isa — 𝜗𝜚.ᐟ

Screams and whistles suddenly erupted around you, dragging your attention toward the stage despite yourself.

Martin steps on to the stage first. And god, he was… loud.

Not just in volume, but in presence. You knew he was loud. You’d grown familiar with the sound of his laughter and shouting (against your will), echoing through the school hallways during his usual over-the-top antics. But this… this was different. He moved across the stage, electric guitar in hand, like it belonged to him. Like every second of attention from the crowd was something he expected, not something he hoped for. His voice cut through the noise effortlessly, rough in a way that made the entire room lean in.

You shifted your weight, trying (and failing) to look uninterested. You weren’t impressed or anything. High school garage bands were soooo last year, you like to believe that your tastes were much more refined than that. But a small, tiny part of you regrettably understood why everyone else seemed to be.

The crowd erupted at the end of the third song. You hadn’t even noticed how long you had been watching him, and annoyingly, he looked good. Not in a polished, put together way--but in that careless, messy way that somehow worked. Hair damp with sweat, sleeves shoved up to his elbows, those ridiculous studded bracelets clinking every time he moved. Even the chipped black nail polish on his fingers, something you would’ve normally judged—looked deliberate as they moved over the strings. It was irritating how well it all suited him.

Cheers bounced off the walls as people pushed closer to the makeshift stage. Some girls even held up signs for someone named James as he played the bass, while the drummer–Keonho, you hear from the freshmen around you– kept the energy going from the back.

Despite the ruckus and adrenaline around you, you didn’t move. You stayed planted at the back, arms still crossed, occasionally checking your nails and the charms on them to look busy, expression carefully neutral. Unwilling to admit how much their performance pulled you in. Scanning the crowd with a bored stare, you caught sight of something that immediately sent blood rushing to your ears. Your nails pressing crescents into your palm, though your face remained completely stone cold.

Aaron Samuels. Your ex-boyfriend. The one who had broken up with you just two days ago because you were “too much.” Locked in a passionate kiss with Cady Heron. Your new friend. (Though some would argue she’s just another one of your ‘minions’ who do everything you ask them to and believe every word you say. But oh well its whatever, friend, sidekick, minion, they're all the same to you anyway.)

Your anger continued to boil beneath the surface, but you weren’t going to make a scene here. You were better than that. Exhaling a staggered breath, you forced yourself to inhale slowly, unwilling to make a spectacle of yourself. You just scoff at their public display, the scene reminding you of two fishes kissing each other that you once saw from a random documentary.

That didn’t mean you were going to let them go. You always had your way, one way or another.

You couldn’t care less if your ex-boyfriend had found someone else right after your breakup. What you couldn’t accept was how he thought he had the power to end things with you, not the other way around. The same could be said for Cady. You had never truly seen her as a friend, but you certainly weren’t going to let her play you for a fool. You would make sure they regretted it. 

Just not now. Their time will eventually come.

After throwing one last judgmental glance at the pair, you refocused your attention on the five-person band. Specifically to the blond with spiked hair and messy eyeliner, his red electric guitar slung low.

Onstage, Martin was having the time of his life. He ran a hand through his damp hair, slightly out of breath, eyeliner smudged just enough to look intentional. Leaning into the mic, a crooked grin tugged at his lips as his eyes scanned the crowd. 

Until they landed past it.

Straight to you.

You froze.

Oh God, no. There was no way.

“Damn,” he breathed into the mic, voice low, amused. “Didn’t think I’d actually see you here tonight.”

Your stomach dropped. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. You were literally wearing a disguise. Granted, it wasn’t a good one– but still! How did he spot you so easily in a crowd like this?

He straightened, grin widening, clearly enjoying this far too much. “This next song…” he said, dragging it out just enough to make your dread build, “…goes out to a very special lady.”

Your eyes widened behind your sunglasses.

Oh my God. Shut up. No. No fucking way.

He lifted his hand, pointing directly at you. “This one’s for you.” The reaction was immediate.

Heads turned. Dozens of them. Conversations cut off mid-sentence. The energy in the room shifted as people followed his gaze, right to the back, right to you.

Your heart nearly stopped. You ducked your head instantly, pulling your cap lower over your face, as if that could somehow erase the fact that half the room was now staring at you. This was a nightmare.

Being the center of attention wasn’t unfamiliar to you. After all, you were Y/N L/N. Queen bee of North Shore High. The one who controlled the social hierarchy. The one who could make or break someone’s reputation with a single word. But this was completely different. You had no intention of being recognized in this smelly, cramped backyard, precisely why you had thrown on an (admittedly shitty) disguise and left Karen and the others completely in the dark.

Mortification burned through you, hot and immediate.

Onstage, Martin just smiled, like he was genuinely on top of the world just because you were there. And then– he strummed the guitar.

You stilled, the first strum hitting like a loaded gun. And somehow, you just knew it was aimed at you.

God, please no. Just kill me now.

You knew that sound. You knew that opening. Your head snapped up despite yourself, horror dawning in real time. Martin leaned into the mic, eyes still locked on yours, grin borderline wicked. And then he started singing, the four other boys behind him closely mirroring the horror on your face, hands completely still, unsure of what to do.

“You know you love me,” he sang, winking at you. “I know you care.”

You stared at him in pure, unfiltered disbelief. Out of all the songs in the world. Out of all the songs–

He chose that one.

“And I just can’t believe we ain’t together…”

The crowd went wild. Some people laughed, others cheered louder, phones already out. Hesitantly, his bandmates follow his lead and start playing the instrumental. And Martin? He was absolutely eating it up, performing like this was the best decision he had ever made in his life.

And while you were completely, utterly stuck watching in both horror and amusement… a devilish idea began to take root in your head.

Aaron Samuels and Cady Heron might have put you on display– but you’d be the one controlling how this story ended.

The set ended in a blur of noise. After Martin's very humiliating public display, the band tried to do some form of damage control and played more songs, hoping that everyone will forget what just happened.

Cheers, whistles, people chanting for one more song, screaming ‘Cortis’ like they were headlining coachella instead of someone’s overcrowded backyard. The energy lingered in the air long after the last note faded, buzzing beneath your skin in a way you refused to acknowledge.

You didn’t stay for long. Just enough to let the crowd settle. Just enough to make sure no one was paying attention to you anymore. Then you moved.

Through the bodies, past the makeshift stage, toward the side of the house where the five boys had gathered. Laughing, excitedly talking over each other, riding the high of their performance. And there he was.

Leaning back against the wall like he hadn’t just made a complete spectacle out of you twenty minutes ago. A half-empty water bottle in his hand, hair damp, his cheeks flushed from the heat, eyeliner smudged and nearly melted off from the sweat.

His head tilted the second you stepped into his line of sight. A grin spreading across his face like he’d just won something, eyebrows raised in faux shock.

“Oh, wow, look who we have here,” he drawled, pushing himself off the wall, meeting you half way, body towering over yours even with the kitten heels you wore, completely ignoring the shocked look in his friends faces as they pretended that they weren't listening. “Didn’t think you’d actually come see me.”

You stopped an arms length away from him, arms crossing over your chest, expression perfectly composed. “Don’t flatter yourself, Edwards” you said coolly. “This doesn’t mean anything.”

His grin widened.

God he loves when you talk in that bratty tone of yours.

“Yeah?” he said, taking a step closer, fingers fiddling with his earring, voice teasing. “So did you like it? You were looking pretty into it back there.” His head tilting in the direction of the stage.

“I was just dropping by,” you corrected flatly.

“Right right.” He nodded, like he totally believed you. “Dropping by. So the disguise has no reason at all? You just like walking around with a cap and sunglasses during the night?”

Your eyes narrowed slightly behind your sunglasses. “You talk a lot for someone who just publicly humiliated me.”

That only made him laugh. “Humiliated?” he repeated, hand coming up to his chest in mock offense. “I dedicated a song to you. That’s like- the complete opposite of humiliation and totally romantic.”

“You think Baby by Justin Bieber is romantic?” you deadpanned.

“Definitely,” he shot back, nodding vigorously. “Isn’t that how he bagged Selena?”

You stared at him. He only grinned, biting his lower lip slightly, eyes glinting with amusement– like he was waiting to see how far he could push you.

God, he was insufferable. And entirely too pleased with himself.

“Relax,” he added, softer now, tilting his head slightly. “You know you loved it.”

You didn’t even hesitate. “I didn’t.”

“Nah” he dragged out, shaking his head as he leaned in slightly. “You totally did.”

Silence stretched for half a second. From a few feet away, Martin's friends held their breaths. Watching closely to how you would react to the wasian boys comment. They completely expected you to step on his toes and walk away, like how you ran his foot over and drove off a few weeks ago. But all you did was let out a sharp exhale, trying to control yourself. You weren’t here for this.

You straightened slightly, gaze sharpening as you looked at him properly this time.

“Whatever, I need you to do something for me.”

That got his attention. Not that you didn’t already have it, but this shifted it. Made it sharper. More focused.

His grin didn’t disappear, but it changed. Curious now. “Yeah?” he said. “What kind of something?”

You held his gaze. “I need you to play a part.”

His eyebrows lifted, interest piqued. “And what exactly am I auditioning for?”

You didn’t smile. “My boyfriend.”

That did it. For the first time since you walked over, Martin actually went still. Not completely. Just enough that you noticed. Then his mouth twitched, lips pressing tight like he was trying not to react.

“Wow, straight to it, huh?”

“This isn’t about you,” you said immediately. “So don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Mhmmm” he hummed, like he wasn’t listening at all. Like thinking about it was too much of a task, even when deep down all of his nerves were about to explode just at the mere mention of you mentioning ‘boyfriend’ to him. “Fake boyfriend, though… that’s a pretty big role.”

You ignored that. “It’s temporary,” you continued. “It just needs to be public. Convincing enough that people believe it.”

