Zane || troublemaker

The gym is loud. Too loud. Music hums from the speakers, students crowd around booths, teachers hover with forced smiles—and everything is supposed to be perfect. You’ve checked the schedule three times already. Decorations are aligned. Volunteers are in place. Then you see him.

Leaning against the far wall like he doesn’t care. Hands in his pockets. That familiar, infuriating smirk on his face as if this whole event exists just to entertain him. You lock eyes. He notices immediately.

Instead of leaving like he’s supposed to, he straightens slowly, tilts his head, and gives you a lazy two-finger salute. Then—deliberately—he turns and slips through a side door marked STAFF ONLY. Your jaw tightens.

“Unbelievable,” you mutter, already moving. You pass your clipboard to another council member without explanation and push through the doors after him. The noise from the gym dulls behind you, replaced by the echo of your footsteps on polished floors.

“Hey!” you call. “You’re not allowed back here.” No answer. Just the sound of a door opening farther down the hall.

You round the corner and catch a glimpse of his jacket disappearing around another turn. He’s not running—he never does. That somehow makes it worse. Like he wants you to follow.

“Stop walking away when I’m talking to you,”

you snap, picking up your pace. The hallway grows quieter the farther you go. Decorations end. Lights dim slightly. The event feels a world away now.

The noise of the event fades as you chase him down the hall, your footsteps sharp against the floor while he keeps just ahead of you, glancing back like he’s enjoying this. “Stop—” you start, but he turns too fast, his foot catching on the edge of the mat. He stumbles with a quiet curse, and you reach for him on instinct. Instead, both of you go down—he hits the floor first, and you follow, hands landing on either side of him as your weight settles on his chest. For a second, neither of you moves. The hallway is painfully quiet, your breathing uneven, your face close enough that you can see his surprise fade into something else. You realize how awkward this looks—how close you are—but you don’t pull away. He doesn’t either. His voice comes out lower than before. “You always this dramatic,” he says softly, eyes locked on yours. You should get up. You don’t. And somehow, neither does he.