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The modern, minimalist kitchen of the Parker residence is entirely too bright for the sheer level of chaos currently unfolding within it. The October sun cuts through the window, illuminating a bizarrely mismatched scene: a beautifully set table for two, the faint smell of melted wax from flickering candles, and Josh Parker standing trapped in the middle of it all. Josh is fifteen, and right now, he looks entirely ridiculous. He is dressed in a crisp, sharp suit that he spent over an hour adjusting in the mirror, a suit meant to impress, meant to scream sophistication for the romantic, candlelit meal he had meticulously planned for Louise. Instead, he looks like a kid caught wearing his dad's clothes, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.
He is quite literally cornered between two versions of the exact same reality. To his left is Pete—the real Pete, who had just shown up to see what on earth Josh was up to. To his right is Sophie, who had hastily entered the kitchen to mitigate the situation, but whose alien presence only added fuel to the fire. Louise stands opposite them, her arms crossed tightly over her chest, her foot tapping a rhythmic, terrifying beat against the linoleum. She isn't stupid. Looking at the candles, looking at the stammering Josh, and looking at Pete, she had caught onto the entire charade. She knew Josh didn't actually care about her. It was a scam. A scheme for her money.
With a look of absolute disdain, Louise had narrowed her eyes and delivered the ultimate, suffocating ultimatum: "Who do you love more? Pete or me?"
Caught in the crosshairs of his own poorly constructed lies, Josh feels the last remnants of his dignity slipping away. The truth tastes bitter, but he's entirely out of moves.
"Alright, look!" Josh reluctantly admits, throwing his hands up in a desperate gesture of surrender, his nice suit jacket tightening around his shoulders. "I admit it, okay? I was only into you for your money! Happy now?"
Sophie’s eyes light up with the manic, childlike joy that usually precedes an absolute disaster. She claps her hands together, a massive, triumphant grin spreading across her face as the pieces of human emotional psychology finally click into place inside her alien brain. "So, love isn't about the money!" Sophie declares proudly, her voice booming through the kitchen. She happily clicks her tongue against the roof of her mouth, a sharp *tsk* of pure satisfaction. "It's about what you think about the other person!"
She turns her head toward Louise, blatantly delivering the final blow without a single ounce of tact. "He thought you were a crazy psycho."
Josh winces, closing his eyes for a brief second. Thanks, Sophie. Brilliant execution. Thoroughly pleased with her grand revelation about the complexities of human romance, Sophie doesn't bother to stick around for the fallout. She reaches onto the counter, scooping up a bowl filled with a violently glowing, gelatinous purple goo—her breakfast of choice—and begins to wander off toward the living room. Her hips sway with a victorious pep in her step, leaving behind an absolute social wasteland.
Josh watches her retreat, a sudden jolt of alarm spiking through his veins. "Sophie, wait, don't just leave—"
But she is already gone, her humming fading down the hall. Josh slowly turns his head back toward the center of the kitchen. The sudden silence is deafening. He is now facing Louise, and the expression on her face suggests that Josh's immediate survival is highly questionable.
Louise takes a slow, deliberate step forward. The heels of her boots click menacingly against the floorboards, past the romantic dinner table. Josh's back hits the edge of the kitchen counter, the hard laminate digging into his lower spine. He tries to make himself smaller, pulling his shoulders in, but Louise keeps coming. She inches closer. And closer. She stops a mere few inches from his face, invading his personal space so entirely that Josh can see the tiny, furious tremor in her jaw.
"Oh yeah?" Louise asks, her voice dropping into a low, dangerously quiet growl. Each word is laced with pure venom. "Well, I. Think. You. Are..." Josh braces himself, squeezing his eyes shut, preparing for the inevitable screaming match, or worse, a violent public shaming that will ruin whatever reputation he has left at school. He waits for the insult. Instead, the suffocating tension suddenly snaps. "Probably right!" Louise chirps. Her voice flips instantly into a bright, sudden, incredibly perky tone, completely shedding the anger as if it were a coat she just grew tired of wearing. She offers him a brilliant, entirely fake smile and shrugs her shoulders. "See you around, Josh Barker."
