The smell of eggs and coffee drifted through the small apartment, mingling with the faint scent of detergent and old books. I moved quietly, setting plates on the cramped counter, trying to ignore the way the space felt different with him inside it.
My apartment wasn't large to begin with, but with Richard asleep in my room, it somehow felt smaller, walls shrinking, air thicker. Yet strangely, his presence didn't make me feel suffocated. It made the place feel… less empty.
I glanced at the clock hanging on the wall. Saturday. No classes, no deadlines. My one day to breathe.
But as I poured the coffee, a question gnawed at me... how did he even know where I lived? Only my parents had my address. Did he ask them? Or did he already know because of something I've forgotten?
I tried to push the thought away and returned to the bedroom to wake him up. He lay on his side, one arm folded under the pillow, his face relaxed but faintly shadowed by worry even in sleep. A small frown tugged at his brows.
I reached out, meaning only to tap his shoulder, but before I could, his hand shot up with startling speed and closed around mine.
"Richard...!"
In a heartbeat, I lost my balance and tumbled forward. The mattress dipped beneath us. My palms hit the bed on either side of his shoulders, but his grip was firm, guiding me down until I was half sprawled across him.
His lips found mine before I could protest, a soft, lingering kiss that sent a shock through my chest.
"Good morning, Boss," he murmured against my mouth, voice rough with sleep.
My heart stumbled.
"Do you always kiss people without their permission?" I whispered, trying to sound firm but breathless instead.
"No," he said simply, his gaze locked on mine. "You're the only one. My only Boss."
Something twisted inside me at his words. I wanted to believe him, but suspicion tangled with confusion. "How would I even know if that's the truth? I'm not with you twenty-four seven. Release me and let's eat breakfast."
"Not yet."
Before I could move, he shifted, swift, fluid, like muscle memory. In one motion, he rolled us over until I was beneath him, the sheet rumpled under my back, his weight braced carefully above me. His hands caged me in, but didn't press down. His eyes, dark and unreadable, pinned me more than his body did.
"Richard…" My voice trembled. I didn't know if it was a warning or a plea.
He searched my face with an intensity that made the room feel even smaller, as if time had folded in on itself and only we existed.
"You're heavy."
"But I am not putting all my weight on you." His voice was low, teasing, like he wanted me to notice every inch of him that hovered over me.
Before I could retort, his lips crashed into mine. Hot. Urgent. A kiss that stole the breath from my lungs and scattered my thoughts into pieces.
My hands instinctively pressed against his chest, but instead of pushing him away, my fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, clutching him as if my body betrayed the protest my mind tried to form.
His mouth moved against mine with a desperate hunger, as though he had been starving and I was the only meal he craved. My heart pounded, the sound roaring in my ears. Every time I tried to break free, he deepened the kiss, stealing more of me.
Heat swirled between us, dangerous and intoxicating.
When I finally managed to turn my face aside, our breaths tangled in the narrow space left between us.
"Richard…" I gasped, my voice unsteady. "This isn't..."
He pressed his forehead to mine, his eyes shut tight, as if fighting himself. "I can't stop, Boss. Not when you're here… not when you're real."
His confession burned hotter than the kiss itself.
"What did I use to call you? It's not Richard, right?"
He froze for a moment, studying me as though weighing how much truth to give. Then, with a small smile, he said, "My surname. You used to call me by my surname."
"You mean… Jing?" The word felt strange and familiar at the same time, as if my tongue remembered what my mind had long forgotten.
"Yes," he murmured, his eyes softening at the sound.
I tilted my head. "Who chose Boss as our endearment?"
He looked away for a second before answering quietly, "Me…"
"That's right, I always preferred sweetheart." The words slipped out before I could stop them. My chest tightened the moment I realized what I had just said.
His eyes widened, surprise flickering in them like a spark of lightning. "You… remembered?"
"No…" I quickly shook my head, frustration bubbling inside me. "There are instances when I speak before I think, like an instinctive answer, as if my body or my mouth knows something my memory refuses to reveal. But I couldn't recall the moment. I don't know what happened back then."
Silence stretched between us, filled only by the faint ticking of the clock on the wall. His hand moved slightly, as though he wanted to reach for mine, but stopped midway. His gaze carried a weight I couldn't decipher... sorrow, longing, guilt all tangled together.
"It's better for us to start again," he said at last, his voice low, steady, but carrying an ache underneath.
I stared at his face, trying to read the emotions he kept carefully tucked away. Why did it feel like there were more secrets between us? That something important being withheld? Was he protecting me, or hiding something that would hurt me more if I remembered?
Finally, I sighed and shifted away. "Get up. Let's have breakfast."
His expression softened again, the corners of his lips curving upward.
"Okay, Boss."
He leaned closer, brushed his lips against my cheek in a fleeting kiss, and then gently pulled me out of bed as if nothing heavy had passed between us.
But even as I followed him, I couldn't shake the thought that his smile was just a fragile mask, one that might shatter if I ever learned the truth.