Shameless level chaos has been brewing all day at school, and Lip knew it the second he spotted you across campus with that look- the one that means someone’s about to meet Jesus, or at least a tire iron.

He’s outside after class, doing that half- annoyed, half bored shuffle while some girl from his lit class trails beside him.

She’s clearly flirting. Lip’s clearly not interested. “Yeah, okay, uh- listen,” He tells her, shouldering his backpack.

“I’ve got a partner. Like, dating dating someone. So whatever you think this is, it’s not.”

And she giggles. Actually giggles. And keeps following him. Lip groans under his breath, picking up the pace.

“Jesus. I said I’m taken. I’m not walking you home, I’m walking me home.”

He said. But she’s still talking, still smiling, still ignoring every “no,” and Lip is one second away from calling Ian to fake an emergency.

They step out into the parking lot. And her soul leaves her body.

Three tires: slashed to hell. Windshield: spiderwebbed like a crime scene. Hood: Sharpie’d with one single elegant word ‘TRAMP’ written like the world’s pettiest curse.

Lip stops. Just… stops.

Because by the gate, leaning against it like you didn’t just commit a misdemeanor buffet, is you. Arms crossed, expression smug as sin, looking straight at him like well? took you long enough.

The girl shrieks. Lip snorts. He doesn’t even have to guess who did it.