His eyes flickered, studying you more carefully now. “And why, may I ask,” he asked, tone just a little more curious than teasing now, “does the princess need a fake boyfriend?” Martin wasn’t stupid. Everyone had heard about you and Aaron. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder why you chose him.

You tilted your head slightly, choosing to completely ignore the nickname. You could’ve said it simply. You could’ve said: Aaron. But that wasn’t the point. “Some people need to learn a lesson,” you said instead, voice cool and measured, throwing your hair over your shoulder. “And to know never to fuck with me”

There it was. Honest. In your own way.

Martin watched you for a second longer than usual. Expression now carefully neutral, lips jutting out as he lets out a thinking hum sound. Then, he smiles. Not the teasing one he has been giving you all evening, but something sharper. “Damn,” he said under his breath. “That’s kind of evil.”

You didn’t deny it.

“I prefer the word effective.”

He let out a surprised laugh, “So let me get this straight,” he said, now taking a few steps away from you, as if internalizing the information you’ve given him “You want me to pretend to be your boyfriend… so some douchebag realizes he messed up?”

“Yes.”

“And then what?”

You met his gaze, completely unbothered. “Then I turn him down.” You shrug.

That got a real reaction. He broke into loud laughter, a hand coming up to his stomach as he bent slightly, a tear forming at the corner of his eye.“God you really are evil,” he says through laughter, wiping away the tear. “I like it.” he sighs dreamily.

Of course he did.

You ignore his words, and crossed your arms again, a single eyebrow raised. “Well? What will it be, Edwards?”

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he looked at you, expression thinking, like he was piecing something together. Then his grin came back, now softer than it was before. “If I’m playing your boyfriend,” he said, voice dropping just slightly, “I’m doing it my way.”

“And what exactly does that mean?”

“It means,” he said, stepping into your space once again, just enough to be intentional, “I don’t do anything half-assed.”

Your chin tilted up slightly. “Good,” you replied. “I don’t either.”

His grin widened. “People are gonna believe it,” he continued. “No holding back. No fake plastic romance shit, If I’m in, I’m in.”

You studied him for a moment. Weighing. Calculating.

“Fine.”

That was all it took. The pink in his cheeks turning to a blazing red color. His eyes lit up–just for a second–before he masked it again with that same cocky expression.

“Didn’t think my night would end with you asking me out.” he said, shaking his head slightly.

“Don’t think too much about it, Edwards” you said flatly. “You just happen to be useful.”

“Yeah?” he shot back, grin returning. “We’ll see about that, princess.”

You turned slightly, already done with the conversation. “I’ll text you the details.”

“Wait,” he called.

You paused, glancing back at him. He was still smiling, but softer now. Not mocking. Not teasing. The same smile children have when they receive the present they’ve always prayed for on their birthday.

“For the record?”

You raised an eyebrow.

“I would’ve said yes anyway.”

You held his gaze for a second. Unreadable. Carefully thinking about your next words.

“I know.” And with that, you turned and walked away.

Leaving him still smiling like he’d just gotten exactly what he wanted, hands shaking at his sides from anticipation.

When Monday rolls around, everything at North Shore High goes on as usual. Hyunjin from the art club is still at his usual spot, handing out flyers and encouraging applicants. Cocona from the fashion club is pinning up yet another poster, looking for models. Soobin from the anime club is Naruto-running down the hall.

Again, everything is as usual.

Except for one thing.

You. And Martin. Together. Walking down the hallway. Together. Hand in hand.

A sly, almost poisonous smile sits on your glossy lips, your arm looped around Martin’s bicep. A pink Juicy Couture bag, very obviously yours, hangs off his shoulder like it belongs there. Your soft pink outfit and gold jewelry, the picture of clean girl, contrasts sharply against Martin’s all black, grungy clothes and silver accessories. And yet, somehow, it works.

You wear your usual proud expression, completely unbothered by the stares and whispers trailing behind you. You walk like this is nothing. Like it’s always been this way. Beside you, Martin carries himself differently. A little too aware. A little too smug. A cocky grin plays on his lips as he basks in the attention, occasionally throwing a mock salute at the random guys frozen by their lockers, jaws practically on the floor.

You don’t slow down. Not when the hallway opens up, not when the noise shifts from passing chatter to something more focused. If anything, your grip on Martin tightens slightly. Because you already know where you’re going.

And more importantly– you know who’s going to be there when you arrive.

The cafeteria doors swing open, loud and careless like they always do, but this time it feels different. Heads turn. Not all at once, but enough to notice, enough for it to ripple through the room as you walk in, still attached to Martin like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You don’t hesitate, don’t slow down, just head straight for your usual table where Gretchen and Karen are already mid-conversation, Cady sitting across from them with that same composed, quietly observant look she always has. 

And right beside her is Aaron. He looks up, just for a second, and it’s subtle, the way his expression shifts. Not shock, not even confusion, more like mild amusement, like he’s already decided what this is before you’ve even said anything. A joke. An obvious ploy to get his attention.

You slide into your seat like nothing’s changed, dropping your bag onto the table as Martin takes the spot beside you, a little too close, deliberately so. There’s a slight pause before Cady tilts her head, eyes flicking between the two of you. “Oh, wow,” she says, light, almost curious, resting her chin on her palm, her eyes just a little too wide to still look innocent. “Y/N, who’s this… friend you have here?” There’s something under it—not quite sharp, but not harmless either. A tone you’re familiar with. The very same tone you use when speaking to a child—slow, measured, as if they wouldn’t understand otherwise. And you don’t even blink.

You just shrug, reaching for your tray that a random freshman had brought over like it’s nothing. “Martin. My boyfriend.”

It lands, and then just as quickly- laughter. Not loud, just disbelieving, like you’ve said something mildly entertaining. Karen giggles, Gretchen looks confused for half a second before brushing it off, and even Cady smiles like she’s humoring you. Across the table, Aaron leans back in his chair, a smirk tugging at his lips as he mutters, “Yeah right. Okay.” He doesn’t press, doesn’t question it further, because to him it’s obvious, it’s fake. The conversation moves on almost immediately, dissolving into something else like it always does, gossip or plans or something equally unimportant, and just like that everything feels normal again. Too normal.

You pick up your fork, ready to finally eat, when something nudges lightly against your tray. You glance down to find a raspberry smoothie sitting in front of you, cold and lightly fogged with condensation, the lid already loosened. Your eyes shift to Martin, brows pulling together in a small, questioning look. He notices anyway. Of course he does. He shrugs like it’s nothing, like it doesn’t matter. “You like this, right?” he says simply. “You have it every lunch.” Across the table, Aaron lets out a quiet scoff, wrinkling his nose. “Eugh that shits basically useless. Gatorade’s better.” Neither of you respond, not even a glance, and for a second, that silence feels louder than anything else.

You look back at the bottle, then at Martin. There’s no teasing in his expression, no smugness, no hint that this is part of some act. He’s just… right. You do drink it every lunch. You always have. Aaron never noticed, or if he did, it was to complain about it, actually, saying that it tasted weird, saying you should just get something else. 

This is new to you, different. You pause, not long, just a beat, something small and quiet that almost goes unnoticed. “Hm, thanks,” you say finally, casual, like it doesn’t mean anything at all, before taking the cup and taking a sip like it’s just another part of your routine, like it’s normal.

But across the table, Aaron notices. Not the drink, not even Martin, but the pause, and the way that for the first time since you sat down, something about this doesn’t feel like a joke anymore.

It’s small, almost nothing, gone as quickly as it came, but you catch it anyway– the slight shift in his expression, the way his attention lingers just a second too long before he looks away like it doesn’t matter.

And that’s all you need.

Not a scene. Not a reaction. Just that.

Because if he was really over it– over you, he wouldn’t be looking at all. You take another sip like you didn’t notice, a barely there smirk being hidden, like none of this means anything, setting the bottle back down with quiet ease as the conversation around you carries on. But beneath it, steady and certain, something settles into place.

Judging by the way Aaron can’t stop watching, you already know how this ends.

By the time the school day ends, everyone across campus has heard the news.

Y/N L/N and Martin Edwards are dating.

There are all kinds of opinions about your relationship. Gretchen would say it’s “so fetch.” A handful of people call it adorable, while some say you're just bored. Some speculate he blackmailed you into dating him. Others insist you’re the one doing the blackmailing. But no one can deny it– somehow, impossibly, the two of you fit. 

Martin quietly walks you to your car in the school parking lot, a guitar case slung over one shoulder while your pink juicy couture bag hangs from his hand. The second your car beeps open, he suddenly rushes ahead of you, swinging the door open with exaggerated flair, bowing low like some medieval knight.

“Your carriage, m’lady.”

One hand holds the door open, the other extends your bag toward you.

You scoff, amused despite yourself. “You’re such a dweeb,” you say, but a small laugh slips out anyway as you take your bag and slide into the driver’s seat. Martin lifts his head at the sound of it. He doesn’t defend himself. Doesn’t even try. Just grins.

“Well, you’re dating this dweeb, so…” he shrugs, gently closing your door.

For a moment, everything is quiet. No whispers. No stares. No rumors trailing behind you. Just quiet.

You would usually drive off immediately, eager to leave the draining campus behind. But for some reason, you hesitate, fingers resting against the steering wheel, unmoving. Martin notices. Of course he does. Watching you has become part of his daily routine. He leans down slightly, arms folding over the edge of your window.

“That was… a pretty eventful day,” he says.

You let out a soft laugh, nodding. “Yeah. It was.”

Silence settles again. Not uncomfortable. Just… unfamiliar. Like both of you are searching for something to say, but neither quite knows what.

Martin clears his throat lightly. “Well, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow? I’ve got band practice, so I can’t take you home. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, Edwards,” you reply. “My mom would probably have a heart attack if she saw you anyway.”

