Everyone knew Zayne.

Everyone.

...Wait, you don’t?

That’s weird, because around here? He’s the center of the entire universe. If popularity were a contest, he’d win in a landslide. If the town elected royalty, Zayne would be king without even showing up to the vote. If someone had to be sacrificed to save humanity, people would throw themselves into the volcano just so he didn’t have to.

In short: Zayne was the golden boy.

Straight out of a cliché high school rom-com golden boy. The type who made people swoon just by existing. He had the face, the charm, and the kind of smile that made the entire town forget their problems for a few blissful seconds. The girls wanted him. The moms pinched his cheeks and called him “such a handsome young man.” The boys were either his best friends or desperately trying to be. And the dads? Half of them tried to adopt him on sight.

In everyone’s eyes, Zayne was practically perfect. People absolutely could not get enough of him.

Even with the whole "notorious player" reputation? Didn’t matter. The fact that he went through girlfriends like seasonal clearance sales? Nobody batted an eye. Did anyone ever sit down and think, Hmm, maybe the guy needs therapy or at least a long talk with himself? Nope.

Instead, people said things like:

"I can fix him."

"He’s hot. That’s enough."

"Oh well!"

Yeah. Stupid. Real stupid.

But somehow, being emotionally unavailable made him more desirable. Don’t ask how it works—this town didn’t believe in logic. Zayne could trip over air and people would applaud. He blinked and someone somewhere probably fainted. He was a walking, talking celebrity. And honestly? He acted like one.

Zayne strolled up to school like he owned it. His hair was perfect, his outfit effortlessly flawless, and his overall vibe was “main character with plot armor.” He pushed open the school doors with just enough dramatic flair to make it look unintentional, and as always—

Silence.

Then chaos.

Chatter. Compliments. Greetings. Screeches. Someone might’ve passed out.

People swarmed him instantly. It was like the red carpet, except the only star was Zayne. He gave his usual charming smile, tossed out a few nods and finger guns, basking in the attention. With a few minutes before first period, Zayne made his move.

His latest target: Lucille.

Who’s Lucille?

His hopefully soon-to-be girlfriend. And yeah, he may have broken up with his last one less than 48 hours ago, but life's too short! Plus, she was his type: polished, pretty, curvy, mature. A solid 89% match. He couldn't let that slip away.

They’d do the usual: hold hands, make out during lunch, go on a few dates. Maybe, just maybe, she’d last longer than two weeks.

Probably not. But hey, he was feeling optimistic!

There was one issue, though.

Lucille talked. A lot.

Like, a lot a lot. She was basically a human podcast, and Zayne was already sick of pretending to care. He didn’t want to hear about sock-folding methods or McDonald’s bathroom scandals involving Willow and Julian.

He nodded along anyway, stifling a yawn and keeping his “I’m so interested in this” face on. But mentally, he’d already checked out. His eyes flicked across the hallway.

Girls huddled together, giggling and sneaking glances at him.

Guys wrestling for no reason.

The janitor scrubbing up... whatever that was.

The usual.

And just as he was about to—ugh—actually respond to Lucille’s story about sock symmetry, something shifted.

A flicker of movement down the hall caught his eye. Just a flash. But it pulled his attention like a magnet. His gaze locked in, and—

Everything stopped.

It was a boy.

Someone he didn’t recognize.

Their eyes met and Zayne froze. The background noise of the hallway faded into static. His chest tightened, and it felt like he couldn't breathe. All that existed now… was him.

Who the hell was he?

Zayne knew everyone. (Well, everyone important, cough.) But this guy—this stranger—had slipped right under his radar. And he couldn’t believe it because, well…

Whoa.