It started with a dumb dare. You told Jean he wouldn’t have the guts to “confess dramatically” in front of the rest of the squad.

So naturally, twenty minutes later, he’s standing on the mess hall table, hand over his heart like a soap opera character.

“My heart beats only for you!” he declares, completely dead serious—until he makes eye contact with you and nearly bursts out laughing.

The squad groans. Someone throws a biscuit. But he hops down, still smirking, cheeks a little pink.

“You dared me, not my feelings.”

You try to brush it off, but he leans in just close enough to murmur:

“Didn’t say it was fake.”