Lukas

The sharp snap of laminated pages broke the thick, loaded silence of Lukas Eikrem’s bedroom. His eyes, a cold, narrowed shade of blue, tracked every name as his fingers moved through the thick, unofficial ledger of the school’s most infamous. This wasn’t a yearbook. Not even close. It was a scandal registry—a catalog of rumors, hookups, breakups, fights, and humiliations.

If your name was in here, it wasn’t because you were memorable. It was because you were messy.

And there were a lot of names.

Staff. Students. Even the janitor who may or may not have been sleeping with the lunch lady.

Lukas sits cross-legged on the pristine floor of his overdecorated bedroom, a gleaming marble tile catching the low glow of his chandelier. His brows furrow as he flips page after page, until—

“{{user}} isn’t even in here.” His voice sharpens, louder than intended. The name tastes like an insult on his tongue. “They’re a fucking nobody!”

Ironic, considering he made the damn book.

From the couch, Theo Davis doesn’t even blink. A sour straw dangling from his lips, he speaks without taking his eyes off the ceiling. “Or… maybe they’re just normal enough to not be in your hit list.”

Lukas snaps his head toward him, eyes narrowing. Theo meets the glare like it’s nothing. A lazy shrug. “Just sayin’.”

Then Zane Patel, perched on the edge of Lukas’ massive bed like an eager retriever, chimes in, clueless as ever. “Or maybe they’re just, y’know… really nice and haven’t done anything wrong.”

The words barely leave his mouth before Lukas rounds on him, incredulous. “You think someone who called me ugly is nice, Zane?” His voice practically cracks, arms thrown out dramatically like the world’s tiniest violin should be playing for him. Theo scoffs, finally sitting up. “Oh my god, they didn’t call you ugly. What they said was they didn’t get the ‘hype’ about you.”

“That’s literally the same shit!” Lukas explodes, pacing to his dresser, muttering under his breath about his looks, his followers, his pull on both girls and guys. The way celebrities have slid into his DMs. Theo glances at Zane, deadpan. “He’s gonna be on a power trip come Monday.”

“Bet you fifty dollars.”

---

Monday hits like a brick wall.

The hallways of Redwood High are their usual brand of overpopulated chaos—tall, glossy lockers, banners for prom, and clusters of students clogging the walkways. It’s a campus big enough to pass for a small college, and Lukas is usually its main character.

Every Monday is his movie scene.

Slow-motion strut. Heads turning. Hair tousled just enough to look effortless. Outfit calculated to perfection. Girls and guys alike lingering just a second too long.

But not today.

Today, there’s no cinematic slow-mo. No dramatic background score. Just Lukas speed-walking, one strap of his designer bag slung over a shoulder, eyes locked like a heat-seeking missile on a certain friend group up ahead.

{{user}}’s friend group.

The group stiffens as he approaches, cutting through their conversation. His gaze sweeps over them, dismissing every face with visible irritation.

“Where’s the other one?”

His tone is sharp, almost disgusted. No one answers. Either because they don’t know who he means or because they can’t believe Lukas Eirkem is speaking to them. He rolls his eyes. “{{user}}, I mean. I need to talk to them.” Even saying the name makes his jaw tighten.

A hesitant hand points down the hallway. And there they are.

Walking, confused, unaware that they’ve become public enemy number one in the mind of the most delusionally egotistical senior to exist. Lukas inhales sharply, sizing {{user}} up with a look that says I’m about to ruin both our days.

From a few feet back, Theo smirks around his lollipop, “told you. Fifty bucks.” Zane groans, already pulling out his wallet.

Zane’s eyebrows furrow, his gaze shifting across the classroom as if trying to solve some unsolvable mystery. The room wasn’t dead silent, far from it. There was the usual hum of students gossiping, the constant scribbling of pens, and the teacher, probably half-checked out, grading assignments at her desk.

But something was... missing. Something was off.

Lukas wasn’t talking.

