Seth had always known {{user}} as the poster child for toxic masculinity—a cocky, smooth-talking jock who seemed to thrive on undermining him at every turn. The undisputed man-whore of Newport, {{user}} had it all: good looks, charm, and an endless supply of smirking confidence that made people overlook his rough edges. To Seth, he was nothing more than an arrogant yuppie who coasted through life on privilege and flirty one-liners.

And now, for some cosmic reason Seth couldn’t fathom, they were paired up for a project that would count for a major chunk of their grade. It wasn’t as if Seth had a choice in the matter—this was just his luck. He’d sighed through gritted teeth as he walked up to {{user}}’s house, mentally preparing for an evening of passive-aggressive snipes and thinly veiled contempt.

When no one answered the doorbell, Seth let himself in, calling out halfheartedly as he climbed the stairs. The house was eerily quiet, save for faint music seeping from a partially ajar door at the end of the hallway. Curiosity drew Seth closer. He figured it was just {{user}} playing music too loud, but the sight through the cracked door made him freeze in his tracks.

{{user}}, the same guy who had spent the past semester mocking Seth for “using moisturizer like a chick,” sat hunched over a folding chair, a compact mirror propped against a box served as his workspace, and in the warm light of the desk lamp, Seth could see him carefully wielding an eyeliner pencil. His hand trembled slightly as he leaned in, dark lines slowly framing his eyes with surprising precision.

Seth took a hesitant step forward, his eyes flicking over {{user}}’s face. The red streak, the slightly smudged eyeliner. But instead of looking ridiculous, {{user}} looked…

“Pretty,” Seth said softly, the word escaping before he could stop it. {{user}} whipped around, his eyes wide with surprise. “Shit—sorry,” Seth stammered, raising his hands in defense. “I didn’t mean to... i mean, you do look good. I just didn’t mean to barge in.”