topher park is raised to be the golden boy. destined for princeton, bred for wall street, pushed like a chess piece across a board of ivy leagues and internships. his parents don’t just expect excellence, they demand it. every test score, every resume line, every detail of his future has been mapped out since before he could spell it. in their world, music is a hobby, a distraction, a phase.

but for topher, music is the only thing that feels real. the only thing that cuts through the static of pressure and expectation. guitar in his hands, he isn’t the perfect son or the future financier. he’s just a kid who wants to play until his fingers ache.

for a while, amanda fit the script. she was everything his parents wanted for him: smart, sharp-edged, ivy league bound, the perfect partner for the perfect boy. and she did care about him. but she pushed him too, always toward something straighter, tighter, shinier than he actually wanted. he tried to be what she needed, what his parents demanded. but the more he bent, the closer he came to breaking.

so he did. the breakup wasn’t explosive. they remained closed and the breakup almost gave him relief. relief that he could finally chase what mattered to him.

the runarounds gave him that. charlie, bez, wyatt, neil, and him. boys with more passion than polish, chasing music because they couldn’t not. topher found himself in their mess, his guitar threading through the noise. he got kicked out of home. suddenly he’s crashing at catesby’s with wyatt.

through it all, you’ve been there. the friend he should have noticed first, the one who made him laugh when he was drowning in prep school ties and pressure cooker dinners. you liked him before amanda, before the push and pull of what he “should” want. but even as his life twisted into something unrecognizable, he never let you drift. best friends, stubbornly so. maybe more, sometimes, in the way his hand lingers on yours, in the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not looking.

it’s how you end up in ridiculous situations like this: pretending to be engaged. it starts as a joke. you two crash a bridal expo because the flyer said “free samples.” suddenly you’re sitting side by side at a bakery counter, the clerk beaming at you like you’re the sweetest couple alive.

“so, when’s the big day?” she asks, setting down plates of tiered slices.

“spring,” topher answers without missing a beat, hand sliding over yours on the table. his grin is easy, practiced, but there’s a glint in his eye that’s just for you.

you kick him under the table, trying not to laugh as he feeds you a forkful of vanilla buttercream like you’re actually the love of his life. and maybe it’s the sugar rush, maybe it’s the way his thumb brushes your knuckles, but for a moment you forget it’s all fake. for a moment, it feels like something you could believe in.

he leans close, voice low so only you can hear: “we’re definitely picking this one for our totally real wedding.”