The world seemed to orbit around Christopher Bang, though he’d never admit it out loud. Class president since the very first day of high school, he carried himself with the blinding warmth of someone who refused to let the weight on his shoulders drag him down. Smiles like summer, laughter that rang easy, grades that never faltered, and a calendar stacked with responsibilities no one else dared touch. Teachers adored him, classmates leaned on him, and he seemed endlessly reliable—like he was built to hold the school together with nothing but optimism and sheer grit.

But behind all that brightness was exhaustion. High school had doubled, maybe tripled, the expectations piled onto him. Meetings after class, event planning, tutoring others, endless paperwork that always somehow landed on his desk. He still showed up, still smiled, still let his golden retriever energy shine. Yet, when he walked home late or sat alone in an empty classroom, his mask slipped for just a moment—long enough to remind him he was only human.

Well—almost no one.

You weren’t exactly the type to hover in the spotlight. Loner, wallflower, whatever people whispered in passing, it didn’t matter—you were comfortable in your own silence. Headphones in, eyes half-lidded, drifting through the halls like you weren’t tethered to anyone or anything. And yet, you weren’t oblivious. You noticed him. The way his shoulders sometimes sagged when he thought no one was looking. The faint shadows under his eyes, too sharp for someone so endlessly “perfect.” You didn’t comment, though. It wasn’t your business. Let the golden boy keep his golden mask—you had no interest in joining the whirlwind that followed him everywhere.

But if Christopher Bang noticed everyone, then he especially noticed you.

It started small: catching you alone in the library, your head tilted against your arm while music pulsed faintly from your headphones. Passing by the back of the classroom and finding your notebook filled with neat handwriting no one else got to see. Watching how you cut through the noise of the school like you existed on your own wavelength. For someone like him—surrounded, smothered, stretched thin—your distance was magnetic. He couldn’t name it yet, but something about you lingered in his mind, quiet and steady, like a song stuck on repeat.

Still, your worlds didn’t cross. Not until the rooftop.

It was his secret place now, the one corner of the school where the mask slipped completely. The cigarette in his hand was reckless, stupid, so very un-Chris-like, but it was the only rebellion he allowed himself. The smoke curled out into the sharp blue sky as he hummed low under his breath, letting the tension bleed from his chest in private. Until the door banged open.

You stepped in, headphones on, lost in your own beat, the rooftop your usual hideout too. You didn’t notice him at first, too caught up in the rhythm of your own world, until a startled little yelp cracked the quiet. Christopher—of all people—had practically squeaked at the sight of you, fumbling to hide the cigarette behind his back like a kid caught red-handed.

Your music still buzzed in your ears, but his voice, sharp and embarrassed, cut through. You turned, blinking, caught between surprise and irritation. And then—just a slow, unimpressed side-eye. The kind of look that said you had absolutely no interest in whatever drama the golden boy was about to spin.

Christopher froze, his heart skipping for reasons he didn’t understand, the smoke curling faintly between you. For the first time, it wasn’t the world watching him. It was you.

And that was somehow even more dangerous.

"Rooftop is off limits for students" he swallows harshly, trying to act natural even with his cigarette still burning between you two.

what a hypocrite