He smirks. “Are my looks that dangerous?”

You roll your eyes. “No. It’s because you look like a walmart version of Sid Vicious.”

You expect another one of his dramatic comebacks. A joke. A protest. Something. But instead- “You know Sid Vicious?”

You pause. Just for a second. A flicker of hesitation. You know how people see you. You know what they expect. Girls like you don’t listen to that kind of music. Girls like you don’t know things like that.

You open your mouth, already ready to brush it off as a joke but Martin breaks into a wide grin. “You just keep getting cooler and cooler.”

And just like that, the moment shifts. He straightens up, stepping back from your car, hands tucked into his skinny jeans, that same easy smile still on his face.

“See you tomorrow, princess. Drive safe.”

And then he turns, heading back toward the school, probably to the music room, like it’s just another normal day.You watch him go. The way his guitar case bounces slightly, the way his frosted tips catch the light. And watch him disappear through the doors.

And for a moment, something unfamiliar settles in your chest. 

Cady Heron had always envied you.

Back at her old school, she had been the it girl. The perfect image of the campus sweetheart. Not only was she beautiful, but she was also helpful. Always tutoring the students who needed it, volunteering at every school fundraiser, dutifully following behind the teachers like their favorite little pet.

She had carefully built her image.

She made sure everyone bowed at her feet and unknowingly ate out of her hand, and the moment she realized how desperately people craved her attention, she knew she could never give up that kind of power.

So when she transferred to North Shore High, she expected more of the same. Only there was one problem.

You.

She could not understand how, despite your abrasive attitude, you still had the entire school trailing after you like lovesick puppies. Despite her best efforts to stand beside you, to replace your reign with her own sweet, charming image– she couldn’t understand how you still managed to remain on top.

That was when she decided she would take everything from you. One by one. Until you had nothing left. And she had everything.

Starting with Aaron Samuels.

Manipulating Aaron Samuels had not been difficult. Despite his good looks and golden retriever charm, at the end of the day he was still just a dog. With a brush of her hand against his arm here, a playful fix of his hair there, and the slightest pout of her lips– She got him into her bed, and got him to break up with you.

She couldn’t wait to see the look on your face. She could picture it already. Your anger at being replaced. Your humiliation. Your jealousy of her.

As she sat at the group’s usual cafeteria table that Monday, Aaron at her side, she waited eagerly for your arrival, ready to watch you desperately try to conceal your rage at realizing you had been replaced by someone better.

But to her shock, you ruined the script entirely.

You walked in smiling. Radiant. Completely unbothered. And hanging off the arm of Martin Edwards.

The same Martin Edwards who now pulled out your chair for you like it was second nature, his hand resting casually on your waist as you sat down beside him like nothing in the world had changed.

Like you hadn’t just been betrayed.

Like you hadn’t just been replaced.

Being seated directly across from your nauseating display of affection, Cady shot a glance toward Aaron and felt her stomach drop. His jaw was tight. His expression dark. His eyes lingered on you far too long.

No.

No, no, no. 

She could not allow this to happen. She had worked too damn hard for this. She had fought too hard to get him on her side, and she would make sure he kept his eyes exactly where they belonged. On her.

She had only just begun her climb toward the North Shore throne.

And she refused to let you win again.

The music drifting from Martin’s CD player was the only thing filling his room. Some old rock song you frequently heard bleeding through his earphones hummed through the speakers, blending with the occasional scratch of marker against plastic.

You lay flat on your stomach across his bed, lazily kicking your legs in the air while the taller boy sat cross legged on the floor beside you, colorful key tags scattered around the both of you in messy piles.

For the past hour, the two of you had repeated the same routine. Pick up a key tag. Pick up a pen. Write down:

010 666 1738. Cady Heron’s number.

Over. And over. And over again.

If someone had told you this morning that by the end of the day you’d be in Martin Edwards bedroom, surrounded by several hundred plastic key tags and willingly participating in what could only be described as low-level psychological warfare you would have laughed in their face.

But here you were.

You glanced down at the number written neatly across the bright pink tag in your hand, then at the mountain of finished ones piling up beside Martin. Then around his room. The band posters. The half-open guitar cases. The clothes thrown carelessly over the desk chair. The lingering scent of cologne and something faintly smoky.

Weird.

You had never imagined yourself here.

Had never imagined yourself anywhere near this comfortable in Martin Edwards’ personal space, let alone sprawled out on his bed like you belonged there.

Your thoughts drifted back to earlier that day.

To the exact moment this absurd plan had begun.

Martin had practically bounded toward you in the hallway that morning. Too energetic for eight a.m. Too smug for someone who looked like he’d gotten maybe four hours of sleep.

His grin was suspiciously wide, almost manic, and his hands were tucked behind his back in a way that immediately made you narrow your eyes.

“What are you hiding?” you asked flatly.

He gasped dramatically.

“No good morning? No ‘hello, Martin, you look devastatingly handsome today?’”

“Edwards.”

He rocked back on his heels, still grinning.

“Guess.”

“No.”

“Aw, c’mon, princess live a little.”

You stared at him. He stared back.

Then sighed dramatically.

“You’re no fun.”

“Sucks to suck.”

With a flourish far more theatrical than necessary, he brought his hands forward, revealing a giant ziplock bag, stuffed, to the brim. With brightly colored plastic key tags.

You blinked. Then blinked again. “…What.”

His grin somehow widened. “I have a proposition.”

You looked between him and the bag. “No.”

“You don’t even know what it is yet.”

“The answer is still no.”

He ignored you completely, already too committed to whatever nonsense this was.

“We write Cady’s number on every single one-” He shook the bag for emphasis, the keys rattling loudly. “Then we leave them everywhere.”

You just stared. He leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially despite the fact that no one around you was paying attention. “Bathroom counters. Hallways. Parking lots. Grocery stores. Taped to vending machines. Maybe at the doorstep of that weird kid who always smells like cheese–”

He kept going.

“–And thennn random creeps start calling her nonstop”

Your lips twitched. Martin froze mid-sentence. Eyes immediately catching your reaction.

“You like it,” he breathed, eyes twinkling with excitement. “You like my plan dont youuu”

You wiped your smile off instantly. “It’s…petty.”

“But effective?” he echoes your words from your first interaction.

“…Maybe.”

He broke into a victorious grin, voice teasing, “I knew it.”

You crossed your arms. “You bought all of these?”

He nodded proudly. “Three hundred.”

You stared at him incredulously, “You bought three hundred key tags?”

“What can I say, I commit to the bit.”

You should have been concerned. And honestly, you were a little. But he was grinning at you like he’d just invited you into some grand criminal conspiracy. And for reasons you didn’t entirely understand, you found yourself saying:

“When do we start?”

Which was how you ended up here, in his room. Helping him ruin Cady Heron’s week. Martin tossed another blank key tag onto the bed beside you.

“You know, you have freakishly neat handwriting for someone actively committing harassment.”

You snorted softly.

“You bought three hundred key tags for revenge and I’m the weird one?”

“Difference is,” he said, pointing his marker at you, “my insanity is charming.”

“Hm debatable.”

He pressed a hand to his chest. “Ouch Y/N, why do you wound me like this.”

“You’ll survive.”

“W-whats that? Is that the light?” he dramatically gasps, a hand reaching out to the sky, “Is my time over?”

You rolled your eyes, just huffing at his usual theatrics, but there was no real bite behind it. A comfortable quiet settled over the room after that. The kind that should’ve felt strange. Should’ve felt awkward. But didn’t. It was easy. Alarmingly easy.

Martin reached over the bed to grab another handful of tags, his arm brushing against yours. Neither of you moved away.

“You know,” he said after a moment, quieter this time, “I’m glad you asked me.”

Your hand stilled over the tag.

“To help terrorize Heron?”

He laughed. “No. Well- yes? But I meant the whole fake dating thing.”

You looked down at the tag in your hand. “Why?”

He shrugged, suddenly looking almost shy. Or as shy as Martin Edwards was capable of looking. “I don’t know.” He fiddled with the cap of his marker. “I just am I guess”

You glanced at him. He wasn’t joking. Wasn’t smirking. Wasn’t teasing. The sincerity of it caught you off guard.

“You realize I insult you constantly,” you said.

He smiled.

“Yeah.”

“And I ran over your foot.”

“You did.”

“And I only asked you because you were convenient.”

His smile softened.

“And yet you still asked me.”

Something in your chest tightened in the same manner it did in the cafeteria. Uncomfortable. Warm. Dangerous.

So naturally, you looked away first. “Hand me another key tag.”

His grin returned instantly. “Aweee are you shy?”

“Martin.”

“Right, right. Sorry, Your Majesty.”

Later, the two of you drove around town with the windows rolled down and the music blasting loud enough to rattle the car doors. The pile of completed key tags sat in your lap like a loaded grenade. 

Every stop became a mission. You slipped one into a changing room at the mall. Martin dropped three in the movie theater lobby. You left two on the bathroom sink at a gas station. He tucked one under a windshield wiper while cackling like a supervillain.

At one point, after tossing a handful into the parking lot of a crowded grocery store, you sprinted back to his car laughing harder than you had in weeks.

“GO, GO, GO–”

“WAITWAIT THE TRUCK WONT START! HOLD ON IM PANICKING-!”

You collapsed into the passenger seat breathless, and he bolted out of the lot dramatically despite absolutely no one chasing you.

By the time the final key tag was gone, your cheeks hurt from smiling. Your voice was hoarse from screaming lyrics with him at red lights.

And when you looked over at Martin, hair windblown and ridiculous, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel while singing off-key with shameless confidence, you felt it.

That strange, unfamiliar ache in your chest. Because somewhere between the fake dating arrangement, the revenge plotting, the laughter…You had realized something dangerous.