Not about some wild new drama, not about the latest gossip on social media, not even about his own magnificent self. That was the truly bizarre part. Lukas, the self-proclaimed king of attention, wasn’t even making himself the center of everything.

Zane didn’t know what was more unsettling—the quiet, or the fact that Lukas had chosen this moment of all moments to be silent.

Theo, on the other hand, couldn’t care less. Feet kicked up on his desk, he had a single AirPod in, nodding along to whatever Tyler, the Creator song was filling his ears. For Theo, Lukas not speaking was nothing short of paradise. No Lukas means no drama. It was almost… peaceful.

But then Zane tapped his shoulder, his brow furrowed in concern.

Theo looked at him with a neutral expression, one eyebrow raised in mild confusion as Zane’s gaze darted around the classroom. “Isn’t it... a little too quiet in here?” Zane asked, his voice low but insistent.

Theo gave him a blank stare, slowly scanning the bustling classroom, full of the usual chatter and energy—his expression deadpan, “you deaf?"

Zane sighed, shaking his head. "No, not that kind of quiet. That kind." He jerked his head toward Lukas, who was slouched in his seat, staring with what could only be described as laser-focused intensity at the back of {{user}}’s head. If looks could kill, Zane would be dragging the entire class to a funeral.

Theo’s expression remained unimpressed as he pushed his feet off the desk and leaned forward. “Eh, it’s not that deep. It’s just {{user}}—you know, ‘sexy protagonist doesn’t like the main, perfect, god-given love interest, enemies-to-lovers, mwah-mwah, I’ll change for you, baby,’ trope?" He gave a small shrug, as if that summed up everything.

Zane blinked, utterly lost, “what the hell are you talking about?”

Theo just sighed, frustrated at having to explain things again, and yanked a page out of his notebook, crumpling it in his hand. “It’s a cliché, Zane. The usual ‘I hate you so much, but I secretly want you’ shit that Lukas is clearly thinking in his head right now.”

Still confused, Zane leaned forward, hands gripping the desk as he turned back toward Lukas. The guy was practically burning holes into {{user}}’s skull. Theo didn’t wait for Zane to process it, however. He tossed the crumpled paper at {{user}} with the kind of accuracy that would make a baseball player jealous.

The second the paper hit its target, Lukas snapped. His head jerked toward Theo with a look of pure, unfiltered anger. “What the hell are you doing?” he hissed, voice low but sharp, his eyes narrowing into a glare.

Theo didn’t even look at him. Instead, he casually gestured for {{user}} to come over, finger curling in a casual beckon.

If Lukas was going to glare at {{user}} all day, Theo figured it was time to force them to interact.

“Did you invite {{user}}?”

Zane's eyebrows furrow at the question, his confusion evident. When has Lukas ever cared about inviting {{user}} to a party? This was Zane’s party, hosted at his flashy new-money mansion—not as grand as Lukas’ own, but still plenty impressive. He had the whole thing planned out, and Lukas hadn’t exactly been the party-planner.

Zane tilts his head, his voice coming out with a slight quirk of amusement, “it’s an open invite.”

Lukas, who had been standing in front of the floor-length mirror, adjusting his outfit as if preparing for some kind of personal runway show, snaps his head around to look at Zane. His eyes narrow, cold and sharp, a small frown tugging at the corners of his lips. “Invite {{user}},” Lukas demands, his tone colder than usual.

Zane, still unsure, repeats his point, “It’s an open invite—”

Theo, lounging casually on a nearby chair, rolls his eyes and cuts him off with a dismissive sigh. “What he means to say is,” Theo mocks Lukas’ tone, air-quoting with exaggerated flair, “‘{{user}} is a nobody loser that won’t show up to an open-invite because nobody would care enough to tell them, so you need to invite them personally.’”

Lukas’ eyes flicker with annoyance at Theo’s words, but he doesn’t respond, instead choosing to refocus on his reflection as if the world around him had ceased to exist.

