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A sweet A1 pink piece of paper with a love confession written in messy black ink shattered Chester's "uninspired by love" image instantly. Even though he seemed uninterested in such things and spent his days teasing other kids, he was still pretty hot. But why today? It wasn't Valentine's Day or anything.
Mandy patted his shoulder lightly after he made a weary face and stared at the messy handwritten note for a long time. "Come on, isn't it nice to have someone like you?"
Chester pushed her hand away."It's not like that," he muttered, rolling his eyes dramatically. He'd never gotten involved in romance, not even a little. Throughout high school, his life consisted of just bullying other kids or playing sports against the rules.
Mandy shrugged indifferently, unbothered by his dismissal. "So who does you think it is?" she asked curiously.
Chester couldn't answer. His jaw tightened as he cursed under his breath—what crime had he possibly committed today? Nothing good, surely. His jaw clenched as he muttered a curse under his breath. "What did I even do today?" he thought, trying to recall any good deeds. He'd merely picked up a classmate's eraser, held open the door for the teacher, and been forced to carry some papers
Mandy pointed a finger at him, her expression annoyed but playful. "Guess someone's got a secret admirer, huh?" she teased, watching as Chester's scowl deepened.
"Don't forget to ask them to prom" she added with a wink, walking away.
Chester grumbled irritably, his voice trailing after her. "I've only been to prom a couple of times," he muttered, already dreading the inevitable disaster that was sure to unfold.
Mandy turned back, her mischievous smirk widening. "Come on, Chester, it's your final year. This is your last chance."
The next day, Chester stood in the corner of the hallway, looking cocky as he laughed with his friends. They were in the middle of bullying some kids over the phone. Suddenly, a voice appeared out of nowhere beside him, "Aren't you going to look for me?""
Chester ignored the voice, assuming it wasn't directed at him. He continued laughing with his friends, his mind focused on their cruel jokes. The voice persisted, this time with a touch of annoyance, "Hey, I'm talking to you." Chester's friends fell silent, exchanging confused glances.
Chester ended the call with his friend and turned, his eyes landing on a boy dressed entirely in black, dripping with punk accessories and wrapped in a fluffy scarf that seemed too soft for his edgy aesthetic.
He automatically adopted his most arrogant expression, though something about the stranger's intense gaze made his throat tighten. He'd seen this style around school before, but never up close.
Without thinking, the words tumbled out, "You're Chester." The boy's voice was surprisingly smooth, cutting through the hallway noise with casual confidence. Chester's haughty expression faltered for a split second before he doubled down, tilting his chin up. "Yeah, and you are?" He tried to sound bored, but his heartbeat had other plans.
"Who am I?" the teenager asked, tilting his head with a faint smirk.
Chester swallowed, suddenly aware of how dry his throat felt. Since when did he get nervous? Seeing the way Chester's expression shifted, the boy uncrossed his arms.
"Well, I didn't write my name on that paper," he said casually, tapping his chin.
Chester's brain short-circuited. The pink paper. The messy ink. He stared at the teenager in front of him—the one dressed in all black, the scarf slightly unraveling, piercing gaze cutting through his defenses. "Paper?" he repeated dumbly, his friends now watching with barely contained amusement. This was the person who'd written that confession?
The teenager giggled, a sound that sent shivers down Chester's spine.
"Math class."
he reminded Chester, his eyes sparkling with amusement. "I've been sitting right behind you for ages. Those Troublemaker kids with their heads buried in books... they're kind of adorable." He shrugged nonchalantly, as if discussing the weather."
Chester stared blankly. So This was really the guy who wrote the confession? He tried to summon his usual arrogant, sneering expression, but his nerves betrayed him completely. 'Who are you...?' he finally managed to choke out. The boy turned, flashing Chester a smile that was equal parts charming and terrifying.
Edgar leaned in close, his warm breath tickling Chester's ear as he whispered,
"My name is Edgar. Ed-gar. Say it with me"' He paused,
his lips brushing against Chester's earlobe. 'E-dgar.' His hand reached up to gently tap Chester's cheek, emphasizing each syllable. 'Remember it well, okay?"
Chester didn't even realize how red his face was. All he knew was that his throat felt like it was closing up as he choked out,
"Uh... Edgar, okay... I think you might have the wrong locker."
He fumbled for an excuse, any excuse—surely Edgar couldn't actually like him? That seemed impossible.
Edgar's expression shifted immediately.
Edgar's bottom lip stuck out dramatically as he turned his back on Chester, crossing his arms.
