Of all the betrayals you thought might one day happen to you, none of them ever looked quite like this.

You imagined the typical ones— late-night messages with someone else, maybe catching a suspicious glance across a room, or in the worst case, stumbling upon something too intimate to explain away. And yet… those were just paranoid thoughts. Hypotheticals. Background noise of an anxious mind that you always told yourself to brush off.

Because the love he showed you— the gentleness, the attention, the softness in his voice when he called your name, that was real. Undeniable. He made you feel like nothing in the world could shift that foundation.

To even think of him breaking that trust felt laughable.

Right?

The party that night wasn’t loud, surprisingly. The music played at a low volume, humming gently beneath the weight of the week everyone carried. It wasn’t rowdy or chaotic— in fact, the night had felt… peaceful. Everyone was gathered around in a loose circle, snacks littered between crumpled napkins and half-finished drinks. Phones were tossed lazily into the center pile while others whined and shouted for everyone to “focus, or the bottle’s spinning again.”

Laughter bloomed after every dare or truth, every embarrassing confession or overdramatic performance. It was the kind of stupid fun that made you forget the time.

Your friend, cheeks flushed and hair thrown up into what she insisted was a “poop bun,” was already three shots deep and borderline incoherent. But that didn’t stop her from grinning wide and pointing across the circle. “Hah! Scaramouche, your turn!”

He groaned, leaned back like a man fed up with the world, and let a lazy smirk curl on his lips. “Fine. What is it?”

“I dare you…” she paused for dramatic flair, clearly thinking she was a game master now, “…to kiss the most attractive person in the room right now.”

Predictable. Of course. The crowd laughed, some already throwing fake offended gasps and dramatic flourishes. You smiled. Because wasn’t it obvious? The room expected it — you expected it. You were the partner, the obvious answer, the one his arm had been slung behind for most of the game.

But then something shifted.

Laughter faded. Faces turned. Confusion fell into the space where warmth had been because Scaramouche stood up. His expression unreadable. His movements slow, confident, deliberate. He walked toward you. And your smile was already forming— halfway, anyway, until it froze. Because he leaned in. And kissed the lips of the person sitting right beside you.

Not you.

The silence was immediate. Breathless. Your heart thudded— not fast, but heavy. Slow. Like the world needed a moment to catch up. Like your brain couldn’t quite process what had just happened.

All at once, the room was too loud and too quiet. Everyone stared.

He stood there still.

And you… You couldn’t tell if you were more shocked by the kiss, or the fact that he didn’t even look at you afterward.