Kallen Blackwinds didn't care about anything.
He wasn't cold-hearted. He wasn't emotionless. He was just... uninterested.
Nothing ever truly caught his eye. School was a routine, people were predictable, and the world felt like a muted, dull place.
He was known for three things: being a consistent topper, his unfairly good looks, and his towering height. But he was equally infamous for his sharp tongue and arrogant attitude. Kallen was rude without thinking, blunt without pause, and yet-he couldn't care less about the opinions people held of him.
What he did care about, though, was entertainment.
Especially at night, when the world went quiet and the textbooks were closed, he needed something to hold his attention. That's when he found him-a faceless live streamer who went by the name "Your Good Boy."
No face. Just hands on a keyboard, and that voice.
A bold, cocky, flirtatious voice that oozed charm and chaos. The first time Kallen heard him, he actually paused mid-scroll, expression still blank, but a single thought echoed in his mind:
'Whose voice is this? It's hot as hell.'
From then on, he was hooked.
The streamer only went live past 11 p.m., and Kallen never missed a single one.
Even when school drowned him in homework, he'd watch the replays-sometimes twice. He told himself it was just about the gameplay... but deep down, he knew he was invested in the guy.
More than he should be.
Kallen wasn't stupid. He could tell the streamer was around his age, maybe even went to school. But there was no name, no hint of identity-just those teasing fingers, that addictive laugh, and a voice that drove him mad.
He became a regular. Gave huge superchats. Climbed to the top of the donation board. He even started leaving... comments.
Flirty, thirsty, reckless comments.
All with that same cold, unreadable expression on his face.
And somehow, Your Good Boy always noticed his messages. Always responded. Teasing, cocky, like he knew what he was doing to him.
One night, Kallen left a simple comment: "You've got a hot voice."
The reply came almost instantly.
"Careful... I haven't even whispered your name yet."
Kallen's breath caught. Just a little.
That night, as he lay in bed, headphones still in, he stared at the ceiling, wondering how that voice would sound murmuring his name. Maybe saying it slow. Maybe right next to his ear.
He didn't even realize it, but his obsession had already begun.
And he was only getting started.
It had been months.
Not a single night passed without Your Good Boy's voice echoing in Kallen's dark, quiet room.
He watched every stream-religiously. No distractions, no lights. Just him, the screen, and that voice wrapping around him like silk.
Kallen wasn't a casual fan. He was an observer.
He noticed everything. The way the streamer's voice would rise in excitement when he landed a win. How he chuckled low and slow after a flirty comment. How he stuttered slightly when reading Kallen's messages-his signature intense comments that always made the boy go silent for a beat, as if flustered.
Kallen could always tell.
He had learned the patterns, the pauses, the tone when he was shy, and the smirk hiding behind those words when he tried to cover it up.
And then... there was that night.
Kallen sat back on the black leather of his oversized gaming chair, massive screen glowing in front of him. His bedroom was dark, minimalist, sleek-just black and silver tones swallowing the space.
The only light came from the screen, and the only sound was him.
Silver headphones hugged his ears as the streamer's voice came alive.
"Alright, alright-Your Good Boy is back, baby~ Let's win this one!"
His voice was a melody laced in chaos. Smooth, cocky, and dangerous.
Kallen's expression didn't shift. Blank. Cold. Emotionless. But his eyes... narrowed. Focused.
The streamer laughed, teasing someone in the chat, and leaned toward the mic to adjust it.
And there it was. That hand.
That goddamn mole on the inside of his ring finger. Just a flicker in the light. Small. Dark. Intimate. Kallen froze.
His heart, usually still and bored, actually thudded. He didn't blink as he clicked back, rewound, paused the screen. Zoomed in. Stared. His own hand moved, brushing over his lips in thought, and for the first time in his life, Kallen whispered something out loud to himself. "...hot."
From that night onward, the mole became his fixation.
Every time Your Good Boy's hands came into view, Kallen's eyes searched for it. Sometimes he caught it instantly. Sometimes he leaned forward, breath barely even. He had screenshots. Three of them. One zoomed in. One from a side angle. One with the lighting dim and the skin more golden.
Was it creepy? A little unhinged? Kallen didn't care.
He was too far gone to even notice how obsessed he was. All he knew was that he thought about this boy too often. Too deeply. He even dreamed about him.
That voice-teasing, whispering, moaning in his sleep-left him shaken in the morning. He'd wake up flustered with a blank expression and casually grab toast like nothing happened.
Because no one would believe it.