Chester blinked slowly, completely out of his depth.
"What..?"
"I'm sulking!" he announced to the lockers
Edgar just rolled his eyes dramatically, clearly not taking the rejection personally. "Okay, then I'll win you over," he declared confidently, pointing a finger at Chester's chest. "Starting tomorrow! Get your heart ready!"
Without waiting for a response, the shorter boy spun on his heel and skipped away with an almost theatrical flair. Chester barely had time to process what just happened before Mandy appeared, having just left class. She'd clearly seen something.
"Shut up," Chester immediately snapped at her, cutting off whatever comment she was about to make."
Mandy held up her hands in surrender, a knowing smirk plastered on her face. They parted ways without another word, each heading to their cars. Chester slid into the driver's seat, gripping the steering wheel tightly as he tried to convince himself everything was normal. But with Edgar's words still echoing in his head, he had a sinking feeling that tomorrow was going to be anything but.
Chester drove home on autopilot, his mind replaying Edgar's confident departure. That sassy little punk thought he had a chance? The idea was laughable. Yet here he was, heart racing and palms sweating over a boy who skipped away like he'd already won. Tomorrow couldn't come fast enough to prove Edgar wrong.
The next day, Chester was already in a foul. He'd been stuck working on a group project with some clueless kid who'd completely botched the assignment. Now Chester was backed into a locker corner, verbally tearing the poor kid apart while his friends egged him on. Passersby barely glanced their way—this was just typical Chester behavior.
Suddenly, he saw Edgar approaching like a dark avenger, arms crossed over his chest. The boy was dressed in his signature flamboyant all-black ensemble, the fluffy scarf somehow completing the look. He mumbled something about bullying defenseless people, looking unimpressed. Chester’s friends moved to intercept him, but Chester just waved a dismissive hand, signaling them to back off.
He wanted nothing to do with that punk—or emo kid,
as Chester mentally labeled him. Edgar's style was unmistakable: flamboyant all-black everything, complete with that ridiculous scarf he wore every single day. Chester felt a strange, nagging sensation, like he was missing something obvious, but he quickly shoved the thought away. He refused to look at that... that fag.
later at lunchtime, Chester sat alone at his usual desk, clicking his pen incessantly. His friends were off buying snacks, leaving him in a rare moment of solitude. The school cafeteria was buzzing with noise and activity around him, but Chester barely noticed.
Suddenly, Edgar appeared in front of him, sliding onto the bench across the table with a smug smile. His black hair was perfectly styled in his usual messy yet somehow elegant way, the scarf knotted loosely around his neck. "Miss me?"
Chester watched Edgar slide into the seat beside him uninvited, immediately realizing what he'd missed earlier—that was Edgar wearing stockings. He was pretty sure those were tights under those shorts. What even was this boy's deal?
Edgar pulled out a snack casually, unwrapped it, and held it to Chester's lips without hesitation. "Open up, you clearly need calories."
Chester turned his head away, trying to ignore him, but Edgar just persisted, practically shoving the treat toward him until Chester was forced to take a bite just to make him stop. "Delicious, right? I love these things," Edgar chirped, popping the rest into his mouth. Chester shifted away, irritation spiking under his skin.
"Why do you always try to wear something weirder every day?" Chester snapped, watching Edgar's hands flick at his accessories—black mesh armbands visible under his shirt sleeves, multiple rings, chokers layered with that ever-present scarf. And those stockings under his shorts, disappearing into knee-high boots. Was he seriously wearing this to school?
"Isn't it a bit girly?"
Edgar glared at him slightly, a hint of sulkiness crossing his features. "Fashion has no gender," he giggled, fiddling with his armbands. "You know what? That goofy kid you teased this morning even said I was cute."
Edgar winked rapidly, clearly enjoying the fact that he had Chester's attention.* "Aren't you going to get jealous of me?"
He asked teasingly, batting his eyelashes playfully. Chester just rolled his eyes, trying to maintain his annoyance despite Edgar's charming antics.
"Jealous? Of you?" Chester scoffed, leaning back in his chair as if Edgar’s words were physically repelling him.
"Why would I be jealous over some fag in mesh stockings?" Edgar pouted exaggeratedly, crossing his legs to show off the very stockings Chester was insulting. "Because that 'goofy kid' thinks I'm cute..!"
"Whatever..."
For the next few days, Edgar persisted in finding ways to talk to Chester. He claimed to have made some delicious treats, but when Chester finally tried them the next day, they were terribly awful. It turned out Colette had actually made them, and Edgar had merely lied about his own culinary skills.
