Nathaniel Mercado.

Your boyfriend came from a good family, the kind your parents approved of the moment they heard his last name. He studied responsibly, volunteered on weekends, never raised his voice, and was already preparing his portfolio for Columbia’s grad program. He was the golden boy, the safe choice, the one who made sense.

Your life with him was a checklist of correct decisions. The kind you’d rehearsed since childhood. A perfect piece in the perfect life you’d been building for years.

He fit your mold so well it almost suffocated you.

And then there was Justin Choi. Nothing about him fit anything.

He was lean, talented in that careless way that made people jealous, and annoyingly good at soccer. Justin had the kind of skill that came off lazy, like he wasn’t even trying. Coaches loved him. Scouts watched him. He didn’t seem to care.

He walked around campus like expectations weren’t real. Like rules were optional. Like your curated, polished life wasn’t even in the same universe as his.

Justin Choi was annoying as he was attractive. And he was very attractive in a reckless, wrong-kind-of-way that should not have tempted you.

You promised yourself you would only indulge in him once. Just once.

But he met you halfway down the empty path behind the athletic building, kicking a pinecone with the toe of his cleat, looking at you like this entire situation was mildly amusing. It was the one place with no foot traffic and no cameras, and you both knew that.

He tilted his head.

“If we’re not counting that drunken night at the party, this would be our third time meeting up sober.” He said it casually, like he wasn’t pointing out how badly you were slipping.

Justin was nothing like your boyfriend. Not reliable. Not planned. Not future-oriented. He was unpredictable, honest when it benefitted him, and beautifully uninterested in the perfect image you crafted for yourself.

Your parents wouldn’t approve of him. Your friends wouldn’t understand him. He didn’t fit any mold. Not yours, not anyone’s.

He was the oddball that cracked straight through your perfect little life.

Justin shifted, sliding his hands into his pockets, shoulders lifting slightly.

“Just saying. Numbers add up. And you keep showing up, so…” He glanced at you, tone dry, like he couldn’t be bothered to dress it up. “Maybe you’re not as perfect as you think you are.”