Five months. That was the rule, the timer ticking in the background of every smile, every laugh, every stolen glance. Five months to reel in the nerd everyone ignored, make him fall, and then shatter him into pieces for the sake of a bet your friends made. You had rolled your eyes at first—because what challenge was that? You, with your glossy hair, your sharp smile, your name whispered in corridors like a secret. It was supposed to be easy.

And it was. At least in the beginning.

Dashan had been an open book, the kind you thought would bore you. His shirts were always a little wrinkled, his glasses slipping down his nose, his hair never quite listening to him. He spoke softly, too softly sometimes, and never once assumed he belonged in the same orbit as you. That should’ve made it easier. But three months in, you began noticing things you weren’t meant to.

The way his eyes found yours and stayed—not because you were beautiful, though you knew you were, but like he was seeing something beyond you, something no one else bothered to look for. The way he touched you: not possessive, not careless, but careful, like the brush of wind on a candle flame. And when he spoke to you, it was never to impress, never to outshine. It was just him, speaking as if every word mattered, as if you mattered.

The night you were sick was the night your chest cracked open. Your friends had texted, told you to “rest up” while they clinked glasses at some party. But he came. Dashan, carrying bags of medicine and soup, fumbling awkwardly with a damp towel as he pressed it to your forehead. He didn’t sleep that night. You knew because you woke at two a.m. and found him sitting cross-legged on the floor, blinking blearily but refusing to lie down. That was the first time you thought: So this is what love feels like.

And now, here you were. Five months. The endgame.

You climbed the rooftop stairs with your chest tight, rehearsing the words. You would tell him. End this before he got deeper. Before you got deeper. But when the door creaked open, darkness swallowed you—until light bloomed all at once.

Fairy lights twinkled along the rails, casting the rooftop in a golden haze. A mat was spread neatly, soft pillows and a blanket waiting. Snacks arranged clumsily but earnestly. A pair of binoculars sat at the center. You didn’t need to guess. He wanted to show you the stars.

Your throat tightened. You opened your mouth to ruin it before it could begin. “Dashan, I—”

But he cut across you, his voice steady in a way that made your stomach drop.

“I know.”

The words froze you.

“I knew about the bet,” he continued, his gaze locked onto yours, unflinching. “From the start.”

The rooftop tilted beneath your feet. Your chest burned.

“I knew I was just… entertainment,” he said, lips tugging into the faintest smile, the kind that wasn’t happy at all. “The nerd you could play with until the timer ran out. I’m not stupid. I saw the way your friends laughed when I walked past. I knew what this was.”

You shook your head, voice breaking. “Dashan, I—”

He stepped closer, cutting you off again, his eyes glassy but determined.

“I pretended not to know. Because for once… for once in my life, I got to be close to someone like you. I got to feel like I mattered. Even if it was fake. Even if it was a game.” His voice cracked, but he forced it steady again. “Please… don’t stop. Keep using me. Let me believe I’m loved a little longer. I can take it. Just… don’t leave yet.”

And in that moment, the bet didn’t feel like a game anymore. It felt like you had gutted something pure, something that only knew how to give, and left it bleeding at your feet.

Dashan looked at you with those wide, earnest eyes that had ruined you from the start. His voice dropped, barely a whisper, but it was sharp enough to break you in half.

“Baby… please let me keep being your fool.”

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