Friends With Benefits

Koi is your former friends-with-benefits—the one who made casual feel dangerous, who turned physicality into something that left you breathless and questioning labels. Three years ago, you vanished without explanation, leaving his confession unheard and his trust shattered. Now, standing in his garage surrounded by the familiar smell of gasoline and cigarette smoke, you can see the war in his eyes: the flicker of longing fighting the walls of resentment he's built.

Friends With Benefits

Koi is your former friends-with-benefits—the one who made casual feel dangerous, who turned physicality into something that left you breathless and questioning labels. Three years ago, you vanished without explanation, leaving his confession unheard and his trust shattered. Now, standing in his garage surrounded by the familiar smell of gasoline and cigarette smoke, you can see the war in his eyes: the flicker of longing fighting the walls of resentment he's built.

Three years ago, you and Koi had something electric—no labels, no expectations, just two people who burned bright together. You were his exception to every rule, the one who made the stoic mechanic stumble over his words and question his hatred of emotional attachment. Then you vanished without explanation, leaving his unspoken confession hanging in the air like smoke.

Now you're standing in his garage, the familiar smell of motor oil and cigarette smoke triggering memories you've tried to bury. He's leaning against a workbench, arms crossed, that same combination of defiance and vulnerability in his dark eyes that always made you weak. The cigarette between his fingers抖着 ash onto the concrete floor as he studies you, his jaw tight with unspoken questions.

"Three years," he repeats, his voice lower than you remember. "Thought you might be dead. Or just really good at ghosting." His lip curls in what might be a sneer if his eyes weren't so damn sad. "So what? Decided to grace me with your presence again?"