to a desperate invitation?

“They’re persistent, huh?” Venice said with a laugh. “First, they ruin your morning with that failed peace offering, and now they want to meet face-to-face.”

Persistent—or desperate.

I gave a sharp nod, the memory of that morning souring my mood all over again. I’d told them already—the delivery waking me up, wrecking my day before it even started.

“I don’t get it,” Yasser muttered. “You didn’t even post anything. No tweet. No review. Yet they’re moving like you already burned their whole business down.”

Franco leaned forward, voice low and thoughtful. “Maybe they’re scared. Business could be dropping, and they know how much power your words have. Maybe they really need your help.”

Help. The word almost made me laugh.

As if I’d help them.

And yet, no matter how hard I tried to dismiss it, the name stuck under my skin like a splinter.

Troye Maxwell Mondejar.

Something told me this was only the beginning.

***

Troye’s POV

One week.

That’s how long it had been since we sent Nicco Samaniego the invitation for a meeting.

And still—no reply. Not even a polite acknowledgment. Just… silence.

Every time I refreshed the inbox, it stared back at me like a void. Empty. Mocking. Each unanswered day mirrored my frustration, stretching longer, colder, heavier.

At first, I told myself he was busy. That maybe he hadn’t seen it. Then I convinced myself he was probably weighing his options. But as the days passed, even those hopeful excuses began to rot, leaving only the truth: he was ignoring us.

“Nothing?” Kiana asked, though the slump in her shoulders told me she already knew.

I shook my head. “Still nothing.”

She sighed, setting her tablet on the counter with a dull thud. “He’s deliberately ignoring us, isn’t he?”

“The sales report looks worse today,” Kent muttered, voice grim as he wiped down an already-clean surface. “This isn’t just a dip anymore, Troye. We’re heading for a collapse.”

His words scraped against my chest. I looked around the café—the space we built with so much hope. My dream. Their dream. The hum of the coffee machine sounded hollow now, the flicker of the overhead lights almost too sharp against the empty tables. Tables that once brimmed with laughter and clinking cups, now bare as bones.

The sight made me sick.

Kiana had turned down a promotion for this. Kent had walked away from a stable management job. They sacrificed so much because I asked them to believe in me, in something that now felt like it was slipping through my fingers. And all of it… because of one man’s silence.

But even as guilt twisted inside me, something else refused to die. A spark. Small but stubborn.

“We can’t just sit here,” I said finally, forcing steel into my voice. “There has to be another way.”

Kent frowned. “Like what?”

“Where does Nicco usually go? Bars, restaurants, anywhere he hangs out?”

Kiana gave me a wary glance. “Why are you asking?”

“Because if he won’t come to us…” I lifted my gaze, jaw tightening. “Then I’ll go to him.”

The silence that followed was sharp.

Kent blinked. “Wait—you’re actually going to… confront him?”

“I don’t think ‘confront’ is the right word,” Kiana cut in quickly, eyes narrowing at me. “You’re not exactly the intimidating type, Troye.”

Kent gave a low whistle. “This is wild. I mean, no offense—but you’re not exactly known for throwing yourself into loud, chaotic spaces just to chase someone down. You’re… discreet gay. Quiet. Avoidant.”

The words stung, but I couldn’t deny them.

Yes, I was a gay man. Discreet. Quiet. Only Kent and Kiana knew.

I had never come out to my family—especially not to my father. His pride carried an unspoken rule I’d spent my entire life obeying, even when it suffocated me. When I left home six years ago, I carried a truth I still couldn’t voice.

I wasn’t flamboyant. I didn’t dress feminine or speak in exaggerated tones. I wore simple, clean, masculine clothes. But my heart? It loved in silence. Softly. Secretly. Always hidden.

That was me. Discreet. Careful. Avoidant.

But not this time.

“I’ll do it,” I said firmly, surprising even myself with the certainty in my voice. “Even if I have to walk straight into the lion’s den.”

Kent’s phone buzzed, breaking the moment. He glanced at the screen, brows lifting. “You might not need to look far. One of my contacts just told me Nicco and his crew are going out this weekend.”

My pulse quickened. “Where?”

“Climax,” he answered. “Sunday night.”

The name hit me like ice water down my spine. Climax wasn’t just any bar. It was Tobias’ bar. My brother’s territory.

I hadn’t spoken to Tobias in years. Not since the rift. Not since everything between us broke.

Kiana noticed the way I froze. “That might be… tricky for you. Are you sure about this?”

I exhaled slowly, steadying the chaos inside me. “We’ve exhausted all our options. I’m not letting this café fall apart just because I was too scared to try.”

Kent grinned, almost impressed. “Then break a leg, man.”

“And if you need us,” Kiana added softly, “we’re just one call away.”

I gave a small nod, though my chest felt heavy.

I didn’t know how this was going to play out. I didn’t know what Nicco would do—or what seeing Tobias again would unravel in me.

But one thing was certain: if Nicco wouldn’t answer my emails, then I’d find my answer myself.

