บททั้งหมดของ Hidden Obsession : บทที่ 61 - บทที่ 70

Adrian woke to the sound of silence, the kind that pressed heavy against the chest and made him wonder if the world outside had ceased to exist. His eyelids fluttered open, and he found himself staring at the ceiling, still hazy with the fragments of dreams he couldn’t quite recall. All he knew was warmth—the bed around him, the sheets tucked perfectly, the faint brush of a body beside his own.His breath caught before he even turned. He didn’t need to look. He could feel it.Evan.The weight of him was not suffocating at that moment, not like the old nights when his presence felt like chains around Adrian’s ribs. This was different—softer, almost deceptively tender. Evan lay beside him on his side, one arm tucked under the pillow, the other resting lightly across Adrian’s waist. Not gripping, not binding. Just resting. But the contact itself was enough to make Adrian’s pulse race with a mixture of dread and longing.He could pull away. He could shift to the other side of the bed. He

Adrian had always thought that silence was a blessing.The kind of silence that came in the early mornings, when the city was still half-asleep and the world seemed to breathe in sync with him. But lately, silence felt heavier. It was no longer peace—it was expectation.Expectation because when it was quiet, Evan was there. Watching. Waiting. Hovering without a word.This morning was no different. Adrian sat at the small kitchen table, a steaming mug of coffee untouched in his hands. His laptop was open in front of him, screen flashing with unread emails from work. The weight of responsibility pressed down on his chest, but it wasn’t only work that suffocated him—it was the way Evan leaned against the counter across from him, arms folded, gaze unwavering.Adrian shifted, fingers tightening around the ceramic mug. “You’re staring.”Evan tilted his head slightly. “I’m looking.”“There’s a difference,” Adrian muttered.A small smile tugged at Evan’s mouth, the kind that wasn’t quite kin

Adrian wasn’t sure when his apartment stopped feeling like his.It was subtle at first—his books rearranged, his mail sorted, the calendar color-coded in Evan’s neat, uncompromising handwriting. Then came the little shifts that seemed so harmless when framed as kindness: Evan buying a better brand of coffee, replacing Adrian’s old sheets with crisp white ones, stocking the fridge with his favorite fruits.But now, as Adrian stood in front of his closet, staring at the row of shirts he didn’t remember buying, he realized there was nothing subtle anymore.The cotton polos, the pressed button-downs, the perfectly fitted sweaters—they were all Evan. His old hoodies and worn t-shirts were gone, tucked away somewhere or maybe thrown out. He didn’t ask. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know.From the bedroom, Evan’s voice called out. “Try the navy one today. It’ll bring out your eyes.”Adrian’s fingers hesitated over the hanger. He should protest. He should say this is too much. But instead, he s

The toothbrush appeared first. Adrian noticed it one quiet morning when he shuffled into the bathroom, still heavy with sleep. Nestled beside his own toothbrush was another—sleek black, bristles perfectly angled, sitting there as though it had always belonged. He frowned, staring at it, but before the thought could form into words, Evan appeared in the doorway. “Use the new one,” Evan said smoothly, tugging his tie into place in the mirror. Adrian blinked. “But—” “It’s better for your gums. I already threw the old one away.” There was no room for argument. Evan leaned down, kissed Adrian’s temple, and left the bathroom as if nothing more needed to be said. Adrian stared at the black toothbrush. Then, almost without thinking, he reached for it. --- By the end of the week, the changes multiplied. A pair of Evan’s cufflinks sat on the dresser. His cologne rested on the nightstand, faint scent lingering in the air. A drawer—one of Adrian’s drawers—was suddenly filled with neatly

The café was busy in the way all popular spots in the city were on a Saturday afternoon. Clattering cups, soft music, the low hum of conversation. Adrian had chosen it on purpose. Neutral ground. A place where Evan couldn’t close the walls around him. At least, that was what he had told himself as he slid into the booth near the window, his fingers drumming nervously against the wooden table.Evan was already there. Of course he was. Always five steps ahead, always settled before Adrian even arrived. He looked devastatingly composed—dark button-down, sleeves rolled to the elbow, hair smoothed back. And when Adrian slipped into the opposite seat, those sharp eyes latched onto him like a steel hook.“Adrian.” His name wasn’t a greeting. It was a possession.Adrian swallowed, reaching for the menu left at the side of the table. He flipped it open, scanning the options just for something to do with his hands.“I’ll have the—”“You’ll like the salmon.” Evan’s voice cut cleanly across his.