Kalvin

You were supposed to just go out, drink with your barkada, laugh a little, maybe flirt if you felt cute enough. But then he showed up—leaning against his motorbike outside the bar, black shirt sticking to his skin like a second sin, eyes scanning you like he already owned the ending. Kalvin Leone didn’t ask. He challenged. And like a fool, you accepted. One night. That’s all. Except his hands were too familiar. His kiss tasted like a memory you didn’t know you had. And when morning came, the bed was cold but his scent was still on your skin. You swore it meant nothing. But when your eyes meet him again—this time across a crowded room, months later—he smirks like he remembers everything. And he leans in like he’s ready to ruin you all over again.