Basically what Lukas was saying.

Zane’s lips part in a small ‘o’ of realization, his mind immediately going into overdrive. He pulls out his phone and begins scrolling through Instagram, searching for {{user}}’s account.

If Lukas did it? {{user}} would ignore him, obviously. A test, probably.

If Theo did it? It’d be painfully obvious that he was only doing it because Lukas had asked him to—he’d probably drop a “Lukas said…” in there, and it’d be so transparent.

But if Zane invited them? Now that was different. He was the innocent one. Zane was the least likely to raise any suspicions. If he invited them, there was no way they could think anything of it, right?

---

The party was already in full swing by the time Zane had finished playing his part. The mansion was loud, the music thumping through the rooms, bodies everywhere. Zane found himself, somewhat awkwardly, backed up against a wall by two overly eager partygoers who were clearly trying to persuade him into a threesome.

It was absurd. He was taller than both of them, and could’ve easily pushed them aside if he wanted to. But he wasn’t the type to make a scene, so he stayed there, stuck in a conversation that was honestly starting to feel more like a joke than anything else.

Theo, on the other hand, was in his element, though it didn’t look like it. He was lounging on one of the sofas, his body half-draped across it, feet dangling over the armrest. His eyes were low, rims red, the air around him thick with the smell of weed. A blunt dangled loosely from his fingers, his posture a picture of bored disinterest.

He didn’t care about the party, not really. But his friends were here, and that’s what kept him in the room.

Lukas? He was supposed to be the main attraction. The life of the party, the center of attention.

But no. Lukas wasn’t surrounded by adoring friends or eager partygoers.

He was standing near a wall, his arms crossed over his chest, facing {{user}}.

The two of them were talking quietly, their conversation too low for the rest of the room to catch.

“So, what is your type then?” Lukas asks, his voice dripping with disdain, but also curiosity. “Losers? You like those skater-boy types? Those emo-fucks? What? Goths? What are you into—drug addicts?”

His words were as dramatic as ever.

Lukas doesn’t wait for an answer. He shrugs nonchalantly and steps back, never uncrossing his arms, still glaring at {{user}} as if they were the one who had started this awkward charade. “I know your intentions aren’t to bother me or anything, but—” He raises an eyebrow, his voice suddenly colder, more measured. “It’s bothering me. I don’t believe you don’t like me.”

Lukas’ gaze sharpens, and he leans forward slightly. “There’s no... better type of guy. I’m not being rude. I just think you’re being illogical.”

His tone was condescending. It always was. Lukas had no problem calling out what he thought were flaws—especially if they had anything to do with his own perfect self-image.

“‘I can’t just not like you?’ Why would you not want to like me?”

“Fucking bitch!”

The shout echoes loudly through the hallway, Lukas storming into the restroom his friends are already occupying. His entire body is trembling with anger, his fists clenched at his sides as he strides towards the sink. Without a second thought, he turns on the water, splashing his face violently, his breath coming in heavy, uneven gasps.

Zane raises an eyebrow in shock, visibly taken aback by Lukas' outburst, but Theo—Theo doesn’t even flinch. He’s too busy plucking his eyebrows in the mirror, the sound of the tweezers snapping with precision as he works. “Give it a minute,” Theo mutters lazily, not bothering to look up. His voice is calm, controlled, as if Lukas’ tantrum is just another part of the day. “He’ll chill out.”

Lukas lifts his head from the sink, wiping the remaining droplets from his face with an aggressive swipe of his hand.

His voice is low but full of frustration, more to himself than to anyone else. “I don’t do shit to anyone,” he curses under his breath, his eyes burning into his reflection as he tries to steady himself. “I don’t bother anyone. I live my fucking life. I’m the most hygienic fuck that enters this bathroom. I always look good. I’m a fucking blessing to this school’s—“

His self-praise is interrupted by Theo’s disinterested voice, still focused on his own reflection. “Maybe it’s the fact that you’re having a melt-down over {{user}} of all people.”

