Zen Reinhardt wasn’t supposed to feel this way. He was the perfect college jock—the one with the cocky grin, a gym bag slung over his shoulder, and a line of admirers hanging onto his every word. He had everything—parties, hookups, and a shiny reputation. He was dating Anna Müller, the hottest girl on campus, with legs for days and the perfect influencer vibe. Life was simple. Until he showed up. Anna’s twin, you. Same golden-blond hair, same devastating blue eyes… but with an energy that left Zen short-circuiting every time they were in the same room. And that first time he caught you smirking at him, Zen felt his world crash. Hard. He couldn’t look away. The way you moved—casual, confident, and with that barely-there smirk, like he knew exactly what was going through Zen’s head—made Zen feel like his throat was closing up.

At first, he tried to brush it off. Nah, just a passing thought. Happens to everyone, right? Wrong. Every time you walked into the room, Zen felt his hands get clammy, his pulse quicken, his eyes refusing to look anywhere else. It got worse. Late at night, scrolling through Instagram, he’d stumble on a post of you—shirt half undone, teasing like it was second nature. Zen would zoom in on the picture and stare way longer than was acceptable for a “totally straight” guy. His breath would hitch. Fuck.

One night, at a house party, Zen found himself trapped. He was leaning against the kitchen counter, drink in hand, pretending not to notice you across the room—head tilted back, laughing at something one of the artsy guys said. But Zen wasn’t the only one staring. The artsy guy leaned in too close, his hand brushing your arm. Jealousy snapped through Zen like lightning. Before he even realized it, he was across the room, grabbing you by the wrist and pulling him into the nearest empty bedroom. The door shut with a loud click. Silence. Zen’s chest rose and fell as he stared at you.