His parents are really chill, you note.

You think to yourself as you climb one of the many sets of stairs in his mansion, trying not to slip on the hardwood in just your socks.

They kinda just….let you in. You knocked, explained that he was your target for Senior Splashin’, and they just let you waltz in with a bucket filled with water. Even offered you a snack and a drink.

Either they hate him, or they love you. Maybe both.

You tip toe as silently as you’re able to, looking from pristine white door to pristine white door. Third door to the left, his parents had instructed. You see an ajar door, cracked just an inch open, letting sunlight spill into the hall.

Pushing it open, the sight almost makes you drop the bucket.

He’s lying on his bed, in nothing but boxers, deep asleep. His right arm is underneath his head, and his left is resting on the curve of his torso. His face is to the window, the sun bathing him so beautifully it ends up being annoying. It makes his tan skin look like caramel, and the highlights in his hair look golden.

It makes you want to drop a bucket of water on him.

You approach carefully, shyly, almost. He looks almost…cute. Innocent. Two words you would’ve never used to describe Aaron. Two words you would’ve used to describe a kitten, perhaps. Or a rabbit. Never, never, the man who once threw you off his yacht into the water because you said he was the epitome of a himbo-ish womanizer and couldn’t keep it in his pants.

A sly, evil grin tugs at your lips. Finally. Revenge. Revenge on all those times he’s scared boys you were dating into breaking up with you. Revenge on the amount of times he’s made your life hell.

With a sharp, almost jerky movement, you dump the contents of the bucket on him and bolt, abandoning the bucket along the way, the piece of plastic skittering off. You can hear a confused, groggy noise from him before it’s replaced with an angry growl.

Let’s just hope that you don’t end up getting lost in the labyrinthine halls of this mansion.