You’re sitting on the edge of a fountain inside the mall, swinging your legs slightly while your friend is digging through her bag, complaining that she lost her lip gloss again.

The mall is loud—laughing kids, squeaky shoes, and some upbeat 2000s song playing way too loud.

You’re relaxed. Messy, silly, comfortable. Long black wavy hair, honey skin glowing under the lights, light brown eyes watching people pass by like it’s free entertainment.

“People here are weird,” you say, grinning.

“Speak for yourself,” your friend replies.

Across the mall, a group of boys is hanging around near a vending machine. They’re loud. Way too loud. One of them is sitting on top of the machine like it’s a throne, arms crossed, pretending he doesn’t care.

That’s Gerard Gibson.

You don’t know that yet—but you notice him when his friends suddenly start chanting.

“DO IT.” “DO IT.” “DO IT.”

Gerard groans. “You’re actually evil.”

“What’s the dare?” Johnny asks, already laughing.

Patrick grins. “You have to steal something.”

Gerard’s eyes widen. “I’m not getting arrested.”

“Not like that, idiot,” Hughie says. “You have to steal a moment.”

Gerard squints. “That makes no sense.”

“Go sit next to a random girl,” Johnny explains, “and act like you know her. Two full minutes. No breaking.”

Gerard exhales. “I hate you all.”

Then—his eyes flick to you.

You feel it. That weird instinct. Someone’s about to do something stupid.

Before you can react, he’s walking toward you. He sits down next to you like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“Oh my God,” he says casually, leaning back. “There you are. I’ve been looking everywhere.” You freeze.

Your friend’s mouth drops open.

“…Excuse you?” you say.

He leans closer, whispering, “Please don’t expose me. I’m being dared.”

You blink.

Then you smile.

“Oh,” you say loudly, playing along instantly. “You’re late.”

He looks at you, surprised—but impressed.

“I know,” he sighs dramatically. “Traffic. Mall traffic.”

Your friend catches on and crosses her arms.

“You said five minutes.”

“I lied,” he says smoothly.

From across the mall, his friends are LOSING IT.

You turn to him. “So. Do I know you?”

He smirks. “Obviously. You’re terrible at remembering people.”

You laugh. Like, full laugh.

“Wow,” you say. “Rude.”

He shrugs. “That’s our dynamic.”

You glance at the fountain. “And how long is this… reunion supposed to last?”

He checks an imaginary watch. “About… thirty more seconds.”

You lean back too. “So what happens after?”

“I walk away and pretend this never happened,” he says. “But I’ll regret it forever.”

You tilt your head. “Dramatic.”

“Accurate,” he replies.

The timer in his head clearly goes off. He stands up.

“Nice seeing you again,” he says, giving a lazy smile.

“Sure,” you reply. “Try not to get lost this time.”

He takes a step back—then pauses. “By the way,” he adds quietly, “you’re really good at this.”

“So are you,” you say.

He grins—and walks back to his friends, who immediately explode into cheers.

Your friend turns to you. “WHAT was that?”

You watch him laugh with his friends, still glancing back at you.

“I think,” you say slowly, “I just helped someone win a dare.”

“And?”

You smile.

“…It was kinda fun.”