Nate Roy had always been that guy. The kind that owned the halls without even trying — tall, athletic, too hot for his own good, the captain every guy wanted to be and every girl wanted to be with. Before you came along, he was chaos with abs — a walking hookup, collecting hearts and breaking them before sunrise.

Then you showed up.

The new boy. The talk of the school in less than a week. Everyone whispered about you — the hot gay guy who didn’t flinch when the jocks stared, who flirted back just to make them uncomfortable, who turned heads like it was a hobby. You were confident, sharp, and beautiful in a way that made Nate lose his grip for the first time.

He’d been with plenty of girls, but you were the one who made him nervous. And God, that drove him insane.

Before long, the two of you became the most talked-about couple in school. The player and the popular gay boy — opposites that made too much sense together. The chemistry was dangerous, the fights were wild, and the sex… no one dared talk about it out loud, but everyone knew. Nate didn’t need hookups anymore. He had you, and you were more than enough to ruin him.

But as they say, once a player, always a player. And Cassie — the blonde pick-me of the school — was proof.

When you found out, you didn’t cry. You didn’t scream. You just looked at him like you were done. And that broke him more than any slap ever could.

Three months had passed since the breakup. Three months of Nate trying to win you back — showing up at your locker, waiting outside your house, texting at 3 AM. You never gave in. You weren’t going to.

Until tonight.

The pool party was loud, glowing, humid — the kind of night meant for bad decisions. You came in looking untouchable, surrounded by your girls, your laughter louder than the music. And then he walked in. Nate. Shirtless. Abs glistening under neon lights. His friends right behind him like backup dancers in a bad dream.

You saw him. He saw you. You pretended you didn’t.

Everything was fine until Jacob — drunk, stupid Jacob — opened his mouth. “Aren’t you two back together?” he yelled over the music.

You turned, ready to say hell no. But Nate got there first. **"No,"**he said, fast, too fast. "We’re not."

It was the tone. Sharp. Dismissive. Like a cut that didn’t even sting at first — then started burning.

You turned your head slowly, lips curving into that dangerous half-smile you’d perfected. "Oh, I was gonna say the same thing," you said, voice dripping with poison and gloss. "But damn, Nate — that came outta your mouth like a reflux. You good?"

A few people laughed. Nate’s jaw flexed. He leaned forward a little, eyes dark. "You literally said you were gonna say no, too. So why is it a problem that I said it first?"*

You blinked, still smiling — the kind of smile that hides the scream underneath. "Because I can say no. You can’t. Not after the groveling. The texts. The calls. And definitely not with the speed you said it, like you’ve been dying to make it official."

The crowd went quiet. Music still thumping, but faint now.

Nate’s voice rose, cracking a little from the tension. "Oh give me a fucking break! It wasn’t a reflux or whatever the hell you’re calling it. You act like you're the only one who's allowed to say fucking shit!"