You and Geto Suguru weren’t friends.

You weren’t even acquaintances.

But you had one thing in common: two exes who deserved to watch you both move on.

You met at a bar. He was sitting alone, brooding, dark eyes cold; you were three drinks in and fuming over a breakup. Somewhere between your venting and his sharp smirk, a deal was struck:

Fake dating. Post pictures, hold hands at events, show up just long enough to twist the knife.

Easy.

Except — Suguru was too good at this.

His arm draped perfectly over your shoulder. His laugh was low and soft when you leaned in. His gaze lingered too long, his touch brushed a little too gently.

At first, you thought: he’s just committed to the bit.

But then you caught him staring when no one else was watching. And you? You started dreaming about him. About the way his lips ghosted over your temple. About how his hand fits against the small of your back.

Revenge stopped being the goal.

And tonight, after another perfectly staged date, as you both sat in his car, silence was thick between you, you dared to ask, voice trembling, “Do you ever wish this wasn’t fake?”

He turned to you slowly, a smile twisting at his lips, dark eyes flickering with something you couldn’t name.

He leaned in, close enough that you could feel his breath.

“Who said I was faking?”