But despite the failed baking attempts, Edgar didn't give up. He kept practicing recipes, determined to make something Chester would actually enjoy. Slowly but surely, their interactions at school became more normal again, with casual greetings in the halls and less tension between them.
Today, during second or third period math, Edgar decided to skip his usual seat entirely. He packed up his bag and casually walked over, dropping into the desk right beside Chester's without asking permission. Chester barely glanced at him, more focused on the problem set in front of him.
Edgar, of course, didn't take the hint.
He immediately started shoving his wrists into Chester's line of vision, showing off new jewelry—rings, bracelets, and various chains that clinked together obnoxiously with every movement.
Chester ignored him, working through a math problem at lightning speed. However, the noise eventually attracted the teacher’s attention.
The teacher marched over, looking down at Edgar with obvious disdain. "Ed, this is a mathematics classroom, not a jewelry showroom," the teacher snapped, his voice sharp enough to cut through the classroom chatter.
"Take those ridiculous accessories off and pay attention. You're distracting the entire class, and you certainly aren't going to pass your upcoming exam with that attitude."
Chester paused, his pen hovering over his paper.
For the first time, Chester saw the teacher's stern expression directed at soneone wasn't funny anymore, before he could intervene or the teacher could continue scolding him, Edgar suddenly stood up straight, "I can handle it." The words came out confident, smooth, carrying a maturity that made even Chester look up from his paper in surprise.
Edgar's smile never wavered, but his posture straightened, his usual flamboyant energy replaced by something sharper, more focused. "I'm capable of doing the work," he continued, his voice steady. "The accessories are staying."
The classroom fell silent, students watching the exchange with wide eyes. The math teacher stared at Edgar for a long moment, clearly surprised by this sudden change in attitude. Then, his expression hardened, and he pointed a finger at Edgar. "Prove it," he challenged.
After that, Edgar clearly couldn't solve the problem. He stood there frozen, staring at the board while the class watched him struggle. But when the bell rang and class ended, Edgar wasn't embarrassed in the slightest—just had that same goofy smile plastered across his face, waving at the teacher casually as he packed up.
Chester, meanwhile, was seething with annoyance.
As students began to file out, Chester grabbed Edgar's arm and yanked him aside into an empty corner of the hallway, away from prying eyes. Edgar immediately assumed this was leading somewhere romantic—he grinned like an idiot, leaning forward as if anticipating a hug or some affectionate gesture.
Chester quickly pushed him away, disgusted. "Don't even think about it."Edgar just giggled, completely unfazed. He ran a hand through his messy hair and leaned against the wall casually. "So, what's up then? You gonna ask me out already? 'Cause I'm definitely saying yes." He winked exaggeratedly, completely misreading the situation.
Chester's face darkened even further, his brows furrowing together in annoyance. "I'm going to tutor you in math," he said through gritted teeth, as if the words tasted bitter. "Since you can't even solve a basic equation, someone needs to teach you the basics."
Edgar's grin widened, clearly misinterpreting Chester's intentions. "Ooh, private tutoring sessions with you? Sounds like a date to me," he teased, batting his eyelashes playfully. He pushed off the wall and stepped closer to Chester, ignoring the stern expression on his face.
Chester exhaled sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Not a date, an intervention." He grabbed Edgar's arm and started dragging him toward the library by force.
Edgar skipped beside him like they were on an actual date, humming softly. "You care about my future?"
"No," Chester snapped, throwing him a glare. "I care about my sanity. If you fail math, the whole school will suffer from your idiocy." He pushed open the library doors and dragged Edgar to an empty study table, sitting down and pulling out his textbook aggressively. "Sit."
Four weeks later, and Chester was honestly impressed with Edgar's improvement in math—but he'd never admit it out loud, especially not to his face. Their daily tutoring sessions had shifted from forced interventions to something almost... enjoyable? Chester hated how Edgar always teased him about 'winning him over.'
at some of his classmate's eighteenth birthday party. Chester had never been much of a drinker, but he thought he could handle a few glasses of cheap liquor like the other seniors. Four shots in, and he was already feeling nauseous, the room spinning slightly.
In a moment of drunken stupidity, Chester posted a vulgar Instagram story directed at Edgar—something crude and uncharacteristically aggressive. He didn't even remember hitting 'post,' but his blurred vision and slurred thoughts confirmed it happened. The next morning, he woke up with a pounding headache and immediate regret.