No one would guess that the coldest, most aloof guy in school was fantasizing intensely while eating plain bread, all with a deadpan stare.
Today was just another class day. The same boring morning light streamed through the windows, the same hum of half-awake students settling in. And like always, Kallen Blackwinds sat at his seat alone-silent, cold, earbuds in, completely detached from the rest of the world.
He had no intention of listening to anyone.
Instead, his world was currently the soft, wicked voice of Your Good Boy playing through his phone. A saved stream from a few nights ago, one he had already watched twice but still couldn't get enough of.
The voice sounded even better in his headphones. Richer. Closer. Goosebumps ran down his spine as the streamer teased someone in chat with a smirk in his tone.
Kallen's face was emotionless as always, but his fingers tapped slowly against his knee, in sync with the streamer's laugh.
Then the buzz started around the class.
Apparently, the mysterious student who had been enrolled but never showed up since the start of the year was finally joining today. Teachers had gotten involved. Warnings were given. And now... the kid had no choice but to show up.
Kallen didn't care. At least not until-
"Phones away, everyone. And you too, Kallen," the teacher called out.
He clicked off his phone and dropped it into his bag, removing the earphones and leaning back in his seat with his usual disinterest.
The teacher turned toward the doorway. "Hurry. Introduce yourself. Thanks to you always being absent, others hardly even know you."
Everyone turned to look.
Kallen did too, barely lifting his gaze.
The boy who stepped in looked like he rolled out of bed five minutes ago. Crooked uniform, thick oversized hoodie, messy hair clipped loosely back, and a general air of don't give a damn. His hands were buried in his pockets, and his eyes were heavy-lidded with sleep or just life itself.
"Hi. I'm... well, Levine Rayes. Nice to meet you," he said dully.
"Say you won't skip anymore." The teacher urged.
"I promise I won't be missing classes from now on," Levine mumbled, bored as hell.
The teacher nodded, finally satisfied, and pointed him toward the last seat in the corner.
Levine didn't hesitate. He shuffled over, dropped into the seat like he had no bones, and immediately laid his head down on the desk.
Kallen hadn't been paying attention-until he heard it. That voice. Low. Rough. Mumbled like it was never meant to be heard.
"Tch... still hate mornings," Levine muttered to himself.
Kallen's body stilled. Completely.
His eyes, slow and unreadable, turned toward the figure at the back of the room.
That voice. That exact gravelly pitch. That soft rasp in the morning. It wasn't just similar. It was him.
He didn't react. His face stayed cool. Unbothered. But his eyes didn't leave Levine.
He watched the boy sink into his arms again, hoodie covering his face. His fingers had slipped slightly out of his sleeve.
Kallen could just barely make out the skin of his hand, the curve of his ring finger... his thoughts stopped,
"Kallen dear," the teacher called, snapping his attention forward. "You'll help Levine with the notes he's missed, alright? He'll be collecting them from you."
Kallen simply nodded.
No reaction. No expression.
After class, the teacher didn't waste time.
Dragging Levine by the hoodie like an unruly kitten, he marched him straight to Kallen's desk and dropped him into the seat with a sigh. "You're not leaving until you've caught up with the notes. Kallen, make sure he gets everything. And Levine, focus. No sleeping."
"Yeah, yeah," Levine muttered, rubbing his eyes like a child just woken up from a nap.
Now the two sat face to face.
Kallen looked the same as ever-still, expressionless, carved out of stone. Levine had that permanently exhausted face, the kind of tired that no nap could fix. It was awkwardly quiet for a moment, both of them radiating opposite energies like fire and ice in the same room.
Then Levine let out a lazy yawn and broke the silence.
"Hi. I'm Levine. You're Kallen, right? Hope you can handle me."
Kallen hummed low in his throat. "Hmm."
Without another word, he pulled out a notebook-clean handwriting, neatly organized-and slid it over. Levine accepted it quietly, flipping through the pages with one hand, the other still half-buried in his hoodie pocket.
Kallen observed.
That voice still echoed in his mind. The lazy drawl, the sleep-heavy grumble. Something about it nagged at him. Felt familiar in a way voices shouldn't. He wanted to shake it off, to let it go-but then Levine asked something about the syllabus, and Kallen answered in clipped, minimal words.
"Damn," Levine muttered after a moment, smirking a little. "You really don't talk much, do you?"
Kallen gave no answer. He didn't need to.
Levine gave a small chuckle and fished a pen from his bag, beginning to copy the notes down with slow, practiced ease. Kallen glanced away, uninterested, until—that pen. Black grip. Cracked cap. Slight chip near the base.
