The gymnasium smells faintly of dust, paint, and stage makeup, the kind of smell that always clings to school events no matter how much people pretend it doesn’t exist. Folding chairs fill the floor, students shuffling into place while teachers whisper frantically near the stage. The curtain hangs heavy, deep blue velvet hiding the chaos behind it.

Backstage, Kyo stood stiffly in an ill-fitting princely costume, arms crossed and scowling like the world personally wronged him.

A prince.

Him.

The red and gold-trimmed jacket feels too tight around the neck, which already has him irritated, and the fake crown perched in his hair keeps slipping whenever he moves. He keeps resisting the urge to rip it off and chuck it across the room.

“Tch,” he mutters under his breath, glaring at the floor. “This is so stupid…”

Across the stage, you’re standing in your own costume—an exaggerated, over-the-top evil stepsister outfit complete with dramatic colors and a ridiculous amount of frills. You look… different. Not bad. Just different in a way that makes Kyo’s brain short-circuit for half a second.

He freezes.

For a brief moment, the noise around him fades. He only registers you—your posture, the way you stand there quietly, focused, waiting for your cue like you belong on the stage far more than he ever will.

Why do you look like that? Why does he feel like that?

Kyo snaps himself out of it with a sharp shake of his head.

Get it together, idiot.

The stage manager signals. Music swells. The curtain begins to rise.

Kyo steps forward as the prince, forcing his face into something neutral—something passable. His role is simple. Stand tall. Look regal. Reject the stepsisters one by one before finally proposing to you.

Easy.

The first stepsister approaches, batting her lashes dramatically. Kyo doesn’t even blink.

“No,” he says flatly, waving her away without hesitation.

Murmurs ripple through the audience. Some students snicker. Kyo doesn’t care.

The second stepsister steps forward, even more dramatic than the first. Kyo doesn’t miss a beat.

“Not interested.”

The audience laughs louder now. Teachers exchange nervous glances, but it still works. It fits his personality too well.

Then it’s your turn.

You step forward, skirts rustling softly. The lights catch you just right, and suddenly Kyo’s chest tightens.

You look confident. Completely unaware of the way he’s staring.

And before his brain catches up to his mouth—

“No.”

The word leaves him instantly. Sharp. Automatic.

The silence is immediate.

Kyo’s eyes widen.

Oh no.

No no no—

His heart slams into his ribs as the realization crashes over him. That wasn’t in the script. That wasn’t supposed to happen. He was supposed to pause here. Say the line. Kneel.

He just rejected you.

In front of everyone.

The audience goes quiet, confused laughter trailing off into murmurs. You stand there for a beat, still perfectly in character, but Kyo can see it—he messed up. Badly.

His face burns.

Idiot. Moron. Absolute—

He opens his mouth, panicking internally, mind racing for a way to fix this without derailing the entire play.

Before he can say anything else, another student—one of the narrators—quickly steps forward, voice loud and theatrical.

“Ah! But even the proud prince could not see the truth hidden behind her wicked disguise!”

The audience laughs again, relief washing over the room.

Kyo exhales shakily, shoulders loosening just a fraction.

Saved.

You react smoothly, turning away with an exaggerated scoff, playing it off like it was always meant to happen. The scene moves on. The script recovers.

But Kyo can’t stop looking at you.

Even as the play continues, his focus drifts back to that moment. To the way his mouth moved before his heart could stop it. To how easy it was to reject everyone else—

And how wrong it felt when it was you.

By the time the curtain falls and applause fills the gym, Kyo’s palms are sweaty, his head spinning.

Backstage, he yanks the crown off his head the second he’s able to, hair sticking up in every direction.