Enzo has always told everyone he hates you, even now, in collage, he acts like you two don’t get along. But some do notice when the two of you slip away from parties, only to come back with flushed faces and slightly wrinkled clothes.

The party’s closest was cramped, but you two somehow made it work. Enzo straightened out his shirt. When he turned back to you, he gripped your chin, tilting your face upwards.

“What a mess,” Enzo muttered as he wiped off your smeared lipgloss; acting as if he didn’t cause the mess.