You liked this. You liked him. Or maybe—

Not him. Not yet.

But you liked being around him. Liked how easy he made everything feel. Liked how he never expected you to be softer than you were. Never flinched at your cruelty. Never asked you to be kinder. Better. Prettier. Sweeter.

He knew exactly who you were, and instead of recoiling, he matched your energy. Helped you sharpen the knife. You looked at him for a long moment. And for the first time in longer than you cared to admit, you felt something dangerously close to gratitude.

When Cady walked into the cafeteria the next morning, dragging her feet with dark circles under her eyes, you and Martin had to physically restrain yourselves from laughing.

She looked awful. Her usually pristine hair was tied back in what could only generously be called a rushed ponytail, her concealer doing little to hide the exhaustion written plainly across her face. Even the way she walked lacked its usual polished confidence, movements sluggish, as if she hadn’t slept a second.

Martin’s shoulder bumped yours the second he saw her. You didn’t dare look at him. Because if you did, you would absolutely lose it.

Then Cady collapsed face-first onto the lunch table with a long, miserable groan. Aaron was at her side immediately. And Martin choked.

A loud, strangled cough tore out of him as he grabbed his drink, nearly knocking it over in the process. You kicked him hard beneath the table. He jerked, shooting you an offended look. You kept your face perfectly composed.

“What’s wrong, Cady?” Karen asked, eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Did you sleep on the wrong side of the pillow?”

“Karen, it’s ‘slept on the wrong side of the bed.’ And no, I’m not okay!” Cady snapped, lifting her head just enough to glare at everyone. “Creeps have been calling me all night asking if I lost my keys or if I want to ‘have a good time.’”

Your lips pressed together so tightly they almost hurt. Beside you, Martin had gone suspiciously still. The kind of still that only happened when he was trying not to laugh.

Aaron frowned deeply. “Wait what?! How did random people even get your number?”

You widened your eyes in perfectly practiced concern. “Oh my God,” you said, your voice dripping with fake sympathy. “That’s awful! How would anyone even get your number?”

Martin nodded, far too quickly. “Yeah,” he added, coughing once into his fist. “That’s, uh… actually insane. Like… who would do something like that?”

Cady’s eyes narrowed immediately. Her gaze darted between the two of you. You stared right back, all wide-eyed innocence. Martin mirrored you, somehow managing to look both confused and deeply offended by the implication.

Karen gasped. “Maybe someone wrote your number in the bathroom!”

Gretchen’s eyes widened in horror. “Or online! Wait do hackers post phone numbers?”

Karen gasped louder. “Can hackers get into your microwave too?”

“No, Karen.”

Aaron reached for Cady’s hand, his expression softening. “Hey, it’s okay. We’ll figure it out-”

“Would you stop?!” Cady suddenly snapped, jerking her hand away.

The table froze. Aaron blinked. “...What.”

“I said stop!” she hissed, shoving her tray away with enough force to make it rattle. “God, you’re all being so fucking annoying!”

Karen’s mouth dropped open. Gretchen looked like someone had slapped her. Even you raised your brows slightly. Aaron stared at her in stunned silence. “Cady, I was literally just trying to help-”

“Well, you’re not helping!” she shot back. “Hovering around me like some desperate puppy isn’t fixing anything, Aaron!”

His expression changed instantly. The confusion. The hurt. And most importantly, the offense.

Cady seemed to realize too late how harshly that had come out, her eyes widening for half a second, about to come up with a half hearted apology, she was interrupted by the sound of her phone ringing, the screen clearly a random number, and that completely sent her off the edge, with a loud frustrated squeal, she promptly ended the call and she shoved her chair back harshly. “God I can’t do this anymore! I need air.” Then stormed off.

The silence she left behind was deafening. Karen turned to Gretchen, visibly distraught. “Was she mad at us?”

“I…” Gretchen frowned. “She’s never acted like that before.”

Aaron remained seated, still staring in the direction Cady had left. His jaw tight. His brows furrowed. The first unmistakable crack of doubt settling into his expression. And when your eyes met Martin’s–

You knew he saw it too. She was slipping. Her image slowly breaking apart. And once people started slipping, they rarely stopped.

Eventually Gretchen scrambled after Cady, Karen hurrying after her in panic, still—Aaron didn’t move. For a second longer. Then another. Long enough to matter. His gaze flickered once more, back to you. Uncertain, like he was waiting. For something. A sign. An excuse. Anything.

You gave him nothing. Of course you didn’t. And that was what made the decision for him. He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand through his hair before finally pushing back his chair. The sound scraped too loudly against the floor. He hesitated one last time, just at the edge of turning away. Then without another word he followed after them.

Leaving the table blessedly empty.

The second they were gone. Martin burst. He doubled over in laughter so violently he nearly slid out of his chair. “Oh my- Oh my God–” he wheezed, clutching his stomach. “Did you see her face when Karen said bathroom stall?”

That did it.

You laughed too. Full-on laughed. The kind you usually tried to suppress in public.

“She looked like she was about to cry,” you snorted.

“She looked like she wanted to kill us.”

“Well she probably does if we're being honest.”

His grin widened. “Worth it.”

“Absolutely.”

He leaned toward you slightly, lowering his voice.

“You know,” he said smugly, “I'm starting to think we make a pretty terrifying team.”

You smirked.

“Don’t get too cocky now, Edwards.”

“Too late.”

Then, for a moment– his confidence falters. Just slightly enough for you to notice. He reached down into his bag, pulling out a folded white fabric. Your brows furrowed.

“What is that?”

He held one out to you. A Cortis band shirt. Except, the logo was bright pink, instead of the usual bands black.

You blinked.

Martin rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “We have another gig this weekend,” he said, suddenly sounding much less sure of himself. “And, uh…”

He glanced away, “I had them make one in pink. For you.”

Your fingers paused as you took the shirt from his hands. It was soft. Clearly brand new. He had custom ordered one. For you.

Martin shifted in his seat. “You don’t have to wear it or anything,” he rushed out. “I just thought– maybe if you’re bored and have nothing to do that day, it would be funny if you-”

“I’ll go.”

He stopped. Blinking.

“What?”

You looked up from the shirt. “Obviously I’ll go,” you repeated, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I’m your girlfriend, aren’t I?”

The way his face lit up was almost embarrassing. His entire expression softened at once. Like he physically couldn’t stop himself. “Yeah,” he said far too quickly. “Yeah. You are.”

You stood abruptly, slinging the shirt over your bag. “Don’t make this weird.”

His grin returned instantly. “Too late. I’m already imagining our wedding.”

You rolled your eyes. But as you walked away– you were smiling.

Later that evening as you doomscrolled through pinterest to look for inspo on how to style the shirt you receive a very unexpected notification.

The moment you stepped into the backyard, the entire atmosphere shifted. Heads turned almost instantly. Someone near the drink table audibly muttered, “Holy shit, is that Y/N L/N?”

You ignored them. Let them stare. Let them whisper. Because tonight, unlike the first time you had come here, you had no intention of hiding. No oversized sunglasses. No hat pulled over your face. No pathetic attempt at pretending you weren’t there for a reason.

You walked into that crowded backyard like you owned it. Head high, expression composed, the bright pink Cortis band tee fitted tightly against your body. 

The shirt alone was enough to draw stares. Because everyone knew that wasn’t official merch. Everyone knew that had been made specifically for you. And if the shirt somehow didn’t make your intentions obvious enough, the way you marched straight toward the stage certainly did.

The boys were still setting up their instruments when Martin noticed you.

And froze. Completely.

His hand slipped against the neck of his guitar. James followed his stare first. Then Seonghyeon. Then the rest of the band. And suddenly all of them were staring at you like they had collectively hallucinated.

“No fucking way,” Juhoon muttered into the mic.

Keonho laughed so hard he nearly dropped a drumstick. “Holy shit,” he shouted toward Martin. “Your girlfriend actually came!”

The crowd immediately erupted into chatter. Martin, meanwhile, looked like his brain had short-circuited. You stopped just beneath the stage, folding your arms.

“Well?” you called up dryly. “Should I leave? You look like you’re about to pass out.”

That snapped him out of it. He hopped down from the stage so quickly James yelled, “Dude, where are you going?!”

Martin ignored him entirely. He walked straight toward you, eyes wide, gaze flicking between your face and the shirt like he genuinely couldn’t process either.

“You came.”

You raised a brow.

“You invited me.”

“Yeah, but-” His eyes dropped again to the shirt. Then widened somehow further. “You wore it.”

You looked down at yourself casually.

“Oh this old thing? It was just sitting on my closet so I thought why not, you know?”

Martin let out something between a laugh and a choke.

“It’s pink.”

“You made it pink.”

“For you.”

“And I wore it.”

He stared at you. Still visibly stunned. Like he genuinely had not prepared himself for this possibility. You smirked.

“Don’t tell me you’re getting emotional, Edwards.”

He nervously ran his hand through his hair, a nervous smile on his lips. “You have no idea what this is doing to me right now.”

From behind him, “Oh my God, he’s in LOVE love” Keonho teases.

“Dude shut up” James scolds, slapping the younger boy on the back, “You’re embarrassing ‘tin in front of his huzz” 

You laughed softly as you watch Martin’s face turn into a blazing hot red at their comments. And the sound alone seemed to make him melt. Despite the embarrassment, he steps closer. Close enough that his voice dropped lower.

“You’re standing front row?”

“Obviously.”

His grin turned crooked. “Planning to scream my name?”

“In your dreams.”

He leaned in closer, “You wearing my shirt says otherwise.”

Before you could retort, he bent down and pressed a soft kiss against your hair. Brief. Gentle. Almost reverent. Your breath caught. Martin pulled back with a smirk.

“For luck,” he murmured. Then turned and jogged back onstage before you could gather enough composure to insult him. Martin played like a man possessed. And maybe that was dramatic. But it was true.

