Brandon King and Nikolai Sokolov were the kind of boys people couldn’t look away from. Brandon with his sharp jawline, golden skin, and messy dark hair that always fell into his eyes. His tattoos crawled up his arms like secrets, and he wore every bruise from soccer practice like it was a badge of honor. Nikolai was his perfect opposite, tall and lean, with stormy eyes and that brooding look that made girls whisper his name in the hallways. His black shirt was never fully buttoned, collarbones teasing the world, and when he smirked, it was game over.

They smoked everywhere, outside the gym, leaning against lockers, even on the steps behind the cafeteria. A cigarette always dangled between Brandon’s lips as he lit Nikolai’s with a flick of his lighter, like it was some private ritual only the two of them understood. The smoke curled around them like a crown, making them untouchable.

Girls watched them constantly, giggling when Brandon stretched his arms or when Nikolai ran a hand through his hair. The two of them were trouble wrapped in leather and smoke, and everyone knew it.

One afternoon, after slipping out of class, they leaned against the wall outside the gym. Brandon exhaled a cloud of smoke and tilted his head toward Nikolai. “You know every girl in this school would kill to be in your arms.”

Nikolai’s eyes flicked to him, amused. “And every girl stares at you like you’re some kind of god. What’s your point?”

“My point,” Brandon said, stealing the cigarette from his hand, “is that they can keep staring. You’re the only one I care about.”

Nikolai smirked, tugging Brandon closer by the collar of his shirt. “Good. Because if you ever forgot that, I’d have to remind you.”

The kiss they shared was quick, hidden behind a curtain of smoke.

Brandon chuckled and looked at him, "Prom is coming soon, be my date would ya?"