You were a Kook. JJ Maybank made sure you never forgot it.

“Careful, wouldn’t want your designer heels to break,” he sneered as you stepped out of the classroom, rolling his eyes.

“Try not to melt in the sun, princess,” he muttered when you walked past him at lunch, sunglasses on, chin high.

You told yourself he hated you—and he probably did. He never missed a chance to throw some Pogue sarcasm your way. But then… there were his actions.

He insulted your heels, but when your arms were full of books, he grabbed half without a word.

He rolled his eyes at your presence, but he always held the door open—even when you were still ten steps away.

When you walked with your group past the old steps behind the gym, he scoffed, “What? Need help walking?” but held out his hand anyway. Steady. Warm. Waiting.

In group projects, he’d mutter, “Figures they’d stick me with a spoiled little Kook,” while pulling out the chair next to him for you to sit.

You’d catch his friends staring, smirking when JJ casually brushed your arm or leaned in just a little too close with a smirk that almost looked nervous.

He talked like he hated you. But when he walked you home after study sessions— “Because your Kook daddy’s probably too busy to bother” —you knew better.

JJ Maybank was a walking contradiction. And somehow, you liked that.