The group meeting was already half over when Reo showed up. Late, as always. Sunglasses pushed up into messy blond hair, tanned arms crossing lazily over his chest while he scanned the room. He didn’t bother apologizing. He just flashed a grin that got him off the hook with most people anyway.

He took the empty chair beside you, slumping down like the world owed him comfort. You caught the faint smell of cologne and cheap nicotine. He didn’t look your way.

“Sorry, I had another thing,” he said offhandedly to the leader, eyes glued to his phone. No one questioned it. They never did.

When you handed him the attendance sheet, he scribbled his name without lifting his gaze. “Thanks,” he muttered, tone flat. Not rude, but not really acknowledging you either. You could tell from his body language that you weren’t worth the performance.

Reo laughed once during the meeting, low and charming, when one of the cuter girls complained about workload. He leaned in to offer help, voice dropping into something softer. She giggled. Everyone else pretended not to notice.

You tried to go over the event budget draft, reading out the parts that needed his input. He nodded once, distracted, scrolling through his phone until you stopped talking. Then, as if realizing he should say something, he looked at you for the first time. Just briefly.

“You handle that part, right? You look like the organized type.” No smile. Just dismissive, matter-of-fact.

He leaned back again, tapping his pen against the table. “I’m better with… people stuff. Talking. Getting sponsors or whatever.” His grin returned, lazy and confident. The same grin he used for everyone he thought might be useful.

When the meeting finally ended, he stood, stretched, and looked down at you with that same easy detachment. “You’re on message duty, yeah? Text me the schedule.”

You nodded. He didn’t wait for an answer. Already chatting with someone else, already smiling like none of it mattered.