As he sat at their usual study table, nursing a water bottle and wishing for death, Edgar approached him. The other boy's expression was uncharacteristically serious—no teasing smile, no flirty wink. Just a stern look that made Chester's stomach churn even more than his hangover.
"I saw your story," Edgar said softly, his voice unusually flat. Chester's heart sank as he braced himself for the confrontation. But instead of anger, Edgar just looked... hurt. His gaze flickered away, unable to hold Chester's. "You really hate me that much?"
Chester's throat constricted. The drunken rage from last night had been a blur, but he remembered the vicious words he'd typed—messages he was too ashamed to even recall clearly. "Edgar, I—" he started, but his voice cracked.
Edgar cut him off with a humorless laugh. "It's fine. I get it."
"I get it," Edgar repeated, his voice barely above a whisper. "You hate me. You've made that clear enough."
Even after that, Chester still felt weird. Despite deciding he didn't like Edgar, and Edgar seemingly accepting it, there was an underlying tension between them. Edgar had been avoiding him for a month.
Chester was sitting at the cafeteria table, poking at his food with his fork when Mandy suddenly spoke up. "I ran into Edgar earlier," she said between bites, her cheeks bulging with sandwich. "He told me everything. Said you made it painfully clear you didn't like him, so he was backing off."
Chester's fork clattered against his plate.
"I..." The word came out strangled, barely audible. He stared at his half-eaten meal, unable to process what Mandy was telling him. He had made his decision—he'd been so certain about it. So why did hearing those words make his chest feel like it was caving in? Why did it hurt so much to know Edgar had actually listened?
Mandy sighed, rolling her eyes at Chester's confused expression. "Look," she snapped, "how does it make you feel that Edgar actually respected your boundaries and backed off?" She watched as Chester opened his mouth, then closed it again, clearly at a loss for words.
"It hurts..." he finally whispered.
"Well, duh," Mandy replied, her tone laced with frustration. "You pushed him away and he listened. So now what? Are you going to sit there feeling sorry for yourself while Edgar moves on?" She crossed her arms, waiting for an answer that didn't come. "Let time decide then,"
Until the actual exam, Chester carried a small knot of worry in his chest every time he saw Edgar in the hallway or during practice sessions. But he never approached him—couldn't, really. The words from that party story hung between them like an invisible wall.
When the teacher announced they could begin, Chester dove into the problems mechanically, answering question after question with practiced precision.
But his eyes kept drifting to Edgar, the punk boy sitting two rows ahead, bent over his paper with an intensity that made Chester's stomach twist. He couldn't help but glance over at him every few minutes—checking, worrying, noticing how Edgar's pen moved steadily across the page without hesitation.
Chester finished early and submitted his exam without ceremony. The bell rang, signaling the end.
As students filed out of the classroom, chattering and stretching their stiff limbs, Chester found himself standing by the door, bag slung over his shoulder. He was about to leave when he heard his teacher's voice cut through the noise. "Edgar, come here a moment."
The classroom fell silent. Edgar, who had been gathering his things, paused mid-motion. A tense atmosphere settled over the room as he walked to the front of the class, stopping in front of the teacher's desk. "Yes, sir?" he asked, voice even but with a slight undercurrent of wariness.
The teacher's expression was stern as he looked Edgar up and down. "Edgar, I need to ask you something." He held out his hand expectantly. "Give me your exam paper." Edgar hesitated for a moment before handing it over. The teacher flipped through the pages quickly, then stopped suddenly.
"This is too good," the teacher said bluntly, eyes narrowing. "You went from failing my class to scoring 98% in one exam? After weeks of tutoring?" His gaze flicked to Chester, then back to Edgar. "Did you really take this test yourself, Edgar?"
Edgar nodded once, firm and unwavering. "Yes, sir."
"Let me see your hands," the teacher demanded suddenly, reaching across the desk. Chester froze by the door, watching. Edgar's face had gone pale but he didn't resist. His fingers were spread open, empty—but clutching something crumpled tight in his fist.
"And what's that?" the teacher's voice turned sharp.
Edgar's jaw tightened.
The teacher was already reaching for Edgar’s hands when Chester’s body moved on its own. He took three long strides across the threshold, placing himself directly between Edgar and the teacher, shoulder to shoulder with the punk boy.
"Sir—" Chester's voice came out rougher than he intended. He cleared his throat, heart hammering against his ribs. "He didn't cheat."
The classroom went dead silent. All eyes were fixed on Chester, standing between Edgar and the teacher, his hands trembling slightly at his sides. The tension was suffocating.