Every ounce of his usual energy had somehow doubled. He moved across the makeshift stage like he’d been electrified, guitar slung low against his body, hair messy beneath the lights, grin appearing every single time his eyes found you in the front row. Which was often. And every time he looked your way, he played harder. Sang louder. Performed like he had something to prove. Or perhaps, someone to impress.

You found yourself smiling far more than you meant to. Cheering louder than was dignified. Singing along to the lyrics of the songs he’d played in his car enough times for you to know by heart.

By the end of the set, the entire backyard was screaming for more. And Martin looked at you from the stage like he had never wanted anything more than your approval. He jogged over the second they finished, breathless and glowing with adrenaline.

“Well?” he asked immediately. “How amazing was I?”

You pretended to think about it. He narrowed his eyes. Then you smirked.

“You were…decent.”

He gasped.

“Decent?”

“Maybe slightly above average.”

“You’re evil.”

“You adore me.”

His grin softened.

“Yeah, can’t deny that.”

He leaned down and kissed your temple quickly.

“I’m getting drinks. Don’t move.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Yes, mom.”

“Funny.” He pointed at you. “Stay.”

Then disappeared into the crowd. You had barely been alone thirty seconds before—

“Y/N.”

Your shoulders momentarily stiffened. You turned. And there stood Aaron.

As expected.

He looked nervous. More nervous than you had ever seen him. His gaze flicked briefly toward where Martin had disappeared. Then back to you. “Can we please talk?”

You crossed your arms. “We’re talking.”

He swallowed. Then stepped closer, hands trembling as they reached out to you. “I made a mistake.”

You blinked once.

Ah. There it was.

Aaron exhaled shakily. “Breaking up with you was a mistake.”

Your expression remained unreadable. He ran a hand through his hair. “Seeing you tonight- with him- I just…” He looked down briefly before meeting your eyes again. “I still want you.”

Silence. Then…slowly– you smiled. Aaron visibly brightened, convinced that he had somehow made you think he really felt bad, that he was just also manipulated by Cady. Until you spoke.

“No.”

His face fell instantly.

“What?”

“No,” you repeated. “I’m not getting back together with you.”

His brows furrowed. “Y/N, come on- that’s bullshit right? You clearly want me back, you-”

“You want to know the funny part?” you interrupted sweetly. “I don’t even miss you.” His face paled. Your smile sharpened. “I just wanted you to realize what you lost.”

Understanding dawned in his eyes. Horror. Humiliation. “You used me?”

You tilted your head. “Please Aaron, don’t act so shocked.”

His voice rose. “So this whole thing with Martin is fake?!”

“Nope.”

Aaron spun. Martin stepped back beside you, handing you your drink like he hadn’t just walked into the world’s best timing. His arm slid naturally around your waist. His gaze on Aaron was cool. Deadly amused.

“You had your chance,” Martin said simply.

Aaron stared between the two of you. At Martin’s hand on your waist. At your complete lack of denial. At the way you didn’t move away. His face twisted. Humiliation quickly curdling into bitterness. Then he laughed. Short and sharp.

“You know what?” he snapped, glaring at Martin. “Fine. Have fun with her.”

Your smile still didn’t disappear despite the malice in his tone but tightened. Aaron stepped back, shaking his head. “You’ll get tired of it eventually.”

Martin’s expression darkened. Aaron pointed toward you. “Of her.”

The backyard seemed to go quieter. “You think this is fun now?” Aaron continued bitterly. “Just wait until you realize how exhausting she is.”

Your stomach dropped. Martin stiffened beside you. Aaron laughed humorlessly. “She’s high maintenance, controlling, impossible to please–she expects everything to revolve around her.” His voice sharpened. “She gets suffocating, man. Trust me. You’ll want out eventually too.”

For one horrible second, you couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. Because no matter how cruel Aaron was being, a part of you hated how much it sounded like every insecurity you never said aloud.

Martin’s jaw clenched, then, he smiled but there was no humor in it.

“No,” he said simply.

Aaron frowned.

Martin’s arm tightened around your waist. “I like maintaining her.”

Aaron blinked. Martin stepped forward slightly. “I like the clothes. I like the makeup. I like the attitude.” His voice sharpened. “And if she wants the world revolving around her, then it’s because it should.”

You stared up at him. Stunned. 

Martin didn’t look away from Aaron. “So maybe the problem isn’t that she’s ‘too much.’” His smile turned sharp. “Maybe you were just too little.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Aaron’s face burned red, almost reminding you of a rabid dog.

He opened his mouth about to come up with another rebuttal but then just closed it. Then finally turned and stormed off without another word. Disappearing into the crowd. Martin watched him go, then looked down at you.

“You good?”

You took the drink from his hand. Sipped, then smiled.

“Perfect.”

His grin spread immediately. “Good.” He leans closer, for only you to hear. “For the record…”

You raised a brow.

“If fake dating gets me to watch you reject your ex in my shirt–” His smile turned wicked. “–I’m never letting this arrangement end.”

A laugh slipped from you before you could stop it. But it faded quickly. Because Aaron’s words still lingered. Still sat heavy in your chest.

Martin noticed immediately. His smile softened. “What?”

You hesitated. Then looked away. “He’s not wrong, you know.”

His brows furrowed instantly.

“What?”

You gave a humorless little laugh. “I am high maintenance.”

His expression shifted at once, turning serious, intently listening to your words and carefully thinking about them. You looked down at your drink. “The clothes, the makeup, the hair, the attitude…” you muttered. “Everything has to be perfect all the time. I know I’m difficult. I know I can be a lot.”

“Hey.” His voice was quiet but firm. You looked up. Martin steps closer.

“Don’t do that.”

You frowned. “Do what?”

“Repeat what people who couldn’t handle you said like it’s fact.”

Your breath caught. He reaches up slowly, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. Handling you as if you were a porcelain doll.

“You are not difficult for wanting nice things.” His voice stayed soft. Steady. “You are not hard to love because you care about how you look.” His thumb brushed your cheek. “And you are not ‘too much’ just because someone else was too weak to meet your standards.”

Your throat tightened. “If anything,” he murmured, “I think you should demand more.”

You stared at him, completely speechless, completely undone. He gave your cheek one last gentle stroke.

“So no,” he said softly. “You’re not high maintenance." A beat. “You just know what you deserve.”

Something in your chest cracked wide open.

And before you could think, before you could overanalyze, before you could stop yourself,

Your hand caught the front of his shirt, pulled him down, and kissed him.

The entire backyard erupted behind you. Whistles. Cheering. Someone screaming, “FINALLY!”

But you barely heard any of it. Martin freezes for half a second. Then kissed you back like he had been waiting for this longer than either of you wanted to admit. One hand came to your waist. The other cupped your jaw. Holding you like you were something precious.

And when you finally pulled away, breathless and giggling, he stared at you like you had just changed his entire life.

“Well,” he said faintly. You smirked despite your racing heart. “Still think I’m only slightly above average?” His grin turned borderline delirious.

“Hmm fine, I guess you are the best.” you laughed softly, still close enough that your noses nearly brushed.

For a moment neither of you moved. Neither of you seemed entirely willing to. Then Martin’s expression shifted, his grin softening into something almost shy.

Which, on him, looked absurdly endearing.“Sooo…” he said slowly.

You raised a brow. “So?”

His hands tightened slightly at your waist. “That kiss felt…” He trailed off, then huffed out a laugh. “Not very fake boyfriend-girlfriend of us.”

Heat crept up your neck. You tilted your chin defensively. “Maybe I’m just a very dedicated actress.” Martin snorted.

“Right.”

A beat passes, then he asks, “So are we still fake dating?”

Your heart skipped. There it was. The question hanging between both of you. Suddenly far more terrifying than it should have been. You looked at him. At the way his teasing had faded into something careful. Like maybe for once, Martin Edwards wasn’t entirely sure of himself.

And that realization did something dangerous to your chest. You let your fingers smooth absentmindedly over the front of his shirt where you had grabbed him.

Then smirked.

“Well…” you murmured. “That depends.”

His brows lifted.

“On?”

You leaned in just enough to make him follow instinctively.

“Are you asking me to be your real girlfriend, Edwards?”

His eyes widened, then he laughed. A little breathless, hands trembling. “Aren’t I supposed to be the one doing that?”

“You were taking too long.”

He stared at you for half a second then grinned– completely gone for you.

“Okay,” he said, stepping closer until there wasn’t even an inch between you. “Then yeah.”

His voice softened.

“Be my girlfriend for real?”

And for once, you didn’t tease him. Didn’t deflect. Didn’t play coy. You just smiled. Soft and genuine.

And nodded.

“Yeah,” you whispered. “Okay.”

The smile that broke across his face could have lit the entire neighborhood. He kissed you again immediately, laughing into it this time, hands warm against your waist. Forehead pressing to yours when he pulled back.

“You have no idea,” he murmured, still grinning like an idiot, “how long I’ve wanted that.”

You smiled. “Oh, I think I do.” He gasped dramatically. “So you admit you were obsessed with me first?”

“Don’t ruin the moment.”

“Too late,” he said cheerfully. “You’re stuck with me now.”

You rolled your eyes. But smiled anyway. And when he laced his fingers through yours,

You held on.

BONUS:

⊹

There were seven of them.

Seven loud, annoying ass, inseparable boys who took up too much space at every party, every hallway, and every parking lot. They were always together, skateboards under their arms, half-finished coca-cola cans in their hands, laughter echoing too loudly through college apartments that definitely couldn’t fit all of them.

You really weren’t supposed to be part of them. Even thought they we’re weird at first.

The first time they saw you, you were standing alone at some shady off-campus house party.

You were leaning against the kitchen counter in low rise jeans and a baby tee, flipping your pink bedazzled Motorola shut and open again because you didn’t know what else to do with your hands.

