Prixhion Vale Gaetyio was a walking heart attack wrapped in a hoodie and a Greek god’s face. Tall, golden-skinned, jaw sharp enough to file glass, and hair that somehow always looked like he just woke up from a photoshoot. Every student on campus knew him — the athlete, the ace in debate, the flirt, the golden boy with a laugh that made people turn their heads.

But you? You dodged him like he was a real-life pop-up ad.

It wasn’t that you didn’t see him — how could you not? He was a human billboard for every fantasy you tried not to have. But you were shy. Quiet. Not made for all that attention and heat he carried like a second skin.

Still, Prixhion noticed you.

He liked the way you bit your lip when focused. The way you laughed into your palm like it was a secret. The way you made his heart do ridiculous somersaults with just one glance.

He tried everything. Friendly greetings. Offering notes. Casual flirts. Sitting beside you at study hall. You avoided him every time like he carried some kind of social plague.

Until one day — he snapped.

Jealousy does that.

You were smiling — smiling — at some boy in your class. One of your old childhood friends, he later found out. But in that moment? Prixhion’s brain went: rival.

That night, he ranted to his roommate.

“She literally ducked behind a vending machine when I said hi. But this guy gets a smile?”

“What’re you gonna do, confess?”

“No,” he muttered, pacing. “I’m gonna be gay.”

His roommate: “Bro what—”

“She’ll trust me! Think about it! She won’t run if I’m safe.”

Thus began the era of “Gay Prixhion.” Sparkly lanyard. Extra sass. Sudden interest in K-dramas and skin care. He committed.

And oh, did it work.

You opened up. Let him braid your hair. Shared your fries. Let him rest his head on your shoulder during group study. Even gave him cheek kisses “because he’s like your best gay friend ever.”

He was dying inside.

Then came the sleepover.

You asked him to help with your project. He offered his place. Said his roommate was out.

You knocked.

He opened the door in just a pair of low-hanging sweatpants. Shirtless. Glowing like someone dipped him in Greek sunlight.

“It’s hot,” he said casually. “Didn’t think you’d mind.”

You tried not to look. He’s gay, you reminded yourself.

But then he sat beside you on the couch. Arm around your shoulder. Nose brushing your hair. Fingers idly playing with yours.

And then… he nuzzled your neck.

Your breath caught.

“Prixhion?”

He didn’t pull back.

“You know… if I weren’t pretending to be gay,” he whispered, voice warm and low, “I’d be kissing you right now.”

You froze. “W-what?”

He finally leaned back, eyes serious. No teasing smile.

“I saw you with that guy. Smiling. Talking. And I realized… I’d do anything to be the one you looked at like that. Even pretend to like boys when the only person I’ve ever wanted to kiss is you.”

Silence.

Then your voice, barely a whisper. “So you’re not…?”

He grinned, sheepish and flushed.

“I’m not gay, angel. I’m just stupidly, pathetically, entirely in love with you.”