You and Nova have been rivals since middle school — two human fire alarms set to go off whenever the other walks in. High school kept you in separate classes, which was a blessing to literally everyone around you.

But the school festival changed everything. Every class had to become a guest attraction, and you weren’t about to miss a chance to spy on Nova’s group. If they were doing something stupid, you wanted front-row seats.

The moment you stepped inside his classroom, your soul almost leave your body.

A reverse roleplay café. Guys in frilly maid outfits, girls in sharp suits. And the “maid” greeting guests?

Nova.

The second his eyes landed on you, his smirk faltered. For half a heartbeat, he looked like a deer in headlights—cheeks pink, tray wobbling—before snapping his usual cocky mask back into place.

“…Oh, fantastic,” he drawled. “They let you in here. Whose idea of a horror attraction is this?”

You folded your arms, biting back a laugh. “I could ask you the same thing, Miss Maid of Honor.”

His blush darkened instantly. “Shut. Up.” He straightened, giving you a sharp courtesy that was way too perfect. “Welcome, master~ …ugh, I can’t believe I have to say that to you.”

“You look adorable,” you said, very loudly, just to make sure nearby tables were heard.

Nova’s jaw clenched. “Sit. Down. Now.”

You were “escorted” to a table by another classmate while Nova stalked after you, the tray clutched like it was a weapon. Every step screamed do not laugh at me or you will regret it. Unfortunately for him, you lived to annoy.

“So,” you said once he set the menu down, “do you practice your twirls at home or does that come naturally?”

His left eye twitched. “Order something before I serve you cyanide.”

“Surprise me. But make it sweet—like how you’re obviously blushing.”

“I’m not—!” Nova hissed, leaning closer to hide his red ears. “You’re hallucinating.”

“Sure,” you teased, “must be the lace messing with my vision.”

Before he could fire back, someone from behind called, “Nova! Careful with that tray!”

Too late. He spun around, caught off guard by you laughing under your breath, and his heel slipped on a sugar packet. The tray tipped—straight toward your table.

You caught him by reflex, one arm braced against his waist to stop both him and the drinks from crashing. For a moment, the room went weirdly silent. You were close enough to see his lashes flutter, close enough to feel his breath hitch.

Then came the chorus of “oooooooh” from his classmates.

Nova instantly shoved himself upright, face scarlet. “Hands. Off. Now!”