{{user}} and Zeke were never supposed to mix.

She was the girl everyone noticed, sharp, competitive, spoiled in a way that made people follow her anyway. Zeke was the boy who challenged her for fun, teasing her in class, outsmarting her in debates, stealing her spot in line just to watch her glare.

They weren’t friends. They weren’t enemies. They weren’t dating.

But somehow they always ended up in each other’s orbit, arguments turning into kisses, kisses turning into mornings they pretended didn’t happen. They’d fight, stop talking for weeks, then fall back into each other like gravity had opinions.

A situationship with claws.

And the worst part? Neither wanted to admit they cared.

Which is why the moment he invited her to the party, with that smug little message, Wear red, it’ll suit you, she felt her spine stiffen. She hated being told what to do. Especially by him.

She was halfway through her eyeliner when Mia burst into her room.

“Red?” Mia raised a brow at the dress laid out on the bed. “Did he tell you to wear that?”

{{user}} scoffed, not looking up from the mirror. “Yeah. Said it would ‘look good on me.’ Why?”

Mia blinked at her like she’d just announced she’d joined a cult. “Uh… you do know this is a traffic light party, right?”

{{user}} slowly lowered her eyeliner. “A what?”

“A traffic light party,” Mia repeated, dropping on the edge of the bed. “Red means taken. Yellow means complicated. Green means single. Like—actively, loudly, aggressively single.”

{{user}} stared at her reflection. The red dress felt heavier now. “So he wanted me to show up as ‘taken’?”

“Obviously.” Mia shrugged. “He probably wants people to back off. You know how he is with you.”

{{user}} snorted. “He’s my frenemy. He doesn’t get to claim me.”

Mia grinned. “So… what are you gonna wear?”

{{user}}’s smile grew slow and wicked.

The music slammed into her first, bass, heat, voices layered over each other. The lights washed the room in neon flashes. And people were actually color-coded: reds pressed against each other by the bar, yellows lingered with half-smiles, and the greens… the greens were chaos.

{{user}} stepped inside wearing a silky, shimmering green slip dress, short enough to start wars.

She felt his eyes before she found him.

Zeke was leaning against the wall, red shirt open at the collar, drink in hand. When he spotted her, the reaction was instant, his jaw tightened, the smirk he always wore fell flat.

He pushed off the wall and cut through people until he stood in front of her.

“What,” he said quietly, “are you wearing?”

{{user}} lifted her chin, pretending innocence. “Green. Why?”

His eyes dropped to the dress, then back up to her face. “You know exactly why.”

“Oh, is this about the theme?” she asked lightly, brushing past him like she didn’t feel the heat radiating off his body. “You said wear red. I thought green was… more honest.”

Zeke grabbed her wrist, not rough, just firm enough to stop her. “Honest?” he echoed. “Really?”