Hostile Affection

Chapter 10: A Rain to Remember

Troye’s POV

“Do you like me?”

The question slipped out before I could stop it—soft, deliberate, but heavier than it sounded.

It landed between us like a glass set too firmly on the table—quiet, but impossible to ignore.

Nicco blinked, clearly caught off guard. His hand froze midair, fork suspended, knife glinting beneath the rooftop lights. I watched his expression shift—confusion first, then something else. Something more careful.

For a second, I wished I could take it back. But I didn’t.

He met my gaze, steady now, as if searching for something. I’d been trying not to look too closely at him all evening, but it was useless. The way his eyes reflected the city lights—focused, warm, teasing—it made it hard to pretend I didn’t want an answer.

"What if I said yes?" he asked after a beat, voice calm but layered with intent. "Would it change anything? Would there be a chance?"

A small laugh left me, quieter than I meant. “You went through all this trouble,” I said, trying to sound unfazed. “What if I didn’t show up?”

I took a slow sip of wine, hoping it would mask the way my pulse jumped.

He leaned back, grin forming like he’d already won. “I knew you’d come. That’s why I prepared for it.” Then, with that trademark smugness of his, he added, “Our first meeting was a mess, remember? You stole a kiss.”

I froze—not outwardly, but enough for him to notice. The memory hit me like a flicker of lightning: the heat of that night, the sudden proximity, the stupid impulsiveness I couldn’t take back.

And the truth—that I wasn’t even supposed to be there.

He tilted his head, studying me. “Who were you avoiding back then?”

My throat tightened. “Let’s change the topic, okay?”

My tone came out firmer than I intended, clipped. I didn’t owe him that story. Not yet.

He raised both brows, amusement dancing in his eyes, but thankfully didn’t push it.

So the conversation shifted.

This time, it was about him.

I listened while he spoke—about his life as a food and coffee critic, his engineering work, how he balanced both worlds like it was easy. It wasn’t the kind of story I expected from someone like him. And the more he talked, the more I realized how little I actually knew about Nicco beyond the sharpness of his words online.

He was proud, grounded, and surprisingly genuine.

“I honestly thought you were just another clout chaser,” I said without thinking.

He scoffed, dramatic as ever. “You know, that’s kind of offensive.”

But the corner of his mouth twitched, and when I smiled, he actually smiled back—an unguarded, easy grin that reached his eyes.

It was… disarming. Completely unfair, really. How someone could look that good just by smiling.

I had to look away first.

“Don’t underestimate me,” he said, pouring himself another glass of wine. “I’m a credible food and coffee critic, thank you very much. My reviews are 100% honest.”

“Okay,” I murmured, half teasing. “If you say so.”

He gave me a mock glare. “Hey, I feel like I’m the only one sharing here. You already know so much about me. Let’s talk about you now, Troye. Who are you—really—aside from being a café owner?”

The question hung in the air, too close, too dangerous.

I rolled the stem of my wine glass between my fingers. “There’s nothing interesting about me,” I said finally. “You’d be bored. Promise.”

He didn’t buy it. “I’m interested,” he said simply.

I looked up at him then—his expression open, his tone unguarded.

I could’ve told him everything right there. My name, the words I’d written, the lie I’d been living.

But I didn’t.

“Next time,” I said instead.

He straightened in his chair. “Next time? So you’re saying we’ll see each other again? Well then—no take backs!”

He grinned, delighted, and I immediately regretted opening my mouth.

I scratched the back of my neck, wishing I could swallow those two words whole. But it was too late. His expression was already bright, and I didn’t have it in me to ruin it.

I shook my head lightly. “You’re impossible.”

He laughed, that genuine kind of laugh that made the evening feel lighter. And for some reason, that sound stayed with me long after.

The night stretched on.

We drifted from topic to topic—movies, weekend routines, things we’d do if we weren’t so caught up in work. We discovered we both loved pets, both enjoyed fun runs. Little things that shouldn’t have mattered, but somehow did.

It was easy with him. Too easy.

When I finally glanced at my watch, the city skyline had dimmed, the stars faint but visible above the rooftop glow. The world felt softer, quieter.

“Let’s call it a night,” I said, my voice low, reluctant.

He nodded, standing when I did. “Thanks for coming, Troye. See you next time.”

