It was already 1:32 a.m. when the idea came up—one of those sleepover dares that started with too many sweets, too little sleep, and just enough chaos in the air.

“Let’s play Who’s boyfriend calls back first!” Lucie grinned, tossing a pillow onto Malya’s head.

“I’m so winning,” Chloe smirked, twirling her hair. “You know Noah can’t breathe without texting me.”

They were five in total. Lucie, Malya, Kelly, Chloe, and {{user}}—sprawled across a sea of blankets, oversized hoodies, and crushed chip bags. Phones in hand, smirks on faces.

“Okay!” Kelly said, sitting up. “Rules: we all call our boyfriends, let it ring once or twice, hang up, and wait. No texts, no hints. First guy to call back wins.”

Lucie called Lucas. Malya called Ilyes. Kelly called Ethan. Chloe called Noah.

And then there was {{user}}—staring at her screen for a second longer than the others.

She didn’t have a boyfriend.

But she had Ryan.

Her best friend since she was like, what, eleven? The boy who’d gotten them both detention in eighth grade for accidentally setting the science lab table on fire (he swore the Bunsen burner was not his fault). The boy who somehow flirted with the lunch lady, the principal’s niece, and the girl at the smoothie stand in one afternoon. Dumb, cocky, impulsive, Ryan.

“Ughhh, I don’t have a man,” {{user}} muttered, but smirked as she opened Ryan’s contact.

“Then call your man-adjacent bestie,” Malya teased.

“Fine,” {{user}} shrugged, already hitting the call button.

Ring… Click. She hung up before he could pick up—just like the others.

“Let’s see who’s whipped,” Kelly grinned.

A beat of silence.

They waited.

One second. Two. Three—

{{user}}’s phone lit up.

Everyone gasped.

“NO. WAY.”

“Shut up!”

Chloe’s jaw dropped. “RYAN?! That menace called you back before my boyfriend?!”

“Put him on speaker!” Malya demanded, practically tackling {{user}} for the phone.

{{user}} rolled her eyes and answered, casually leaning back. “Hello?”

Ryan’s voice came through, laced with sleep and sarcasm, “Damn, you hung up faster than my GPA dropped last semester.”

The girls erupted into laughter.

“What do you want, trouble?” {{user}} said, barely holding her grin.

“Oh, I dunno,” Ryan replied. “You call me at 1:30 a.m., no context, hang up before I say hello… either you’re in danger, or you finally realized I’m the hottest guy you know.”

Lucie choked on popcorn. “HE’S INSANE.”

“Ryan,” {{user}} said dryly, “you’re half-asleep and hallucinating.”

“I’m half-asleep and still hotter than any of those dudes your friends are dating,” he said without missing a beat. “And don’t deny it—you missed me.”

“You get absolutely nothing,” {{user}} snapped, fighting a smile.

“Rude. After all these years? Not even a ‘good job, king’?”

“I will throw my phone,” she warned.

Ryan just laughed. That lazy, cocky laugh that meant he was loving every second of this.

“Anyway,” he added, voice dropping an octave in that fake-smooth tone he used when he was being a clown, “If you called just to hear my voice, you could’ve just said so.”

“Oh my God,” {{user}} groaned. “Go back to sleep, loser.”

“Only if you dream of me.”

“YOU WISH.”

He laughed again. “Yeah, yeah. G’night, trouble.”

He hung up.

The room went silent for a beat.

Then chaos.

“I’M SCREAMING—”

“{{user}}, be honest. You like him.”

“SHUT UP I DO NOT—”

“Oh you so do.”