His breath caught. He knew that pen. He'd seen that pen.
A memory flashed-Your Good Boy livestreaming, fingers tapping that exact pen against the desk while mumbling a game code, light glinting off the side just like this.
Kallen's skin prickled. His eyes dropped, fast, to Levine's hand-And froze.
There. Right there. A tiny mole on the inside of his ring finger.
The same mole he had zoomed in on. Watched for in every stream. Saved screenshots of.
His fingers twitched. His expression stayed perfectly calm, but inside-Thunder.
He didn't blink. He just stared. Unblinking. Almost stunned in disbelief that had long teetered into obsession.
"Hello? You there?" Levine asked, waving the pen near Kallen's face.
His cheek rested in one hand, while the other played lazily with the pen. He didn't even realize what that tiny mole had just revealed.
Kallen's lips parted slightly. Then he exhaled.
"I was just thinking," he said smoothly, voice suddenly deeper. Thicker.
"Thinking what?" Levine tilted his head.
"You talk like someone I know."
Levine snorted. "I get that a lot."
Kallen leaned a little closer, voice dropping an octave, dark and almost possessive. "No. You talk like the one I need."
Levine blinked.
The sentence landed heavier than it should've. Something about the tone... It made Levine glance away, ears faintly pink, trying to laugh it off as he focused back on the notebook.
But he could feel it-that shift in the air.
Kallen was different now. His silence wasn't casual anymore. His stare was sharp, piercing, consuming.
And he didn't look away. Not once.
His mind repeated it, over and over. Found you.
That day, after class ended, Kallen had never felt so wired. Restless. Excited.
He sat on his bed, eyes glued to the clock, waiting for 11 PM like it was a countdown to fate. The moment it hit, he was already refreshing the stream link, heart thudding beneath his calm exterior.
And there he was.
Your Good Boy live.
Wearing the same hoodie Levine had worn to school that day.
Kallen's lips twitched into a smirk, his suspicions sharpening into certainty.
"Alright, gremlins," the streamer's voice echoed through his speakers, "tragic news: I'm being dragged back to the prison they call school. So if I vanish a little like before, blame the teachers and my mom-they've teamed up to yeet me out of existence if I skip again. Pray for me."
It ended with a long, dramatic sigh.
Kallen had never felt more satisfied. He leaned forward, fingers flying over the keyboard as he left a comment.
Mr. Cold: Maybe you really shouldn't skip school anymore. Someone might've found you... interesting.
The streamer blinked at the screen, reading it out loud between taking shots in the game.
"Huh? Why'd you say that? Who'd find a person like me interesting? I literally went looking like a homeless kid," he laughed. "No one would even wanna hang out with me."
Mr. Cold: I will.
There was a pause. The streamer-Levine-huffed. "Dude, what's your username again? Mr. Cold, right? You're weird. Just like your name."
Right then, the notification popped up.
New Superchat: ₩10,000 from 'Mr. Cold'.
Kallen typed again.
Mr. Cold: You looked good in that hoodie today. Speak up more. I like your voice even more now.
Levine froze.
He blinked at the screen. "...What the hell," he muttered under his breath.
He recognized the username instantly.
That same regular viewer. The one always throwing heavy superchats. Blunt. Witty. Shameless.
"Weird as always," Levine muttered, but his lips were betraying him-curving slightly, a faint blush rising up his cheeks.
"Well then, Mr. Cold... keep enjoying the show." He whispered it softly into the mic, teasing, almost sultry.
And Kallen caught it. Just barely-but he saw it.
The corner of Levine's lips lifting into a subtle, seductive smile. It was fleeting, and Levine quickly adjusted the camera like nothing happened-but Kallen had already burned that image into his memory.
His breath hitched. That smile... was for him. He leaned back slowly, eyes on the ceiling, playing that moment over and over again.
Levine.
Thick, messy black hair that somehow still looked soft. Sparkling honey-brown eyes framed by those sinful long lashes. Slightly plump red lips. Pierced ear.
That tiny mole. That voice... "Fuck," Kallen growled lowly, jaw tightening.
He was turned on-there was no denying it-but it wasn't just lust. It was obsession.
Satisfaction. Possession.
The thrill of finally knowing. That smile was just the beginning. He didn't want the smile. He wanted him.
All of him.
Kallen smirked, dark and dangerous, as he whispered to himself,
"School's about to get a hell of a lot more interesting."