The scent of eggs and coffee drifted through the small apartment, weaving with traces of detergent and the faint musk of old books. Morning light filtered through the curtains, soft and golden, pooling against the tiled floor and catching the rising steam from the frying pan.
Ahce moved quietly, her motions deliberate, careful. She set two plates on the cramped counter, the faint clatter of ceramic echoing in the silence. She tried to ignore how the air itself felt different with Richard inside the apartment, heavier, warmer, more alive somehow.
The place had always been small, barely enough space for one person to breathe without brushing the walls. Yet now, with him asleep in her room, it felt even smaller. The walls seemed to draw closer, the air thickening with unspoken tension. But strangely, instead of feeling suffocated, she found the emptiness eased, replaced by something she couldn't name.
A quick glance at the clock told her it was Saturday, her one day without obligations, without students or deadlines, a day meant for rest. Yet peace eluded her. As she poured the coffee, a question needled her thoughts.
How did he even find me?
Only her parents knew where she lived. Did he ask them? Or… had he always known? The possibility sent a chill across her skin, though she couldn't tell if it was fear or something else. Pushing the thought away, she carried herself toward the bedroom. The door creaked softly as she entered.
Richard lay on his side, one arm tucked beneath the pillow, his face calm but faintly shadowed by the remnants of worry. Even in sleep, a small frown lingered between his brows, as though some unseen burden followed him into dreams.
Ahce hesitated by the bedside, watching him for a moment. He looked different in the morning, younger, softer, the rough edges smoothed by exhaustion. She reached out to tap his shoulder, but before her fingers could touch him, his hand shot up, quick as instinct, and caught hers in a firm grip.
"Richard…!"
The word escaped her just as she lost balance. In an instant, the mattress dipped beneath her weight, and she fell forward, palms landing on either side of his shoulders. His grip didn't loosen. Instead, he guided her down gently, the world shrinking to the space between them.
Then his lips found hers, a soft, lingering kiss that burned through the fog of sleep still clinging to the room.
"Good morning, Boss," he murmured, voice husky, the corners of his lips brushing against hers.
Ahce's heart stumbled.
"Do you always kiss people without their permission?" she whispered, trying to sound sharp but failing. Her voice betrayed her, breathless and uneven.
"No," he said simply, eyes locking on hers. "You're the only one. My only Boss."
The way he said it, quiet, reverent, made something twist inside her chest. She wanted to believe him, but doubt coiled just beneath the surface.
"How would I even know if that's the truth?" she asked, struggling to keep her composure. "I'm not with you twenty-four seven. Release me, and let's eat breakfast."
"Not yet."
Before she could move, Richard shifted with the fluidity of someone who knew her too well. In one motion, he rolled them over, the sheet twisting beneath them as she landed on her back, his body hovering above hers.
His hands braced on either side of her head, careful, measured, but unyielding. His eyes, dark and storm-laden, pinned her in place more effectively than his weight ever could.
"Richard…" Her voice trembled. She wasn't sure if it was a warning or a plea.
He studied her, gaze flicking over every line of her face, her parted lips, her uncertain eyes, until the air between them seemed to hum.
"You're heavy," she muttered, grasping for composure.
"But I'm not putting all my weight on you," he replied, his tone low and teasing, a shadow of a smile ghosting across his mouth.
Before she could respond, he kissed her again, deeper this time. It was not gentle. It was consuming. Heat flared between them, sharp and wild.
Her hands pressed against his chest, intending to push him away, yet her fingers betrayed her, curling into the fabric of his shirt instead. His heartbeat thudded beneath her palms, fast, steady, alive, and somehow it synced with hers.
The kiss grew desperate, layered with hunger and memory. Each movement felt like a reclaiming, as if he were piecing together something lost. Every time she tried to break free, he deepened it, refusing to let the space between them widen.
When she finally turned her head away, breath trembling, the air around them quivered with silence.
"Richard…" she gasped. "This isn't…"
He pressed his forehead to hers, closing his eyes, his breath rough and uneven. "I can't stop, Boss. Not when you're here… not when you're real."
His confession was low, almost broken, carrying a truth that burned more than the kiss itself.
Ahce's eyes searched his face, trying to make sense of the storm in him, that mix of devotion, fear, and something older than memory.
"What did I use to call you?" she asked quietly. "It's not Richard, right?"
He hesitated. For a moment, it seemed he weighed how much of the past he could afford to give. Then, a faint smile touched his lips.
"My surname," he said softly. "You used to call me by my surname."
"You mean… Jing?" she murmured. The name tasted both foreign and familiar, like a word that had been hers once and forgotten by time.
"Yes," he breathed. His eyes softened as if hearing it from her lips restored something that had been missing.
"I see…" she said, her tone wavering. "Then who decided on Boss as our endearment?"
He looked away for a moment before answering, "Me."
A quiet laugh escaped her, almost wistful. "That's right… I always preferred sweetheart."
The words slipped out before she could stop them. She froze, eyes wide, as realization crashed into her.
Richard's expression shifted instantly, surprise flickering like light breaking through fog. "You… remembered?"
"No…" She shook her head quickly, frustration seeping into her voice. "Sometimes words just come out, like an instinct. As if my body remembers something my mind refuses to. But I can't recall the moment. I don't know what happened back then."
Silence filled the room. The only sound was the faint ticking of the clock in the kitchen, marking time that neither of them could escape.
Richard's hand twitched slightly, halfway to reaching for her, then stopped. His eyes were heavy with something she couldn't name, sorrow, longing, maybe guilt.
"It's better if we start again," he said finally. His tone was even, but the ache beneath it was unmistakable.
Ahce studied him, trying to read what he wasn't saying. There were secrets there, hidden behind his calm expression, secrets that felt too fragile to touch. Was he protecting her from them, or protecting himself?
She exhaled, the weight of uncertainty pressing against her chest.
"Get up," she said quietly. "Let's have breakfast."
His smile returned, soft, restrained, but no less disarming. "Okay, Boss."
He leaned forward, brushing a kiss against her cheek before pulling her gently from the bed, as though their earlier closeness had been nothing but morning haze.
Yet as she followed him toward the kitchen, Ahce couldn't shake the image of that fleeting smile, the way it trembled around the edges, fragile as glass. And somewhere in her chest, she wondered...
If the truth ever surfaced… would that smile still remain?