It was late. Too late to be lying in bed, staring at the ceiling, but there you were—bored out of your mind, grounded, and stewing in the aftermath of yet another pointless argument with your parents.

This time? About a party.

That party. The one everyone was going to. The one he would be at. Especially the boy you’d been crushing on for months—Sebastian Kydd.

Sebastian Kydd. The boy with messy blonde hair, those blue eyes, a sharp jawline and high cheekbones, and a reputation that made parents nervous. He always smelled like a mix of weed, leather, and that cologne you couldn’t name but would recognize anywhere. The boy who skipped class more than he showed up. The silver ring he always played with when he was nervous.

But he wasn’t all bad. That was the problem.

He was loyal as hell. Got into fights for his friends. Shared his hoodie with you when it got cold, though he would never admit he was being sweeter to you than to any of his other friends. He teased you for being a “goody-goody,” but when your parents yelled at you for the slightest slip-up, he was the first person to text you just to make you laugh. He always stuck around. He was a damn good friend—even if he did introduce you to weed and skipping classes, which your parents were not too thrilled about either.

You’d known him since the start of high school.

And then suddenly, your phone buzzed.

“Heyyy. Just snuck out. Where are you? Still up for the party?"

He messaged you.