It was Sunghoon who noticed first. “Why is she by herself? She looks nice.” And then all seven of them ended up standing in front of you like a mildly intimidating boyband.

You don’t remember how, but that night you were adopted into their friendgroup.

You’d been with them ever since.

Especially Riki.

—

You and Riki were never stable.

You were either disgustingly in love or dramatically broken up. There was no in-between.

You’d ‘break up’ over anything:

Because he didn’t call you back fast enough. You helped another guy with his homework. He didn’t let you borrow his clothes. You told him smoking was unattractive.

And once because spilled an entire cup of Sprite on your Juicy Couture bag, which you spent your entire salary on.

You cried like a baby. He’d rolled his eyes and said, “It’s just a bag. Get a new one.”

You didn’t speak to him for a week.

The friend group suffered… Riki got quieter. You got meaner. The air felt heavy every time you were in the same room.

Until Jungwon snapped.

“I can’t do this,” he’d said, rubbing his temples. “You two are exhausting. Apologize. Now.”

You tried to act careless but you both folded in under five minutes and ended up in your bedroom.

—

You hated being called popular, but you weren’t invisible.

People knew you.

You had that early-2000s glow. Glossy lips, hoop earrings, low-rise everything. Professors remembered your name. Girls whispered about you. Boys stared a little too long.

Riki? He had baggy jeans sagged so low you could always see which brand of underwear he was wearing, Calvin Klein most days, sometimes something knockoff that you’d tease him about constantly.

“Pull them up,” you’d hiss in the middle of the mall, grabbing the waistband of his jeans and yanking it higher. “You’re embarrassing me.”

He’d just grin, completely unbothered.

“Why? You don’t like my boxers?”

“I don’t like that everyone else can see them.”

He’d lean closer, smoke still lingering faintly on his breath. “I don’t care.”

And then he’d glance down at your hips.

Low rise jeans. A tiny strip of pink lace peeking out when you moved. Belly piercing glinting under the mall lights.

“Oh,” he’d mock, tugging lightly at the strip of your thong on your hip, making it snap back. “And that’s modest?”

You’d swat his hand away. “That’s fashion.”

“Mine is too.”

“You look homeless.”

“You look like a hooker.”

“I do not. You asshole.”

You’d both be smiling by the end of it.

—

It’s one of those perfect late mid-August afternoons.

The sun is low and orange. Everything smells like hot pavement, sunscreen, and cigarettes. The entire city feels outside, kids with scraped knees, girls in denim skirts, boys shirtless with skateboards tucked under their arms.

The skatepark is loud.

Wheels scraping. Laughter echoing. Music playing from someone’s brand new portable speaker.

The whole friend group is there and Riki insisted you’d come too.

His white tank top clinging slightly to his back from sweat. Wired headphones dangling out of the pocket from his jeans. A cigarette tucked behind his ear, which you hate.

Heeseung is beside him, attempting something reckless off a skating ramp.

They take turns.

They hype each other up.

They shove each other when one of them almost eats concrete.

You’re sitting on top of the half-pipe, legs dangling over the edge, flip-flops hanging loosely off your toes. The smallest top imaginable clings to your torso more lace than fabric, blue jeans sit dangerously on your hips, held in place by a big bedazzled belt.

Riki had absolutely hated the top.

“That’s not a shirt,” he said earlier.

“It is.”

“It looks like a bra.”

“It’s hot outside.”

“It’s hot for me too.”

“Then take your shirt off.”

He gave you a glare, you walked ahead anyway.

Now you’re bored.

Bored and slightly irritate because you’ve already watched him light up two cigarettes.

Two.

And you hate when he smokes. Hate the smell. Hate the way it makes his voice raspier. Hate how casual he is about it.

And he knows that, but he does it anyway. Which makes it worse.

He skates toward you suddenly, rolling to a stop between your knees. One hand presses to the ramp beside your thigh, the other still holding his board.

“You look grumpy,” he says, squinting up at you against the sun.

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

He leans forward and kisses your forehead anyway.

Then he pushes off again before you can respond.

You sigh.

You’re melting. You’re bored. And you’re watching your boyfriend risk concussions for fun.

Amazing.

Then Heeseung has an even more amazing idea.

“Teach her something,” he says, nodding toward you.

Riki looks up immediately.

You narrow your eyes.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

He’s already skating toward you again.

“Come on,” he says, grabbing your hand. “It’s easy.”

“It’s not easy.”

“It is.”

“I’m wearing slippers.”

“Then take them off.”

You gasp like he’s insane.

He grins.

“Baby, I’ll hold you.”

Everyone’s watching now.

Jay whistles from somewhere near the fence. Sunghoon pretends to wipe a tear from his eye. Sunoo is already smiling like something crazy embarrassing is about to happen.

“If I fall and ruin my outfit,” you warn, pointing a manicured finger at him, “I’ll kill you.”

He laughs. “You won’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

You step onto the skateboard and it wobbles instantly.

You grab his hands.

“Why is it moving?”

“Because it has wheels.”

“Yeah, no shit.”

He positions himself in front of you, holding both your hands firmly.

“Okay,” he says, focused now. “Just bend your knees a little. Then pop the tail and slide your foot up.”

“Pop what?”

“The back.”

“I don’t know what that means Riki.”

He laughs softly.

“It’s fine. I’ve got you.”

You glare. “You better.”

He counts you down.

“One. Two—”

You jump.

The board flips sideways instead of up.

Your foot lands wrong.

His grip slips and suddenly you’re falling. You hit the concrete with a very embarrassing thud.

There’s a split second of silence, then there’s Laughter.

Sunoo’s laugh is the worst. High and dramatic and absolutely unnecessary.

You sit up slowly, hair in your face, pride completely shattered.

Riki is crouching immediately. “Are you okay?”

You stare at him.

“Did you catch me?”

“I tried—”

“You did not.”

He bites back a smile.

You gasp.

“Don’t you dare laugh.”

He fails. Just a little chuckle, but that’s it for you.

You stand up, brushing off your jeans dramatically.

“I’m done.”

“Baby—”

“No.”

You grab your slippers and stomp back toward the half-pipe.

Sunoo is still giggling when you sit down beside him.

“I’d like to see you try next time,” you snap.

Sunoo chuckles. “I would never fall like that.”

“You absolutely would.”

“I have natural balance.”

“You have natural dramatics.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You wanna bet?”

You both dissolve into a stupid little argument about who would survive longer on a skateboard.

It almost distracts you from Riki.

Almost.

Until you glance over and see some random guy offering Riki a joint.

And Riki… takes it?

Your stomach drops.

He laughs at something the stranger says. Throws his head back slightly. That boxy grin that made you like him in the first place.

Your jaw tightens.

Sunoo is still talking beside you.

“…and then I’d definitely land it because— helloo? Are you even listening?”

You aren’t. Your eyes are locked on Riki.

Then a girl loses control of her board and swerves straight into him.

She stumbles forward and Riki catches her.

One hand at her waist on instinct.

You feel it before you even think, that little sting in your chest.

He lets her go immediately.

“You good?” he asks casually.

She laughs. “Yeah, thanks.”

She lingers half a second too long.

That’s it. That’s your last straw. You’re already on your feet. Sunoo reaches for your wrist. “Wait—”

Too late. You walk fast, hips swaying, chin lifted, eyes low and dangerous.

Riki doesn’t even notice until you’re right in front of him.

You grab his arm and tug him away from the small group of strangers.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

He blinks. “What?”

“I said what do you think you’re doing.” you repeat, quieter but sharper.

He genuinely looks confused. “Nothing?”

You look at the joint still between his fingers.

Without breaking eye contact, you reach up, snatch it from him, drop it to the ground and grind it into the concrete with your heel.

“Are you serious right now?” he mutters.

“Oh, I’m serious.” you snap.

He runs a hand through his hair. “What is your problem?”

“My problem?” Your voice rises. “You’ve smoked, like, five cigarettes today. And now this? Oh and you’re just touching girls?”

His head jerks back. “Touching girls?”

“You literally had your hands all over her waist.”

“She ran into me.”

“And you had to grab her like that?”

“She was falling.”

You let out a sharp, humorless laugh.

“Keep it down,” he says under his breath. “Not everyone needs to know you’re mad at me again.”

That does it.

“Oh, I’m embarrassing you?!” you fire back. “You weren’t embarrassed five seconds ago.”

He steps closer, lowering his voice. “You’re making a scene.”

“You’re smoking in front of me after I told you I hate it.”

He exhales hard. “It’s my choice.”

“Oh my God.”

“It’s called free will,” he adds, clearly irritated now.

You stare at him.

“Right,” you say flatly. “So you just do whatever you want.”

“I didn’t do anything.”

“You were all up on her.”

“She bumped into me.”

“You didn’t have to hold her like that.”

He scoffs. “Like what?”

“Like—” You stop yourself before you say something dramatic.

He shakes his head. “You’re overreacting.”

You feel your chest tighten.

“Am I?” you ask quietly.

“Yes.”

Silence hangs between you. Then he makes the mistake.

He gestures vaguely at you.

“And don’t act like you’re not out here in that top all day.”

Your eyes widen.

“What about my top?”

“It’s too revealing.”

You laugh once. Sharp. Disbelieving.

“So now this is my fault?”

“I’m just saying—”

“You’re just saying what?” you cut him off. “That I deserve it?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“But you thought it.”

He looks frustrated now. “You can’t tell me what I thought.”

“You can’t tell me I’m overreacting.”

“You are tho.”

Your face goes cold.

“Okay.”

You step back.

“Okay,” you repeat.

He frowns slightly. “Where are you going?”

“Home.”

He grabs your wrist once.

“Don’t leave.”

“Whatever.” You say and you turn and walk away.

You expect footsteps. You expect him to call your name. You expect him to follow you like he always does.

