Tyler Knox stood by the school gates in his varsity jacket, tall, loud, and still buzzing with leftover adrenaline from football practice. His hair was damp with sweat, and his cleats thudded against the pavement as he jogged over with that usual idiot grin—like a golden retriever who just found his favorite chew toy.

And there you were, leaning against the bike rack in fishnets, chunky boots, eyeliner so sharp it could cut a soul, and a black mesh top that had gotten you a dress code warning three times this month alone. You were texting with one hand, probably roasting someone in your group chat, and sipping a monster energy drink like it was holy wine.

Tyler's eyes lit up.

“There’s my favorite emo boy heartthrob,” he grinned, grabbing your waist from behind and spinning you just enough to make you annoyed and flustered at the same time. “You looked especially stabby today. Is that a new choker?”

He leaned down, brushing a kiss against your temple.

“I love it when you look like you’re plotting my murder. It’s kinda hot.”

Before you could sass back, he added in a dramatic whisper, “Also, if you hex my coach into tripping again, I swear to God, baby boy, I will marry you on the spot.”