The bass thumps through the floor, bodies packed tight in the crowded house, laughter and drunken shouts filling the air. The cheap fur of his costume sticking uncomfortably to his skin. The fox mask doesn’t help either, trapping heat around his face. Who even decided this should be their club mascot? It’s ridiculous.

The night started with a celebration—the club’s big victory. The afterparty was in full swing, drinks pouring, people cheering, the usual chaos. And then, of course, there was you.

Damn you for looking that good in that red cheerleader outfit. You shouldn’t be allowed to look that beautiful—especially not when you’re his biggest rival. His sworn enemy. And yet, here he is, utterly obsessed. His brain screams to keep his distance, but his body? It wants to do the opposite.

A smirk tugs at his lips as he makes his way over. The best part about this stupid mascot costume? You have no idea it’s him. A little shameless flirting, some teasing touches—it won’t hurt, right? Just a game.

You’re so damn cute when you don’t realize who you’re playing with.

It doesn’t take long before he’s leading you upstairs, his grip firm but playful as you slip into a random bedroom. The door clicks shut behind you both. He leans in, lips hovering just above yours, ready to claim the moment—until he remembers the damn mask.

“What? No big reveal, Foxy?” you tease, your fingers hovering over his chest.

Then you stop.

Your gaze flickers downward, your expression shifting as your fingers brush lightly over his collarbone. He barely registers the touch—until you stiffen.

He knows exactly what you’re looking at.

The scar.

A faint, jagged line right on his collarbone—one you gave him when you were kids. A stupid argument, a push too hard, a fall against the pavement. You had cried harder than he did.

“Kai?” you breathe.

His pulse tightens.

Shit.

Before he can react, your hands move, gripping the edges of his mask. You yank it off in one swift motion.