You walk past the fence, the group of boys, past Sunoo’s wide eyes. And still nothing.

You finally glance back and your stomach drops.

He’s back on his board like nothing happened.

Like he isn’t supposed to chase you.

And that hurts more than the cigarette, more than the girl, more than the argument. Because in your head, he’s supposed to follow you and beg you to stay. But instead he just skates.’

—

By nine o’clock it’s almost completely dark, the last bit of orange fading out of the sky. Your room is lit by the glow of your TV, candles and the small lamp on your nightstand. You’re curled up in bed in soft pajamas, a plate of brownies balanced on your stomach while Clueless plays for what might be the hundredth time.

Your flip phone has been buzzing the last half hour.

Four missed calls.

Ten texts.

You’ve read none of them, you refuse to.

Then you hear A small tick against your window.

You pause mid-chew.

Another one.

And then a third.

You sit up slowly, pushing the plate aside and sliding out of bed. The floor is cool under your feet as you walk toward the window and pull the blinds apart.

Riki is standing in the street below, hands filled with tiny rocks to throw, looking up at your room like he’s been waiting for you to appear. When he sees your face, he waves casually, like this is completely normal behavior.

You stare at him for two seconds.

Then you shut the blinds and walk straight back to your bed.

Your phone buzzes again immediately.

You don’t check it.

A few seconds pass.

Tick.

Tick.

Tick.

You exhale sharply and shuffle back to the window, throwing the blinds open this time and sliding the window up.

“What?” you hiss down at him.

“You need to let me in,” he says like it’s obvious.

“I don’t want to talk to you.”

“But I want to talk to you.”

“Too bad.”

He steps closer to the house, lowering his voice even though no one is outside. “Please, baby. I wanna make it up to you.”

You cross your arms against the windowsill. “Make what up? You didn’t do anything, remember?”

“Come on,” he tries again. “Are you really gonna let me stand out here looking like a fool?”

“Yes,” you say immediately.

He stares up at you, half offended, half impressed.

You hold his gaze for another second, then slide the window shut and drop the blinds again before he can argue. You get back into bed, pull the covers up, grab your brownie plate, and press play like nothing happened.

For a few minutes, it’s quiet.

Then you hear something strange. Not rocks this time, but a scraping sound. A shuffle. Something brushing against the side of the house.

You freeze.

The sound gets closer.

Your heart jumps as you sit up again just in time to see two hands grab onto your windowsill from the outside.

And then Riki’s stupid face appears.

You let out a sharp gasp and scramble out of bed as he hoists himself up, creased sneakers braced against the brick. He looks mildly proud of himself, slightly out of breath, hair falling into his eyes.

You slide the window open with a dramatic sigh.

“Seriously, Riki?”

He doesn’t answer. He just swings one leg over the sill and climbs into your room like he’s done it a hundred times before, landing lightly on your floor.

“You’re insane,” you whisper-yell, shoving the window shut behind him. “My dad is literally going to kill the both of us if he finds out you climbed through my window.”

“He won’t,” Riki says easily.

“And you smell like smoke,” you add, wrinkling your nose. “If he comes in here—”

“He won’t,” he repeats, completely unbothered.

You stand there with your arms crossed, trying to stay angry while he casually looks around your room like he’s on a tour.

He glances at you slowly, eyes dragging from your messy hair to your pajama shorts. A lazy grin spreads across his face.

“Those make your ass look good.”

Your mouth drops open. “That’s what you have to say right now?”

“I’m just being honest.”

“You’re fucking unbelievable.”

He walks past you toward your bed, picking up one of your pillows and tossing it aside before noticing the plate of brownies. Without asking, he takes one and bites into it.

“You made these yourself?” he asks through a mouthful.

“Yes.”

“They’re good.”

“They’re mine.”

He shrugs and flops down onto your bed like he belongs there, one arm behind his head, chewing lazily while Clueless continues playing in the background.

Your eye twitches.

“I’m still mad at you, Riki” you remind him.

“I know,” he says. “That’s why I’m here.”

You stay standing by the window like you’re guarding it, arms crossed tightly over your chest. Riki, meanwhile, looks entirely too comfortable sprawled across your bed, one hand behind his head, the other reaching lazily for another brownie.

He watches you for a moment, amused.

“Are you gonna stand there all night?” he asks.

“Yes.”

He snorts softly. “Come sit down. You’re making me nervous.”

“You weren’t nervous climbing up my house like a creep.”

He pats the mattress beside him anyway. “Baby.”

You hesitate, but you do it. Of course you do. You walk over and sit cross-legged on your bed, leaving a noticeable gap between you. You grab a pink heart-shaped pillow and hold it against your chest like armor, arms wrapped around it as a clear barrier.

Riki doesn’t look intimidated.

He slowly looks you up and down instead, gaze dragging over your shorts, your bare legs, your messy hair. He takes another bite of brownie, chews thoughtfully, then winks at you.

“Can I get a kiss?”

Your jaw drops.

“You’re unbelievable.”

You lean forward and snatch the plate of brownies out of his hands before he can grab another one. “Start talking,” you demand. “Or I swear I’m throwing you back out that window.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You’re not strong enough for that.”

“I’ll get my dad to do it.”

He actually laughs at that, like the idea is ridiculous.

You glare harder.

He sighs dramatically and sits up, closing the space between you. The mattress dips as he moves closer.

He reaches out, resting his hand on your thigh, thumb brushing lightly against your skin. The touch is warm and familiar, annoyingly gentle.

“I’m sorry,” he says.

You narrow your eyes. “For what?”

He pauses half a second too long.

“For… making you mad.”

That’s it.

That’s the apology.

He doesn’t even fully know what he’s apologizing for, the smoking, the girl, the comment about your top, he just knows you’re upset and that saying sorry usually fixes it.

You try to hold your glare, but your grip on the pillow loosens.

This is how it always goes. One of you gets mad. The other gives a weak apology. And somehow it’s enough.

He watches your expression soften, just slightly, and that tiny shift is all he needs.

“Come here,” he says quietly, patting his lap.

You roll your eyes like you’re still annoyed, but you put the pillow aside and shift forward, settling onto his lap anyway. His hands come to your waist automatically.

He leans in and kisses you.

It starts slow, almost careful, like he’s testing if you’ll pull away. You kiss him back, fingers curling lightly into his black hair. For a few seconds, everything feels lke the argument never happened.

Then you wrinkle your nose and pull back slightly.

“Take your jacket off.”

He blinks. “What?”

“It smells like smoke.”

He smirks immediately. “If you wanted to undress me you could just say that.”

You don’t even entertain it. You grab his shirt and kiss him again just to shut him up.

He laughs against your mouth, hands tightening at your waist, and for now, at least, the fight is over.

Until he chuckles, he pulls back just slightly, still close enough that his lips brush yours when he talks.

“You know,” he mumbles, half smiling, “Sunoo told me to apologize.”

You don’t really listen, just give him another peck on his lips. “Hm?”

He shrugs, leaning back in to kiss you again like it doesn’t matter. “He said I should just say sorry and you’d stop being mad.”

Your lips press together instead of moving with his.

“And?” you ask slowly.

“And it worked,” he says lightly. “I don’t even know what I did wrong.”

You freeze.

He tries to kiss you again, but you pull your head back this time.

“Are you kidding me right now?,” you say.

He frowns, confused at the sudden shift. “What?”

“You don’t know what you did wrong?”

He laughs a little, like this is harmless. “You were just in a mood.”

You slap his arm.

Not hard. But sharp enough.

“Ow— what was that for?”

You’re already climbing off his lap. “I actually can’t stand you.”

“What?” he repeats, genuinely lost.

“You didn’t apologize because you meant it,” you snap. “You just didn’t want me to be mad.”

“That’s the same thing y/n.”

“It’s not the same thing!”

He sits there, staring at you like you’ve switched languages mid-conversation.

You grab his arm and yank him off the bed. “Come here.”

“Why are you dragging me?”

“Because you’re leaving.”

He stumbles after you as you pull him toward the window again. “I just said sorry!”

“No, you didn’t!” you fire back, pushing the window open. “You said sorry because Sunoo told you to and because you wanted me to shut up.”

“That’s not—”

“That is exactly what it was.”

He steps closer, trying to catch your wrist, trying to pull you back in like he did before. “You’re overthinking it.”

You shove his chest lightly. “Go.”

“Can you calm down for two seconds?”

“No.”

He leans in again like kissing you will solve it, like it always does. You put your hand flat against his chest and push him back.

“Get out.”

“Baby—”

“Go!”

He exhales sharply, clearly frustrated now. “You’re making this a bigger deal than it is.”

“And you’re not making it a deal at all!” you shoot back. “Come back when you can take accountability!”

You don’t care how loud you are. You don’t care if a porch light flicks on somewhere down the street. You’re too irritated to think about neighbors.

He glares at you for a second longer before finally swinging one leg over the sill again.

“This is so stupid,” he mutters as he climbs out.

“You’re stupid!” you yell back.

“You love me though.”

“Bye Riki!”

He drops down to the ground below with a dull thud and looks back up at you. “Throw my jacket!”

You grab it off your floor and hesitate for a second.

“It smells like smoke! Wash it out!” you shout.

“Just throw it y/n, Jeez!”

You toss it out the window a little harder than necessary. It hits him in the face before falling to his arms.

“And pull your up your goddamn pants, you loser!” you yell one last time before slamming the window shut.

He stands there for a second in the dim streetlight, running a hand through his hair and muttering a curse under his breath. “Fucking hell.”

He pulls up his pants anyway, then he turns and starts walking.

Riki walks home with his jacket slung over his shoulder. His jaw is tight, hands shoved deep into his pockets as he kicks at small rocks along the sidewalk. He replays the entire thing in his head.

He apologized.

Didn’t he?

