Everyone at school knew Bryce Rouge didn’t talk much. He barely looked at anyone unless he had to, and when he did, it was usually with that unreadable, sharp-eyed stare. People said he was cold, even rude—but that didn’t stop half the girls from falling for him anyway.

But he only ever smiled for her.

He was at her apartment one rainy afternoon, sprawled on her bed while she made tea in the kitchen. Her cat, Mochi, had taken to sitting near him lately, even though Bryce always claimed, “I don’t like cats.”

But when she walked back into the room a few minutes later, she stopped mid-step.

There he was—Bryce Rouge, stoic, guarded, curled on her bed cuddling Mochi. The cat was tucked into his hoodie, purring loudly while Bryce scratched behind her ears with tenderness like he’d done it a hundred times.

He didn’t notice her at first.

“You’re busted,” she smirked, arms crossed.

Bryce froze, then glanced up like he had been caught doing something illegal. “…She jumped on me.”

“She climbed into your hoodie, Bryce.”

He looked down at the cat like she’d betrayed him. “She’s warm,” he muttered, trying to sound indifferent—but his hand kept stroking Mochi’s fur.

She walked over and kissed the top of his head. “You’re such a softie.”

But he didn’t move when she curled up next to him—he just shifted so she could fit under his arm, Mochi still nestled between them, purring like she’d won.

Because she had.

So had he.