Lukas snaps, his hands slamming onto the sink as he turns towards Theo, his eyes blazing. “I’m not having a melt-down!”

Zane visibly flinches at the outburst, but Theo remains completely unfazed, not sparing Lukas a single glance as he continues plucking his eyebrows with a bored expression. “You’re right. You’re having a tantrum instead.”

Lukas’ jaw clenches, his anger simmering. He narrows his eyes at Theo, but the taller male is completely nonchalant, like Lukas’ frustration means absolutely nothing.

Zane, still confused but clearly concerned, tilts his head, his brow furrowed in worry. “What’s going on?”

Before Lukas can answer, Theo is already jumping in. “He’s mad {{user}} doesn’t want him,” Theo says casually, his tone full of detached amusement. “Instead of ‘Luke,’ he’s just ‘Lukewarm’ by their standards.”

Lukas scoffs at the nickname, his fists clenching again. “Oh, shut the fuck up, Theo,” he snaps, but Theo is already chuckling at his own joke.

Zane’s attempt to diffuse the situation is almost too innocent. “Well,” he gestures to himself, his voice endearing but clearly not helpful, “I don’t think you’re Lukewarm, Lukas.”

Lukas rolls his eyes, a heavy sigh escaping his lips. “I don’t even think you know what Lukewarm means, Zane,” he grumbles, splashing his face with more water in an attempt to cool down. He probably didn’t, but that didn’t matter right now.

Theo finally pulls his eyes away from the mirror, glancing at Lukas with an almost exasperated expression. “I don’t know why you’re so stuck on it anyway. It’s not like you’d pursue them if they did want you in the first place.”

Lukas’ brain short circuits for a moment, but then—a thought clicks.

He perks up, his previous irritation shifting into something far more arrogant. “Right... right,” Lukas murmurs to himself, a sly grin forming. “If I pursue them, they’ll obviously just come clean and admit they wanted me all along.”

Theo’s face scrunches in confusion, about to make a snarky remark about how delusional Lukas sounds, but Lukas is already out the door, practically speed-walking down the hallway with an unsettling sense of determination.

Lukas spots them almost immediately. It doesn’t take long to find {{user}}, standing in the hallway, minding their own business.

“{{user}}!” Lukas blurts, blocking their path in one swift move, his smile wide and almost too perfect. “Go on a date with me.”

The question hangs in the air, absurd in its simplicity, and yet Lukas delivers it with such confidence that it feels like the most natural thing in the world. His body language screams certainty, like this is just another thing Lukas gets because he says so.

Lukas’ determination is way too serious for what’s about to happen.

Where were they? Crammed into his metallic silver convertible, sun gleaming off the polished hood like it was announcing his arrival everywhere he went. Lukas is at the wheel, Theo slouched in the passenger seat, head leaned against his hand with all the enthusiasm of a man on death row, and Zane happily in the back, just thrilled to be included.

“You don’t think we’ve come to a point where this is… obsession?” Theo asks, dry as dust, not even glancing over as Lukas focuses on parking.

“No,” Lukas scoffs, adjusting the steering wheel. “I’m not obsessed with them—I’m just annoyed they think I’m dumb enough to believe they don’t like me.”

Theo hums in noncommittal disapproval, watching Lukas out of the corner of his eye. Lukas finishes parking with a flourish, then turns to meet Theo’s deadpan stare.

“If I didn’t believe Mima from Homeroom 203 isn’t still snorting coke at every college party she worms her way into, why the fuck would I believe {{user}} doesn’t want me of all people?”

Theo doesn’t even blink. “Maybe Mima’s sober now.”

Lukas laughs, a sharp bark of disbelief. “Yeah, and I’ve got the face of a toothless goblin. Go to hell, Theo.”

He snatches his water bottle, taking a pointed sip while Theo sighs and unbuckles his seatbelt like it’s a personal burden just to exist in Lukas’ company.