He showed up. Climbed yout house. Said sorry. What else was he supposed to do?

He mutters under his breath, calling the whole situation dumb, ridiculous. Calling you dramatic.

You just crawl back into bed and press play on your movie again, rather relieved than angry.

Cher’s voice fills the room.

You reach for a brownie.

Your fingers hit an empty plate.

You stare at it.

“Oh my god,” you mutter to yourself, rolling your eyes.

—

The next day feels like nothing happened, it’s a Saturday and you’re at the mall with your friends, like usual

The mall in the center of the city is loud. Every store window is screaming SALE in red letters. Somewhere above them, a movie trailer echoes from the cinema entrance. The air smells like hotdogs, sugar, perfume samples, and fryer oil all blending into one.

Every time you guys go there to “just walk around”, someone somehow leaves with an empty wallet.

The vibe between you and Riki, though? Ice cold.

You walk slightly ahead when he’s near. Conversations split awkwardly around you two. You guys barely acknowledge each others presence. Everyone notices. No one says it yet.

You split up near the giant directory map in the middle of the mall.

Heeseung, Sunoo and you walk towards the arcade, immediately distracted by blinking machines and the sound of digital coins clinking. Jungwon and Jay walk off with one mission only, to eat every free sample the mall has to offer.

Jake, Riki and Sunghoon head towards the skate shop onsecond floor.

“Bro, I’m telling you, softer wheels are better for street,” Jake insists.

“Yeah, if you like going slow,” Sunghoon shoots back.

Riki barely speaks. He flips a board over, studies it, doesn’t see it.

He sees you in his head instead, standing at your window, yelling at him to come back when he can take accountability.

They check every board. Compare prices. Debate colors. In the end, none of them buy anything.

When they walk out into the mall hallway again, the crown hits them full force. Sunghoon stretches his arms above his head.

“So,” Jay says casually. “You and her gonna keep pretending you don’t know each other?”

Riki clicks his tongue immediately. “She’s mad at me.”

“For?” Jake asks.

“I don’t know, man.” Riki snaps, defensive already. “I apologized.”

Sunghoon snorts. “Did you?”

“Yes,” Riki insists. “I climbed her window. I could’ve fallen and died bro. I said sorry.”

Jake squints at him. “For what?”

Riki opens his mouth.

Closes it.

“…For making her mad?”

Sunghoon actually laughs. “That’s not an apology, idiot.”

Riki runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “She was yelling about the joint, and the cigs, and that girl at the skate park. But I didn’t even do anything with that girl. I just caught her because she bumped into me.”

Jake raises a brow. “By her waist?”

Riki hesitates. “…On instinct.”

“Mm,” Sunghoon hums. “And then?”

“And then she dragged me to the window and kicked me out ‘cause I said Sunoo told me to apologize,” Riki mutters.

Both boys stare at him.

“You told her…” Jake says slowly, “that someone else told you to apologize.”

“I was joking. “And at least I apologized? I don’t see the problem.”

Jake lets out a sigh. “I don’t know how you ever got her to like you, man.”

Riki scowls. “I literally climbed into her room. What more does she want?”

Jake grins. “Maybe don’t touch random girls in front of her.”

“She ran into me.”

“And you caught her,” Sunghoon says dryly. “You couldn’t even catch your own girl when she fell.”

Riki groans. “It’s not like that.”

Jake smirks. “Then go tell her that.”

“She’ll just get mad again.”

Sunghoon shrugs. “Get better at apologizing.”

Meanwhile the boys are discussing how to apologize to girlfriends, you’re at the arcade, trying to win a stuffed animal.

The arcade is chaos, neon lights flickering, pixelated sound effects, the constant clink-clink of coins dropping somewhere. A racing game to your left, a dance machine behind you, and right in front of you—

The claw machine.

Inside it sits the biggest stuffed cat you’ve ever seen. Grey and white, oversized head, cute smile. It’s ridiculous. You want it immediately.

You shove another coin in.

Heeseung leans casually against the machine beside you. “You’ve been trying for like ten minutes.”

“I almost had it,” you mumble, eyes locked on the claw.

Sunoo crouches dramatically beside the glass. “Manifest it. Tell it you love it.”

“I do love it,” you whisper.

The claw drops.

Grabs the cat.

Lifts it.

For one beautiful second it hangs there.

“YES!”

Then slips.

The cat falls back into the pile.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” you curse under your breath, stepping back in disbelief.

Heeseung laughs softly. “Y/n, did something happen between you and Riki?”

You don’t even look at him. “He was being a dick.”

Sunoo nods immediately. “Newsflash.”

Heeseung hums in agreement. “Fair.”

No further questions.

You shove another coin in aggressively. The claw misses completely this time and you kick the machine.

Heeseung gently nudges you aside. “Let me.”

You cross your arms, pretending you don’t care. “You’re gonna lose.”

The claw lowers.

It grips the stuffed cat around its head.

Lifts it.

Carries it over to the hole.

Drops.

The cat tumbles into the prize slot.

You and Sunoo scream like he just won an Olympic medal.

“NO WAY—” you laugh. It’s bigger than you expected, soft and and perfect.

Heeseung smiles, brushing his hands off. “All skill.”

He takes the cat from the slot and hands it to you with a small grin. “For your suffering.”

You hug it immediately. “You’re my favorite person.”

He just laughs.

ou three walk out of the arcade a few minutes later, the mall lights feeling calmer after all the flashing machines. You hold the stuffed cat in your arms like it’s something precious, its giant head resting against your shoulder.

Riki notices you.

From halfway down the hall, he spots you walking toward them, oversized plush cat in your arms, laughing at something Sunoo just said.

And unfortunately for his pride, you look cute. And pretty. And happy.

It does something uncomfortable to his chest.

The groups meet in the middle of the walkway.

Sunghoon claps his hands once. “We’re gonna go find Jungwon and Jay before they eat themselves sick.”

“Too late,” Heeseung says dryly.

They all start walking, Sunghoon and Jake up front debating something again, Sunoo walking slightly behind them.

Heeseung slows just enough to walk beside Riki for half a second.

He gives him a small nod toward you.

Go.

Riki exhales through his nose.

Fine.

He steps up, walking beside you.

You don’t look at him.

He notices that immediately.

He shoves his hands into his pockets, trying to sound casual. “Where’d you get that?”

Your eyes stay forward. “Arcade.”

“Obviously.”

“Heeseung won it for me.”

There’s something about the way you say it, so simple, that hits him wrong.

He glances at the stuffed cat.

Heeseung won it… not him.

“Oh,” Riki mutters. “Cool.”

You finally lift it slightly, showing him the cat’s stupid stitched smile. “It’s my new boyfriend.” You say it teasingly.

But Riki doesn’t smile.

Something annoyed flickers across his face before he masks it.

“Yeah?” he says, voice calm but a little tight. “He looks like he’d treat you better.”

You glance at him briefly, catching that tone.

“It doesn’t climb through windows uninvited,” you reply.

He huffs softly. “Yeah. It also doesn’t have legs.”

You shrug. “Less likely to run around with random girls then.”

He goes quiet for half a second.

Then he nudges the cat’s head lightly with his fingers. “He looks dumb.”

Your eyes narrow. “Don’t talk about him like that.”

“You really replacing me with a stuffed animal?”

You keep walking straight ahead.

“Depends. Can he apologize properly?” You say, then you step up your pace to nonchalantly walk away from Riki.

You eventually find Jungwon and Jay exactly where everyone expected them to be, around a food stand with tiny paper cups in their hands.

Jay is mid-sentence when the group walks up. “I’m telling you, if you circle back in ten minutes they forget your face.”

Jake nods seriously, holding up another sample. “This one’s teriyaki chicken. Third time.”

Heeseung sighs like a tired parent.

“Are we leaving?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Sunghoon says.

Everyone slowly makes their way toward the mall exit.

Riki walks quietly behind everyone.

You do too.

By the time the glass doors slide open, the air outside is thick and warm, with the hum of traffic and laughs from somewhere down the street.

Sunghoon and Jake walk ahead, arguing about the best type of flipphone. Jay tries to convince Jungwon to stop at a convenience store on the way. Sunoo keeps poking Heeseung about the stuffed cat like it’s some kind of trophy.

You and Riki walk a few steps behind them again.

For a minute, neither of you says anything.

Your arms are wrapped around the giant plush cat, its soft head resting against your shoulder. Riki glances at it once, then looks ahead at the group, then down at the pavement like he’s building up the courage to say something.

Finally, he exhales and speaks.

“Y/n...”

You glance at him.

“I was being an asshole yesterday.”

You blink slightly.

He keeps walking beside you, hands in his pockets, gaze locked on the ground instead of on you.

“And… I’m sorry,” he adds. “For the cigarettes. And the joint. And that girl at the skatepark.”

You don’t interrupt.

He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

“And I’m sorry for not knowing how to say sorry,” he admits. “I know I kinda… suck at that.”

For a moment you just look at him.

Then a small giggle slips out before you can stop it.

He looks over immediately. “What?”

“Nothing,” you say, smiling a little. “I just like hearing you apologise”.

He shakes his head with a quiet laugh.

“I maybe shouldn’t have kicked you out the window.” You say hesitantly.

He snorts. “Maybe?”

“Okay, I shouldn’t have done that.”

He slides his hand out of his pocket and slowly, almost carefully, he lets it brush against yours. When you don’t pull away, his fingers curl around your hand.

The group ahead of you turns a corner toward the quieter streets leading back to your neighborhood.

You glance at Riki. “Do you wanna come to my house?”

His eyebrows lift. “You gonna let me in trough the door this time?”

You roll your eyes. “If you behave.”

“I always behave, baby.”

You scoff softly. “Mhm… just pull your pants up before my parents see you.”

⊹

extra note: I rlly hate the ending, I had writers block…