***

Nicco’s POV

Sunday night at Climax throbbed with music and lights, but the bass barely touched me. The beat pulsed through the floor, through the couches, through the crowd that swayed like one giant wave, but inside, I felt nothing.

We had claimed our usual spot—a couch in the middle of the lounge. The position was strategic: close enough to be noticed, far enough to watch. My friends thrived on it, the easy blend of performance and comfort.

“I’ve been watching that guy on the other couch,” Yasser murmured, lifting his tequila glass before downing a sip. “He keeps looking at you, Nicco.”

“Definitely not his type,” Jacob said lazily, slouching deeper into the cushions. “Too muscular. Our dear friend here doesn’t do gym rats.”

“Someone at the bar counter’s been eyeing you too,” Franco added, chin flicking toward the other side of the room.

Venice gave a dry laugh. “That one? Way too skinny. Not Nicco’s type either. We all know he’s not into super twinks.”

They chuckled among themselves, but my face didn’t move. No smirk. No bite back. Nothing.

Because I wasn’t paying attention to any of it. Not the lingering stares, not the way the neon lights sharpened everyone’s features into something prettier than they were, not even the casual praise disguised as jokes. My head wasn’t here—not really.

It was still stuck on a name.

Troye.

That email still sat in my inbox, unopened since the first time I’d read it. A formal invitation that I never bothered to reply to. I told myself ignoring it was enough—that silence would speak louder than any refusal. And yet, for some damn reason, I kept circling back to it.

Had I said too much the night of that peace offering? Or not enough? Did he know I’d been thinking about it longer than I wanted to admit?

“Dude, we’re heading to the dance floor,” Jacob announced, pulling Franco up by the hand.

“Catch up later,” Venice added with a wink before slipping into the crowd.

One by one, they disappeared, laughter trailing behind them, their silhouettes swallowed by the flashing lights. Just like that, the couch was empty. Just me, my glass, and thoughts I didn’t want.

I’d barely settled into the rare silence when a shadow fell over me. A familiar one.

“Tobias,” I said flatly, not bothering to hide the edge in my voice.

The owner of Climax smiled like we were old friends instead of uneasy acquaintances. His grin was polished, almost performative, but I could already sense the itch of conversation I didn’t want.

“Hey, man. How are you?”

“I’m good,” I answered, short and stiff. “Just chilling.”

He lingered, and I hated that. Hated the way his eyes carried that glint of curiosity, like he knew something or wanted to prod until he did. I braced myself, already knowing what was coming.

And then it came.

“I heard Axel and his wife got annulled.”

The words were ice in my drink. Sharp, cold, unwelcome.

My jaw locked. I stared at the glass in my hand, inhaled slowly through my nose. Axel. That name alone scraped old wounds I thought I’d buried. Five years ago, he’d married her—the woman he got pregnant. That was supposed to be the last chapter, the end of a story I never asked to be part of.

And yet Tobias said it like it was gossip at a dinner table. Like it wasn’t my ribs he was cracking open.

I turned, finally meeting his gaze, my voice edged with steel.

“You know what, Tobias? I don’t give a f**k about what’s going on with your friend. I came here to relax, so let me. We paid to be in your bar. That should be enough.”

His smile faltered. He raised both hands like I’d pulled a gun on him. “Alright,” he muttered, the word weak in the thick air. Then he backed off, retreating into the crowd with a forced grin plastered to his face.

I leaned back, exhaling through clenched teeth. The bass thumped harder, but still, I felt nothing.

***

Troye’s POV

It took me nearly an hour to find Climax.

The longer I walked, the harder my pulse hammered—an erratic rhythm I couldn’t calm no matter how many times I told myself to breathe. It wasn’t just the unfamiliar streets or the neon glow that unsettled me. It was where I was headed.

Tobias’s bar.

My brother’s bar.

I hadn’t seen him in years, and I intended to keep it that way. I wasn’t here for him, and I sure as hell wasn’t ready for whatever confrontation might come if our paths crossed. Tonight had only one purpose: Nicco.

Just one conversation. One chance.

If I could manage that without Tobias catching sight of me, it would already be more than I deserved.

The moment I stepped through the doors, the world swallowed me whole.

Lights strobed in quick bursts—violet, crimson, electric blue—painting strangers in fleeting fragments of color. Music pulsed so violently against the walls it felt like it was vibrating in my bones, drowning out my own thoughts. People pressed close on the dance floor, bodies shifting and colliding like a living tide.

I froze.

This was… too much.

My first time inside a bar, and it might as well have been another planet. I had always avoided places like this—the noise, the chaos, the scrutiny of so many eyes in one room. But here I was, clutching my phone so tightly it might crack, Nicco’s photo glowing on the screen like a compass.

Kent had sent it earlier. I hadn’t stopped staring at it since. The sharpness of his features, the quiet fire in his gaze—it unsettled me more than I wanted to admit.

God, he was beautiful.

And now he was somewhere in this neon-lit storm.