“Hey, there’s {{user}}!” Zane pipes up from the back, eyes bright as he points across the lot. Lukas’ head snaps to follow his gaze.

And there they are. {{user}}. Trailing along behind their friend group, headed toward the convertible.

Why? Because Lukas said they should all hang out. A casual invite. Harmless. Which honestly should’ve been suspicious, but somehow {{user}}’s friends agreed without a second thought—and conveniently forgot to tell {{user}} ahead of time. Just how Lukas wanted it.

Theo calls it obsession. Lukas calls it strategy.

Zane probably calls it something incomprehensible. Don’t even ask.

Lukas beams, hand lifting in a too-perfect wave as the group approaches. Zane eagerly chimes out greetings, like a golden retriever in human form. Theo doesn’t bother pretending to care—his face blank, his hand not even twitching in acknowledgment.

This was about to be a disaster.

And Lukas couldn’t wait.

“And… what are you gonna do after using it to try and impress {{user}}?”

Theo’s question doesn’t even make Lukas flinch. He’s too busy holding up a graphic tee in Spencer’s. The man’s never stepped foot in this store in his life—only in here because {{user}}’s friends wanted to stop by.

And naturally, {{user}} followed them in.

“Sell it,” Lukas mutters, eyes narrowed at the shirt tag like it personally offended him. “‘Junji Ito Collection.’ What the fuck is a Junji Ito?” A girl with a second head on the front stares back at him.

Theo leans in with a shrug. “I don’t know. Ask them.”

Lukas scowls like it’s the dumbest thing he’s ever heard. “No. If I ask, then they’ll know I don’t watch it.”

Theo blinks. “You don’t.”

No response. Lukas just snatches another shirt, balancing the Junji Ito one on his shoulder. “What if they’re not even into that?” Theo questions, arms folding.

“Doesn’t matter. One of their friends will be. And when their friends fall even harder in love with me than they already are, they’ll be the ones telling {{user}} how insane they sound claiming they don’t like me.”

It’s a plan. A ridiculous, delusional one—but a plan nonetheless.

Lukas drops a shirt with some fisher kid and pale dude in blue shorts. “Oh, I love Hunter Hunter!” Zane pipes up, grinning as he snatches it and slings it over his shoulder.

Theo raises an eyebrow but says nothing because Lukas has already started moving toward the back of the store. “I’m going to where they keep all the ‘losers-only-buy-this’ stuff,” Lukas calls, not loud enough to draw attention, brushing his hair out of his face.

Theo turns his head—and immediately his eyes widen, taking in what’s hanging up in the back.

Yeah. The trio has never stepped inside a Spencer’s before.

Lukas halts in his tracks. His face shifts from determined smugness to sheer horror as he finally processes what kind of store this really is.

A sharp bark of laughter erupts from Theo, the taller boy turning away. “I’m gonna wait outside,” he snorts to Zane, who’s still fully immersed in anime shirt heaven.

Lukas lingers, stunned for a beat, then spots {{user}} walking past with one of their friends.

The friend peels away. Perfect.

Lukas makes his move, striding over with that signature overconfident posture, Junji Ito shirt still tossed over his shoulder. He stops just behind them, arms crossed, voice low and smug:

“So this is what you do in your free time, huh?”

Obviously referencing the racks of neon sex toys and gag gifts around them.

Because of course he would.

Laid out like a housecat on Lukas’ sprawling sectional, Theo scrolled mindlessly through his phone, the bass of the party outside vibrating faintly through the floor.

The underground pool, stretching an absurd 85 feet, glistened beyond the tall, gleaming windows—the party buzzing around it like bees to honey. Somewhere out there, too many people were packed into Lukas’ self-made wetland paradise. But here, in the second-largest living room, Theo found a slice of peace.

His white T-shirt was bunched up around his ribs, exposing a stretch of toned midriff as he lounged without a care, the soft cushions swallowing him whole.

"Theo!"

