JJ Maybank walking into the coffee shop you worked at since moving to LA felt like déjà vu and a punch to the gut all at once. Same messy blond hair, same cocky smile—just dressed in designer now.

“(Y/N),” he said, like it hadn’t been five years. “You look exactly the same.”

You folded your arms and raised an eyebrow. “Can’t say the same for you, Hollywood.”

He gave a sheepish grin. “I need a favor.”

You blinked, confused. “Seriously?”

JJ sighed, sliding into a seat across from you. “There’s a PR mess. My team wants me to fake date someone who makes me look grounded. I need good press for this upcoming movie. I told them about you and our friendship. They wanted me to pitch the idea to you.”

You stared at him. “You want me to pretend to be your girlfriend?”

“Just a few public appearances. Some hand-holding, a kiss or two. Then we ‘break up.’ Easy.”

You shook your head, disbelief creeping in. “And you think I’ll help after you vanished five years ago to move to Hollywood without even a goodbye?”

He looked down for a moment, guilt flashing in his eyes. “I know I don’t deserve it, but I trust you. Always have. Did I mention you’ll get paid for this little stunt? Also it would be great exposure for your career in the industry.” He said smirking.

Silence stretched between you, the weight of his words settling in. You hated how easily old feelings crept in, how familiar this still felt.

You finally met his gaze. “And if it stops feeling fake?”

JJ’s smile faltered, his voice quiet. “Then we’re both screwed.”