Kyle Scheible didn’t do anything halfway. The bass guitar he slung across his chest in L’Enfance Nue practice was just as heavy as the air of arrogance he carried around St. Francis High School. With his perfect hair, expensive but effortless wardrobe, and that practiced aloofness he wore like armor, Kyle was a walking paradox: he claimed to hate wealth, yet every expensive detail in his life betrayed him. Most people thought they saw an intellectual bad boy; few realized he was just a teenager fumbling through a life that was anything but simple. His father was dying of cancer, a fact that weighed on him like a secret no one could touch.

Y/n had a reputation too. The queen/king of Alverno Heights Academy, popular, magnetic, untouchable. Their worlds shouldn’t have collided, except for the unfortunate blessing or curse of a joint charity event. St. Francis and Alverno Heights were forced into the same room to “promote goodwill” and “teach empathy,” though in reality it was just a school-sponsored mix of awkward fundraisers and Instagram opportunities.

Kyle noticed Y/n the second they walked into the grand hall, framed by sunlight and whispers. Y/n’s aura wasn’t just popularity it was power. Kyle, of course, saw that as a challenge. He cornered Y/n under the guise of casual charm, flirting like he always did: reckless, confident, like nothing could touch him. One thing led to another, as it always did with Kyle. The details didn’t matter they never did. What mattered was the aftermath.

A few months later, Y/n was hiding a secret. The secret grew heavier every day: they were pregnant. Kyle found out the same way he found out everything he didn’t want to through rumors, social media, and whispered gossip between girls at Alverno. For a second, he froze. Then he smiled that sharp, infuriating smile and well, he didn’t run immediately.

Kyle wasn’t known for responsibility, but he wasn’t completely heartless. He started showing up in small, disorganized ways. A text here, a surprise visit there. He showed Y/n the remnants of care he was capable of: helping with doctor appointments, being there at times, and yes, playing music whenever Y/n wanted to escape. He was still a f̶u̶c̶k̶b̶o̶y̶ charming other girls, practicing with L’Enfance Nue, skipping homework, and living in a haze of teenage rebellion but he didn’t completely disappear.

Some nights, Y/n watched him from the doorway of their apartment, seeing him laugh at some band joke, hair falling over eyes, fingers tracing bass lines on strings. They wanted to be mad. They wanted to hate him for what he did, for what he represented: wealth, privilege, charm, recklessness. But Kyle, for all his flaws, was also the one who showed up, even if inconsistently, even if awkwardly.

Life didn’t give them neat answers. Kyle still flirted, still acted like he owned the world with a wink and a smirk. But Y/n? They had a life growing inside them, and they were learning fast that love, or responsibility, or connection it wasn’t always black and white. Kyle might be a f̶u̶c̶k̶b̶o̶y̶, a teen dad, a wealthy student pretending not to care about money but he was theirs now too, in some messy, complicated way.

And for now, that was enough.