I forced my feet to move, weaving through the crowd. Shoulders bumped mine, strangers brushed too close, and the throb of the bass seeped beneath my skin until I couldn’t tell if it was my heart or the music beating faster.

Ten minutes passed. Then fifteen. Then twenty.

Still nothing.

I scanned faces until my eyes burned, but I couldn’t find him. The idea of stopping someone to ask where he was—ridiculous. No one would hear me over this noise. Besides, how did you even explain you were looking for a man who might not want to see you?

I was drowning in neon and sound when it happened.

I saw him.

There—off the dance floor, tucked partly in shadow.

Nicco.

Alone. Drink in hand.

There was no mistaking him.

The sight stole my breath, and for a moment the lights, the music, the crowd—everything—fell away, leaving only the frantic thunder of my heartbeat.

This was it.

No more hesitation. No more hiding.

I didn’t give fear the chance to speak. I walked toward him, every step heavier than the last, each one weighed with the truth I hadn’t yet found the courage to say.

And yet, beneath all of it, one thought rose above the noise.

Please. Just look at me.

***

Nicco’s POV

I paused mid-sip, glass hovering just inches from my mouth.

Someone was cutting through the crowd, heading straight for me. At first glance, nothing about him screamed out of place—just another guy braving Climax’s neon storm. But the way he moved, the way his eyes locked on me like I was the only person in the room—that was what snagged my attention.

And when his face came into focus, something clicked. A flicker of familiarity.

I knew him. Or I’d seen him before. I just couldn’t place when or where.

“Hi… you’re N-Nicco, right?” His voice cracked slightly, uneven, like saying my name out loud had cost him something.

I studied him, setting my glass down.

Handsome. That was undeniable. Not the kind of overbuilt guy I usually dismissed, and not the brittle thinness that turned me off either. He was balanced—solid but soft in a way that pulled the eye. More than that, there was something disarming about him. Something unpolished, raw, almost… earnest.

“Yes, I’m Nicco,” I answered, keeping my tone even. “And you are?”

He hesitated, shoulders tense, hands shifting like he didn’t know what to do with them. Nervous. Oddly enough, that only made him more attractive.

“Can we, uh… talk?” he asked.

My brow lifted. Talk? In a place like this? “What are we even going to talk about? It’s too loud in here.”

I expected him to back off, maybe laugh it off. Instead, he did something that startled me. He reached for my hand.

Just like that. Bold, almost reckless, but not rough.

I instinctively pulled back. Reflex. But then I saw his eyes—wide, unsettled, pleading for something I couldn’t name. For some reason, I didn’t yank my hand away again.

I let him lead me.

“Hey—where exactly are you taking me?” I asked, pitching my voice into annoyance even as a flicker of curiosity curled beneath it.

He didn’t answer. Not until we’d broken through the press of bodies, slipped past the bar’s doors, and found ourselves beneath the neon sign outside. Out here, the music dulled to a faint throb. My pulse, though, didn’t settle.

“You dragged me all the way out here,” I said flatly, arms crossing over my chest. “So I hope you actually have something meaningful to say.”

“I’m sorry,” he blurted, eyes dropping like he’d already lost whatever battle he’d been fighting in his head. “I just didn’t think we could talk properly inside.”

“You still haven’t told me your name.”

His throat worked. Then he straightened, like a student about to deliver a memorized line. “I’m Troye. Troye Maxwell Mondejar. I’m one of the owners of Caffeine Chapter.”

The name hit me like ice water.

Troye Maxwell Mondejar.

Of course. The elusive partner. The one I’d been waiting to meet.

But before I could say a single word, before I could even process the punch of recognition, he stepped forward.

His hand caught my collar. He pressed me back against the wall. And then—

He kissed me.

For a split second, my body went rigid. My mind short-circuited. What the actual f**k?

The kiss was hesitant, clumsy, like he had no idea what he was doing. All nerves, no finesse. My first instinct was to shove him away, to put a stop to this before it spiraled further into insanity.

But then something flickered.

Something electric in the closeness, in the raw, unpracticed way his lips touched mine. Something that made me still, just for a beat longer than I should have.

And then I tilted my head, closed the distance properly, and kissed him back.

If he was going to throw himself into this, then I was going to show him how it was really done. My mouth moved with practiced ease, coaxing, deepening. Guiding. I could feel the hesitation drain from him, replaced by something hungrier.

You’ll remember this, I thought, the corner of my mouth brushing his as I took control. You’ll want more.

The world blurred. For once, the noise of the bar didn’t matter. All I felt was the heat of his body, the press of his lips, the messy collision of something that shouldn’t have happened but did anyway.

And then—

“Get a room, Nicco.”

The words sliced through the moment like a blade.

I stiffened, pulling back just enough to glance over Troye’s shoulder.

There he was. Tobias.

Smirking like the smug bastard he always was, watching us as if he’d just caught us in the middle of some pathetic show.

Reality crashed back down, sharp and merciless.

My lips still tingled from the kiss, but now my jaw clenched tight.

Damn it.

Of all people—why him?