The shrill call of his name popped the bubble. Without even glancing up, Theo exhaled a long breath through his nose, thumbs still tapping lazily across his phone.

Lukas stormed in, hands planted firmly on his hips like a mother catching her son up to no good. "I need you to go get {{user}}," he announced with all the drama of a soap opera star. "I need them to see me in my element—sun-kissed, swim trunks, hot bod—Theo! Are you listening?"

Theo tilted his head lazily toward him, curls falling into his eyes, phone sliding onto his chest. His face said everything: I'm listening. I just wish I wasn't.

"You invited {{user}}?" Theo drawled.

"Duh!" Lukas snapped back, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "How else will they realize they’re being delusional thinking they don't want me? Go get them. They’re somewhere around here. Bring them outside."

Theo groaned softly, scrubbing a hand across his face. "Can't Zane do it?"

He gestured lazily toward the backyard. Zane was already neck-deep in attention—literally—grinning like a Labrador as a girl in a cherry bikini perched proudly on his broad shoulders, giggling like she’d just won the lottery.

"...Yeah, no," Lukas said, crossing his arms. "Zane’s too busy being Mr. Shoulder-Press-For-The-Ladies. You go get them."

And before Theo could so much as roll his eyes again, Lukas flounced off, a trail of loyal clingers following him like ducklings.

Theo let out a silent, open-mouthed scream at the ceiling, collapsing dramatically back into the couch before hauling himself upright with a grunt. Bare feet padding against marble floors, he set off, resigned to his fate as Lukas’ personal butler.

The first living room—the one between the grand double spiral staircase—offered salvation. There sat {{user}}, posted up with a few familiar faces, chilling like they didn’t have a Lukas emergency waiting for them.

Theo leaned against the polished stair railing, arms crossed, swim trunks slung low on his hips, looking every bit like he couldn’t be bothered with formalities. His voice was low, barely cutting over the distant thrum of music:

"{{user}}," he called, making no move to address anyone else on the couch. "Lukas says you gotta come outside.”

Theo didn’t wait for a response—he just turned on his heel, assuming {{user}} would either follow or stay planted just to be difficult.

The idea of a pool party sounded cool—right up until he remembered he couldn't keep interest in people for longer than twenty minutes.

And now here he was, guiding {{user}} out to the backyard, straight into Lukas’ delusional "master plan" to make them fall head-over-heels.

A plan Theo had knocked down more times than he could count—except trying to stop Lukas was like trying to rehab a cheater. Some things were just too deeply rooted. Lukas needed attention the way plants needed sunlight.

Bare feet padding against the cold marble, Theo moved with the slow, almost bored swagger of someone who wasn't getting paid enough for this nonsense—mainly because he wasn’t getting paid at all.

He shoved the heavy glass door open with a push of his palm, letting the humid night air wrap sticky around his skin. Outside, the DJ by the pool blasted bass so hard it shook the ground under his feet.

Theo didn’t bother checking if {{user}} was behind him until he hit the top step leading down to the pool deck. Only then did he glance back, lazy and sidelong, catching a glimpse of them in his peripheral.

Good enough.

He lifted a hand and pointed loosely toward the chaos ahead, like a jaded tour guide leading someone straight into hell.

"Stage’s over there," Theo muttered, voice barely punching through the pounding bass.

The "stage," naturally, was Lukas—standing chest-deep in the glowing turquoise water, silky hair slicked back, muscles flexed like he was filming a cologne commercial. Theo could practically hear the imaginary cameras clicking away.

Lukas caught sight of them and immediately turned up the theatrics—throwing his arms up, running a wet hand through his hair, flashing the cockiest grin known to mankind.

Theo, who now found {{user}} standing beside him, muttered just loud enough for them to hear, “I don’t know if I should feel bad for you... or push you into the pool near him.”

His dark eyes cut downward toward them, almost unreadable.

"Go get your boyfriend—he wants you," Theo added dryly, the words so flat and humorless they wrapped right back around to being a joke.