Something in his tone—steady, certain—made my chest tighten.

“Yeah…” I said quietly. “Next time.”

And for once, the promise didn’t sound like a lie.

——

I’d been home for almost an hour now.

Lying in bed, arms tucked behind my head, I stared at the ceiling and let the quiet hum of the night fill the room. Sleep refused to come, and honestly, I wasn’t sure if I even wanted it to. There was this strange, light feeling in my chest—something I hadn’t felt in a long time. Not quite peace, but dangerously close to joy.

And all because of him.

Nicco.

I couldn’t stop thinking about him.

The things I learned tonight kept replaying in my mind—the way he talked about his work, the way his laugh sounded when he wasn’t trying to hold it back, the way his eyes softened when he listened. I’d expected arrogance, sharpness, that impossible air of someone too proud to care. But instead, I found something else.

He was thoughtful.

Vulnerable, even.

Kind, in a way I didn’t expect.

I let out a quiet chuckle. “Who would’ve thought?”

Turning on my side, I felt the mattress dip slightly as Scarlet jumped up beside me. She circled once before settling near my shoulder, her soft purring filling the silence.

“God, Scarlet,” I murmured, scratching behind her ear. “I can’t sleep.”

She blinked up at me slowly, unimpressed—as if to say, that sounds like a you problem.

I sighed, lips curving faintly. “I’ll admit it… Nicco’s good-looking. And he seems like a genuinely decent guy.” My voice dropped to a whisper. “But what if it’s all a façade? What if he’s just being nice to get under my skin—to make me fall for him?”

Scarlet gave me one of her long, slow blinks—the feline equivalent of a judgmental stare.

“What?” I asked, squinting at her. “You think I’m overthinking again?”

She didn’t answer, obviously. She just tucked her paws under her chest and went on purring, entirely unbothered.

I huffed a laugh. “Yeah, yeah. You’re probably right.”

The ceiling blurred as I lay back down, eyes tracing invisible shapes across the plaster. My body felt heavy, but my mind wouldn’t stop. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him—the way he smiled at me when he thought I wasn’t looking, the way his voice softened at the end of the night when he said, next time.

“Next time,” I whispered to no one.

Scarlet’s purring grew steadier, and for a moment, I let myself believe that maybe—just maybe—that promise could mean something.

With that thought, I finally closed my eyes.

***

Nicco’s POV

I was fast asleep when it began—the kind of deep, quiet sleep I rarely got. There was a small smile on my lips, too, which was rare. Tonight had felt different. Lighter. For the first time in a long while, I’d gone to bed with a full heart.

But even good dreams come laced with memories.

Sometime past midnight, the warmth of that smile faded. My breathing turned shallow, uneven. And then—

The past dragged me under.

Suddenly, I was there again. Six years ago.

The air was cold, sharp enough to bite. I was standing in the middle of a dimly lit street, helmet in hand, heart pounding in the hollow of my chest. My fingers wouldn’t stop trembling. Everything inside me felt cracked open and raw.

Axel.

The name alone was enough to make my stomach twist.

The man I thought I’d spend forever with had shattered everything. He’d betrayed me. Got someone else pregnant. I’d never imagined that kind of heartbreak—the kind that didn’t just hurt, but hollowed. The betrayal was cruel, and final, and yet… the worst part was that I still loved him.

Even after everything.

Why did you do that to me, Axel?

That night, I rode without a destination—just the need to outrun the noise in my head. The motorbike engine was the only sound I trusted, steady and alive under my palms. I rode fast, not because I wanted to die, but because staying still felt like drowning.

Then I saw it—through the side mirror.

A car, coming up fast. Too fast.

It swerved once, twice. My instincts kicked in. I moved to the shoulder, giving it space to pass.

Seconds later, a sound split the night.

A deafening crash.

My heart stopped. I yanked the brakes, the bike jerking to a halt. The silence that followed was unbearable. Then came the smell of smoke. Metal. Burning rubber.

Before I even knew what I was doing, I turned the bike around and sped toward it.

The car had slammed straight into a massive tree, the hood crumpled like paper. Headlights flickered weakly, casting harsh shadows over the wreck. My pulse hammered in my ears.

I dropped my helmet and ran.

The driver’s door wasn’t locked. I pulled it open and froze.

