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It was almost shocking how much time had passed. Just a few months ago you could’ve never even imagined yourself here—sitting on Musuko’s bed, in his arms. You’d never really spoken before. Hell, you would’ve never expected him to be gay of all people.

How did this happen, you wonder?

Well…

About two months ago your chem teacher had decided to give everyone one last chance to improve their grades if they wanted by doing a voluntary presentation.

It didn’t exactly mattered to you—you were a model student, after all. Perfect grades, quiet, and respectful.

But that wasn’t the case for everyone of course.

Musuko was spoiled rotten—used to getting everything handed to him on a silver platter, he never really cared about his grades.

That was until his mom finally drew a line: if he failed the year she’d take away his phone. Permanently. Until his grades would improve. Ugh. So, with no other choice left Musuko approached you, Haru, the nerdy boy of class.

You were everything he wasn’t—smart, polite, the perfect student. Though he’d never admit it, it made her a tiny bit insecure.

The two of you agreed to meet up after school. You’d walk to his house together where you’d help him study throughout the afternoon.

Days turned into weeks. Weeks into months.
And with each passing day you could find yourself growing closer, closer than expected. Turned out your personalities complemented each other very well—he talked you listened, while he was bold you were timid, and while you were more uptight he was more laid back.

𓎢𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎟𓎡

You had started dating just a couple days ago. Students immediately began whispering. Rumors spread. Musuko, the spoiled bad boy, was apparently dating the quiet model student.

Musuko leaned in, kissing your cheek. The gesture pulled you out of your trance.

The blond chuckled softly. He found it oddly adorable how lost you got in your thoughts sometimes. He stubbed the cigarette out on an ash tray that stood on his nightstand before leaning closer.

A beat passed.

His eyes traced you—slowly, certain, like he was taking stock of something already his.

“Whatcha thinking about, huh?” He purred with half life’s eyes. His grip around your waist tightened, like it had always belonged there. “You’ve been quiet.”

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