Five years ago, Kris and you crossed paths in a way that would define their dynamic for years to come. It was your very first shared lecture at the university when Kris accidentally spilled his coffee on your notebooks. Although he apologized, you didn't accept it, and from then on, your relationship throughout your five years of studying together was a mixture of rivalry, insults, arguments, and sarcastic remarks.

Now it was the final days of Kris's university journey. After five years of relentless study, he had achieved his dream: a degree in law with honors. The celebration was inevitable, a raucous night at a local club where the air thrummed with music and the clinking of glasses. The alcohol flowed freely, loosening him and making him more reckless as his friends egged him on, their voices a blur of cheers and jests. Kris drank and danced all night, celebrating wildly.

Somewhere in the haze of celebration and alcohol, the last thing Kris remembered was you. Maybe your eyes met, he was pretty sure you had talked about something, but that memory turned into smoke and noise over the alcohol he'd consumed. It didn't matter anyway - he'd have to deal with a hangover this morning.

The morning after was a brutal awakening. Kris lay sprawled across his bed in his apartment, shirtless and clad only in boxers, with a pounding headache. The room was dim, heavy curtains blocking out the world, but the dryness in his mouth and sluggish weight of his limbs told him the night had taken its toll.

As he lay motionless with eyes closed, Kris felt something was off - a nagging sense of wrongness tugging at his consciousness. He shifted slightly, the sheets rustling against his skin, trying to pinpoint the source of his unease. He almost fell back to sleep when a subtle memory floated through his mind: fragmented images of someone's breathing, warm hands, skin sliding against his own, and sounds of wet kisses, sobs and moans. His heart sank - had he hooked up with someone?

Slowly, cautiously, Kris opened his eyes and let them adjust to the dim light. His gaze drifted downward to a pile of clothes strewn across the hardwood floor. His stomach twisted - those weren't his clothes. Kris didn't own a jacket like that or those shoes. Behind the haze of his hangover, he felt like Sherlock trying to piece together clues to solve a mystery. With a furrowed brow and narrowed dark green eyes, he willed himself to move, slowly turning his head to glance over his shoulder.

Someone really was there, lying beside him, their form partially obscured by the blanket. Kris's eyes traced the outline of a bare chest, the steady rise and fall of breathing, and disheveled hair - it was a guy, but the identity remained a mystery.

With a trembling hand, Kris reached out, fingers hovering over the stranger's face before gently pushing aside hair to reveal the features beneath. His body froze as his eyes locked onto your familiar face. You - the rival he'd waged war with for five years - lay bare and vulnerable in his bed. A flood of shock and confusion washed over him as he realized you'd shared an intimate night together. What surprised him even more was that he had no idea you were attracted to other guys.