"I'm the one who tutored him," Chester said, his voice surprisingly steady despite his racing heart. He could feel Edgar's tense presence beside him, could practically hear the rapid breaths the other boy was taking.
The teacher's eyebrow arched higher, clearly skeptical. "You?" he repeated, glancing between Chester and Edgar. "The math whiz tutoring the fashionista?" He paused, then his expression softened slightly as he remembered Chester's stellar grades in his own subject. "Alright," he conceded reluctantly.
The teacher apologized to Edgar, his tone less accusatory. "I misjudged you," he admitted. Edgar nodded silently, his face still pale but looking less like he was about to cry. As soon as the teacher left, Edgar bolted out of the classroom without a word to Chester.
Chester didn't hesitate. He threw his bag aside and ran after him, ignoring the confused murmurs starting up behind him. He caught up to Edgar at the stairwell, grabbing his wrist just before the other boy could disappear around the corner.
"Wait!" he called out, breathless.
Edgar spun around, eyes red-rimmed but dry—no tears had fallen yet.
Edgar's shoulders shook violently as he finally let the tears fall, his carefully constructed walls collapsing in that quiet corner of the school. He slid down the wall, legs giving out beneath him, and Chester immediately knelt down beside him, pulling the sobbing boy into his arms without thinking.
"Why did you come to help me?!" Edgar cried, voice muffled against Chester's shoulder.
"Aren't you afraid of getting into trouble too?!" Edgar choked out, his fingers twisting into Chester's shirt like a lifeline. Chester’s heart hammered against his ribs, the sight of Edgar—usually so composed and arrogant—completely unraveling sending a shockwave through his system.
"I don't know!" Chester’s voice cracked, thick with an unfamiliar, overwhelming emotion.
"I just didn't want you to get scolded like that," he admitted, pulling Edgar closer as the boy's tears soaked through his shirt. "Why?!" Edgar demanded, pushing away from him slightly, eyes red and puffy, face contorted with hurt and confusion. "I don't know!"
"Maybe it's because I like you, Edgar," Chester whispered, the words slipping out before he could stop them. The hallway was silent except for Edgar's hiccupping breaths and the gentle sound of Chester's voice. Edgar froze, tears momentarily forgotten as he stared at Chester in shock.
"I don't want to be the center of attention in class. "
"But just now—seeing you framed like that—" Chester's shoulders shook uncontrollably, his tears soaking into Edgar's collar. "Solving problems in front of class doesn't make my heart race like it did when I saw the teacher reaching for you."
He pulled back slightly, his tear-filled eyes meeting Edgar's mascara-smeared ones. "I don't even understand myself anymore."
"All I know is that I need you," Chester whispered earnestly, his thumb brushing away a stray tear on Edgar's cheek. "I need your damn treats every morning, and your stupid fashion advice, and yourSmart ass comments. I want you to stay with me."
"And for god's sake, Edgar," he begged, his voice breaking, "please go to prom with me. Let me hold your hand in front of everyone and tell them you're mine. Let me be the jealous idiot who can't stand seeing other guys even look at you."
Chester fell silent, heart pounding so hard he could barely breathe. Wait—was this it? Was Edgar going to say yes?
Edgar breathed, then nodded quickly. "see you at the prom!" He didn't wait for Chester to respond before darting away, a bright grin spreading across his tear-stained face. "I have to go—I'm missing my ride!"
"And what's that in your hand?!" Chester called out after him, his mind racing as fast as his heart. He watched Edgar's retreating figure, noticing the small object being tossed at him. He caught it mid-air instinctively. "Just a charm!" Edgar called back without looking back.
Chester stared down at the small, white object in his palm.
An eraser?
It was just a simple, worn-down eraser.
Suddenly, the memory crashed into him with the force of a tidal wave. That day—the day Edgar had taped that A1 sheet into his locker to confirm his confession.
This specific eraser. He remembered now.
Back then, when he wondered who was in love with him, he didn't do anything good. He just opened the door for the teacher, was forced to carry documents, and picked up an eraser for a student.
The way Edgar had been hopelessly bad at math...
erasing so hard the desk shook.
The way the eraser had fallen next to Chester's desk, annoyance surging through him. Writing the answer on the eraser and handing it to Edgar
the boy shout,
"Just having it during the exam makes me feel secure! The teacher almost thought I was cheating!" Edgar had laughed, bright and unbothered, before trying to sprint away. But Chester hadn't let him go.
He grabbed Edgar's arm and yanked him back.
"What else—"
Well... the school troublemaker was a good kisser...