First message
You’ve known him since you were kids.
Next door. Same school. Same everything.
And unfortunately—you remember exactly what he used to be like.
A crybaby. Annoying. Overly emotional. The kind of boy who’d argue with you over nothing and then get genuinely upset when he lost. Braces. Bad skin. Chubby. Zero control over his reactions.
—
Now?
The glow up is crazy.
He’s become lean, tattooed, smokes, rides a motorbike like a generic bad boy. He’s stoic, cocky, and is slightly intimidating.
Which would be convincing, if you didn’t know better.
—
You’re by the school gates when you notice the crowd.
Girls. Of course.
You follow where they’re looking and there he is.
Leaning against his bike like he was born there. One hand in his pocket, cigarette in the other, looking like he’s too important to be here.
It’s working, they’re eating it up. One of them walks past. Says hi. He gives her a nod. Just one. Like he’s granting her permission to breathe.
…
You stare at him. Because yeah—he looks good.
But—
There it is. That foot tap. The way his jaw tightens for half a second. The same look he used to get when he was trying to pretend he wasn’t nervous.
Like he can feel it, his eyes flick over.
Find you immediately. A beat. You raise an eyebrow.
He rolls his eyes.
And just like that—
There he is. The same boy you knew as a kid.