A man was slumped over the steering wheel, blood streaking down one side of his face. His body was limp, too still. My breath hitched.

Was he…?

I reached out with shaking hands, pressing my fingers to his neck.

A pulse.

Alive. Thank God.

“Hey—hey, man, wake up!” I shouted, panic clawing at my throat.

No response.

“You have to stay with me, come on!” I yelled again, louder this time. My voice cracked.

Finally, his eyelids fluttered. Barely.

“Hey! Yeah, that’s it. Stay awake. You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay,” I said, my tone breaking somewhere between command and prayer. “I’m calling an ambulance, alright? Just hang on!”

I fumbled for my phone, but before I could dial, sirens echoed in the distance. Relief washed through me so hard it made my knees weak.

“Thank God,” I whispered.

Red and blue lights flashed across the road minutes later. Paramedics rushed in, moving with a practiced urgency.

“What happened?” one asked.

“He crashed,” I said quickly. “But he’s breathing. I checked.”

“Are you a relative?”

I hesitated. The truth was—I wasn’t anyone to him. Just a stranger who couldn’t bring himself to leave.

“I’m… a friend,” I lied.

They didn’t question it. They let me follow.

At the hospital, I stayed with him as they wheeled the stretcher through the halls. I didn’t let go, even when a nurse tried to stop me. My hands were trembling, my chest aching with a strange, unexplainable fear that if I blinked, he’d slip away.

But eventually, they pushed me out of the emergency room, told me to wait. So I did.

Hours passed. Then, nothing.

That was when I jolted awake.

My chest was heaving. My palms were damp. For a moment, I didn’t know where I was—until the shape of my bedroom took form in the dark. The hum of the city outside was faint, distant.

And then it hit me.

The man from that night—the one in the car.

Troye.

It was him.

That’s why he’d felt so familiar the first time I saw him. That’s why his face haunted me in the days after. The eyes. The stillness. The quiet gravity that clung to him.

I thought he hadn’t made it.

When I went back the next day, the nurses told me he’d been transferred to a private hospital. I left thinking I’d never know what happened to him—that he’d just be a name I’d never learn, a what-if that would linger somewhere in the back of my mind.

But now… fate had brought him back to me.

Our paths had crossed again.

I sat up slowly, running a hand through my hair, my pulse still uneven. My chest felt tight—not from fear, but from something heavier. Something like grief… and wonder.

“God,” I whispered into the dark. “Is this destiny?”

A lump formed in my throat. I ached for him. Not just because of the crash—but for everything that must’ve led him there. The pain. The loneliness. Whatever broke him that night.

If he were in front of me right now, I think I’d pull him close. No hesitation. Just… hold him.

I wanted to call. To hear his voice. To tell him that it was me—that I’d been there that night.

But what if he was asleep?

I reached for my phone, thumb hovering over his name, then slowly set it back down.

Not tonight.

But soon.

I’m here now, Troye.

And I’m not going anywhere.

***

Troye’s POV

The morning rush hadn’t even begun, but the buzz inside the café was already electric.

I was behind the counter, adjusting the espresso grinder, when Kent and Kiana pounced.

“So?” Kent asked, eyes gleaming with curiosity as he wiped down a tray.

Kiana leaned against the counter, arms crossed, grinning like she already knew the answer. “We’re dying here, Troye. Spill.”

I didn’t look up. “Spill what?”

“Come on,” she pressed, lowering her voice conspiratorially. “You came back glowing last night. Did anything happen?”

I paused mid-tamp, narrowing my eyes at them. “Your minds are disgusting.”

Kent raised both hands. “Okay, okay. So no miracle happened. But tell us about the dinner already.”

“Yes, please,” Kiana added with a dramatic sigh. “We need the details.”

I sighed. “Fine.”

As the café stirred with warm light and the faint hiss of steam wands, I walked them through it—how Nicco had planned everything in advance, the candlelit setup, the city skyline glowing behind him. I even told them bits of our conversation, though I tried to keep my tone neutral. Still, I knew they noticed how I softened at certain moments.

By the time I finished, both of them looked like they were about to faint from secondhand kilig.

“Ugh, stop. That’s too cute,” Kiana groaned, fanning herself with a napkin. “Your hair must be dragging on the floor right now. That long.”

