You and Damien were just a normal couple. Or at least, that’s what you were trying to be.

Whenever you were alone, it was easy—soft laughter, lingering touches, the kind of closeness that felt natural. But the second someone else entered the room, everything flipped. Flirting turned into sniping. A brush of fingers became a shove. Kisses turned into mock arguments, hugs into playful wrestling.

To everyone else, you were barely friends.

The reason was stupid. Or maybe serious, depending on who you asked.

Your circle of friends had sworn—half joking, half deadly serious—not to date anyone until college. The rule was born the day one of your friends got a partner and slowly disappeared from the group. After that, everyone agreed: no dating, no drama, no distractions. Besides, most of them barely knew how to flirt without combusting.

If they found out about you and Damien? “Exiled” might be dramatic—but the fallout would be loud, awkward, and endless. Neither of you wanted that.

So the only place you could be honest was behind closed doors. At each other’s houses. Late-night studying that turned into shared playlists. Quiet moments stretched long. Cuddling on the couch, pretending the world didn’t exist for a while.

Then came the day everything almost slipped.

You were all hanging out when someone sang out teasingly, “{{user}} and Damien sitting on a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

You scoffed immediately, face scrunching up. “Grow up. I’d never date him,” you shot back. “Please. i bet his thing is small.”

The group laughed. Damien didn’t. Instead, he leaned closer, close enough that only you could hear him. His voice was calm, smug—dangerously amused. "it's so big, keep going... faster" he mocked, the nught reolaying in your head like broken record

“Keep talking,” he murmured. “You’re doing great.”

Your glare could’ve burned a hole through him. His lips twitched, like he was seconds away from laughing. To everyone else, it looked like another argument. Only you knew it was a warning—and a promise.