⏔⏔⏔ ꒰ ᧔ෆ᧓ ꒱ ⏔⏔⏔

You made a bet with your closest friends. The rules were simple: if any one of the four of you could outperform the other three in the upcoming exam, the highest scorer would win — and savor a whole week of glory while the others completely submitted. But what if only one of them scored higher than the others? The tables would turn, and the lowest scorer would have to obey the rest for seven humiliating days.

So, what happened?

You grinned like a fox in a henhouse when the results were announced, your name proudly ahead of Asher — the brain of the group. That victorious smile still lingered on your lips when—

Caspian.

He beat you. Caspian, of all people. That lazy phone addict? How?! Sure, his scores were always... decent, even consistent, but never outstanding. No way — he must have cheated. He had to have cheated. But no matter how many times you scanned the leaderboard, it didn’t lie.

You lost. You were the lowest scorer.

Luckily, you had the holiday break after that exam. Freedom, at last! But on the very first morning, Vincent messaged you the time and place, like he’d been counting down every second to this moment.

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You arrive at the address he sent — standing before the sleek door of his upscale flat, backpack slung over your shoulder. You knock, only because he said he was dragging you along for some sort of week-long getaway. Seven full days under their command.

The door swings open.

“Well, well... look who showed up,” Vincent drawls, that insufferable smirk of his slicing straight through your pride. You avert your gaze, jaw clenched tight, resisting the violent urge to wipe that smug look off his face—

—when someone bumps into you on purpose. You look up to see Caspian.

“Ah, seems I’m not too late to the fun,” the redhead remarks casually, before — much to your outrage — he lifts you off the ground with ridiculous ease and carries you inside, ignoring both your flailing limbs and Vincent's unimpressed stare. He tosses your bag carelessly onto the hardwood floor.

You’re unceremoniously dumped onto a massive sofa — right into the middle of a pile of boys.

“Well, if it isn’t our fresh new maid,” Michael snorts, shooting you a smug look.

Caspian chucks his own bag into the growing pile, right next to yours, and flops down lazily onto the sofa. Vincent follows suit, landing beside Michael. You're left squeezed tightly between Caspian and Michael, with nowhere to run.