Kent grinned. “And an engineer, no less. Not just a pretty face.”

Before I could respond, Benny—one of our baristas—hurried over from the front door, holding something in his arms.

“Sir Troye,” he said, slightly breathless. “Someone sent this for you.”

I blinked.

Benny held out a bouquet of tulips—fresh, vibrant, petals just starting to open. There was a small card nestled among them. I plucked it free, my fingers already tingling with suspicion.

Good morning, Cutie!

I had this delivered early. Busy day ahead. I’ll drop by later. IMY.

—Nicco

I stared at the words. Then blinked again.

The heat started in my ears, spreading fast to my cheeks.

“Oh my God!” Kiana shrieked, clapping her hands together. “He did not just send you flowers!”

Kent let out a low whistle. “Someone’s serious.”

Before I could recover, my phone buzzed in my apron pocket.

Nicco.

Good morning, Cutie!

Did you get the bouquet? Sorry, I’m slammed today—new client. I’ll come see you. Let’s talk again. I miss you.

I inhaled sharply, then exhaled like I was trying to push the butterflies out of my chest.

I wasn’t going to lie—I was touched. Maybe more than I cared to admit.

“I’m telling you,” Kiana said, practically bouncing on her toes, “this guy isn’t playing around.”

Kent, ever the cautious one, leaned in slightly. “Just take it slow, alright? First boyfriend and all.”

“Who said he’s my boyfriend?” I shot back, a little too fast.

“Not yet,” Kiana sang, winking. “But we can feel it. We know where this is going.”

I didn’t answer. I just shook my head and walked toward the couch near the window, bouquet in hand. I laid it down carefully, almost reverently, like it was something fragile.

And maybe it was.

Not just the flowers—but whatever this was, blooming quietly between me and Nicco.

---

The café stayed alive all day—voices blending with the clatter of cups, the hiss of milk steamers, the occasional laughter from customers who had no idea how personal this space had become to me. Business hadn’t slowed since morning. People came and went, a constant rhythm that left no room for thinking.

Time slipped away. When I finally looked up, the clock above the register read nearly eleven. Closing time.

I stood behind the counter, still holding the small card Nicco had sent with the bouquet. I’d read it more times than I’d admit.

I’ll come see you.

“Alright, we’re heading out. You should go home too, Troye,” Kiana called, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“Bye, Troye. Take care,” Kent added.

“Take care, guys,” I said, smiling faintly.

The door chimed as they left. Then—silence.

The café felt so different once everyone was gone. Just me, the soft hum of the refrigerator, and the faint scent of roasted beans clinging to the air.

I moved without really thinking, settling into one of the corner seats near the window. I flipped open my laptop and stared at the blank page in front of me.

Nothing.

I didn’t know where to start. Didn’t even know what I wanted to say.

Then came the rain.

It started as a low murmur on the roof, then grew into a relentless downpour. My spine stiffened instantly. I hated the rain. It always brought things back—memories I hadn’t asked for, feelings I wasn’t ready to deal with.

But then, something strange happened.

A scene came to me—clear, vivid, uninvited.

And before I could stop myself, my fingers started moving.

A Rain to Remember.

That was the title.

It was a story about two men who were opposites. Achi—who loved the rain, who welcomed every storm like it was an old friend. And Klein—who hated it with every fiber of his being, for reasons he couldn’t quite explain.

What would happen if they were forced to work together on a project tied to the very thing that divided them? Could love exist between two people who saw the same sky so differently?

Something shifted in me as I wrote. The words flowed like water—steady, unfiltered. Before I knew it, I had a synopsis, a rough prologue, a beginning. I didn’t even realize how much time had passed until I glanced at the clock.

11:53 PM.

Still raining. Still no Nicco.

I stared at the door for a long while, pretending I wasn’t waiting. But the truth pressed down anyway.

I really hoped, didn’t I?

God. I’m an i***t.

I sighed, pushing the laptop aside. Frustration crawled under my skin. I hated this—this weight of expectation that turned into nothing. I hated people who promised and didn’t show up. But what I hated most was that I’d believed him.

Without another thought, I pulled out my phone and opened the ride-hailing app.

I’d commuted this morning. But tonight, I wasn’t about to stand in the rain.

Not anymore.