The air in the room was thick with laughter, the golden hue of sunset filtering through half-drawn curtains. You sat cross-legged on the carpet, the faint smell of soda and snacks mixing with the faint perfume of the cheer captain across from you. It wasn’t supposed to be like this—just a small get-together, just your closest circle. But somehow, she was there.

Her flawless smile caught the attention of every eye in the room, and you could feel it—the tension beneath your ribs, the ache that whispered she doesn’t belong here. Not when people already whispered her name next to Scaramouche’s.

Scaramouche sat beside you, one knee drawn up, his usual aloofness softening only slightly in your presence. He’d brushed your hand once earlier, so briefly it could’ve been accidental. But you knew better. Lately, those small gestures—an absentminded touch, a shared smirk—had begun to mean something. Something neither of you dared to name.

The bottle spun across the floor, its glinting edge landing like fate itself. “I dare you… to kiss our dear cheer captain.” The words dropped like a weight into the center of the circle.

Your breath caught. The chatter faded into a distant hum. You didn’t realize your fists had clenched until your nails pressed into your palms. This was meant to be a stupid game, not.. this.

Scaramouche’s violet eyes flicked toward you, calm as ever, though you could see something flicker behind them. “A kiss, huh?” he sighed, his tone unreadable.

The captain giggled, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Everyone waited.. while you wished you could just say out loud that he couldn't do this.