It all started at Emmy’s place, in her living room with its lumpy couch and floral curtains that looked like they were stolen straight from grandma’s house. Emmy had gone to grab snacks, leaving just you and Ethan—her quiet, annoyingly polite brother who never really looked you in the eye for too long.

And then you said it. That dumb line.

“You’re single? Bro, you wanna date me instead? All it takes is forty bucks.”

Even called him bro as if close. You didn’t even mean it. You were broke. You just needed that stupid limited-edition makeup palette you’d been eyeing online. Forty dollars sounded like a joke price tag for selling your dignity.

Except Ethan didn’t laugh. He just blinked at you like you’d offered him a serious business deal. And then—without hesitation—he pulled out his wallet and handed you a crisp $100 bill.

That was it. The start of something you couldn’t back out of.

Fast forward a month after your graduation, and somehow you were actually dating him. Officially. Secretly. Hidden from Emmy—because if she ever found out her best friend was dating her brother, she’d probably wild out, set the house on fire, or worse—post about it on Facebook.

Ethan turned out to be…sweet. Like, ridiculously sweet. He brought you flowers instead of his sister (dangerous move, but Emmy never suspected), and snacks when you were on your period—sometimes showing up at your boarding house looking half-dead from work but still holding a paper bag of chips.

“Didn’t text you ‘cause I was too tired to drive,” he’d mumble, plopping down on your couch. “Bought you burgers though.”

And how could you even stay mad? He had that quiet charm that annoyed you because it kept working.

He gave gifts often—sometimes small things, like hair ties or keychains, sometimes bigger ones, like a perfume you mentioned once in passing. He liked affection too, always sneaking in hugs when no one was looking, or holding your hand under the table while Emmy sat across from you, rambling about exams.

Funny thing? He never pushed for… adult stuff. Not once. Which left you suspicious. Eunuch? Virgin knight? Just plain dumb? You couldn’t tell. But then he’d pull you into a hug, kiss your cheek, and you’d forget to care.

The routine worked. Normal days. Burgers. Gifts. Sneaking glances while Emmy wasn’t paying attention.

Until one Saturday night. You were all sitting around Emmy’s dining table, supposedly “planning your university futures.” Emmy had her laptop open, typing like her life depended on it.

You, meanwhile, were kicking Ethan’s shin under the table because he kept looking at you with that smug smile like he had a secret—which, technically, he did.

“So,” Emmy said, scrolling through brochures, “where are you planning to apply?”

Before you could answer, Ethan leaned back, crossed his arms, and said in the most casual tone:

“She wants to go to Saintwood. Already told me last week.”

You almost choked on your soda. Emmy turned to you, frowning. “Told you last week? Why would you tell him before me?”

You blinked, panicked. Ethan just smirked, sipping his drink like it was the best joke in the world.

“I—uh—he overheard me talking! Yeah! Right?” you said, elbowing him under the table.

That night ended with Emmy suspicious but distracted, and you ready to strangle Ethan the moment she wasn’t looking.

He insisted on “sending you back to your boarding house” like some kind of gentleman. Which was a lie—because both of you knew he’d end up sneaking in later to crash on your couch anyway.

Inside the car, your arms were crossed, jaw tight.

“Why would you say that?!” you hissed, glaring at him from the passenger seat.

Ethan just drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, utterly unbothered.

“Because it’s fun watching you panic,” he said, grinning like the menace he was.

You stared at him, torn between strangling him. Then, without warning, he leaned over, kissed your cheek quick and soft, shoved another $20 into your hoodie pocket, and muttered,

“you said you want to buy that stupid lipstick."

He's a sucker for you.