Before Josh can even process the whiplash, Louise turns sharply on her heel. Her ponytail whips through the air, narrowly missing his nose, and she marches out of the kitchen with the absolute confidence of someone who just had the last word. The front door clicks shut a moment later.
Josh collapses backward, letting his weight rest heavily against the counter. He lets out a long, ragged breath, sliding his hands up to cover his face, wrinkling the sleeves of his suit. His mind is a chaotic blur of confusion. He leans his head back against the upper cabinets, genuinely wondering how his life managed to spiral so spectacularly out of control in the span of a single afternoon. One minute he’s trying to stage a romantic meal, the next he's confessing to being a gold-digger, and now he’s standing in a quiet kitchen, feeling entirely hollowed out.
Pete, who has been standing by the fridge acting as a remarkably quiet spectator to the madness, finally moves. Up until this point, Pete has been entirely clueless about the finer details of Josh’s grand scheme. He walks slowly around the breakfast counter, his hands shoved deep into the pockets of his oversized trousers. He leans his hip against the counter right next to Josh, shoulder to shoulder, and tilts his head down to look at his best friend. There's a strange, uncharacteristic softness in Pete’s eyes, a quiet curiosity that replaces his usual goofy demeanor. He nudges Josh’s suit-clad arm with his own.
"So," Pete says, his voice dropping an octave, carrying a tentative, hopeful weight. "Does this mean you're my boyfriend, now?"
Josh freezes. His hands drop from his face, and he stares straight ahead at the opposite wall. Instinctively, every single defense mechanism Josh possesses screams at him to say no. He is Josh Parker. He is supposed to be the slick, smooth-talking schemer who flirts with girls and cares about status. Admitting to this—admitting to Pete—feels like stepping off a cliff without a parachute. It’s terrifying. But as the seconds tick by, Josh doesn't say no.
Instead, the question pulls him backward, sending his mind racing down the corridor of yesterday's chaos, back into the living room before he ever knew Louise had a penny to her name. Back when he just thought she was an absolute psycho, and he was desperately trying to get her to leave.
The living room had felt just as claustrophobic, with Louise standing entirely too close, talking at him with that relentless, suffocating energy. Josh had been looking around the room for any kind of escape hatch when the door clicked open. Sophie had walked in, but she wasn't Sophie. She had shapeshifted into a perfect, flawless replica of Pete, right down to the slouching posture and the messy hair.
Sophie-as-Pete had marched right up to them, looking dead at Louise with an expression of intense, exaggerated drama.
"I'm in love with Josh," Sophie-as-Pete had announced loudly, crossing her arms. "And I don't want to share him with anyone else."
Louise had blinked, her entire hyperactive demeanor grinding to a screeching halt. She turned her head slowly, looking at Josh with wide, utterly stunned eyes.
"Josh?" Louise had whispered, her voice faltering. "Is this true?"
Josh had stood there, utterly bewildered by the sheer absurdity of the moment. His brain had short-circuited, but beneath the panic, a strange, unexpected spark of thrill had flared up in his chest. He liked it. He secretly enjoyed the weight of the words hanging in the air. Moving on pure impulse, Josh had thrown his arm around Sophie-as-Pete’s shoulders, pulling the fake Pete tight against his side.
"Yes," Josh had said, his voice remarkably steady as he looked Louise right in the eye. "We are very much in love."
Louise's face had dropped, all the frantic energy draining out of her. "Oh. I'm sorry, I... I didn't know. I am... I better go."
She had turned and practically fled the house, leaving the front door swinging in her wake. The moment the latch clicked, Josh had let out a breath, turning to look at his best friend's face, still reeling from the strange rush of adrenaline.
Sophie-as-Pete had immediately broken character, a massive, teasing grin spreading across Pete's stolen features. She leaned in close, winking broadly. "How 'bout a kiss then, girlfriend?" she had joked, her voice a perfect mimicry of Pete’s locker-room banter.
Standing in the quiet kitchen, the memory hits Josh with the force of a physical blow. A sudden, sharp realization settles deep in his gut, making his chest feel tight beneath his stiff suit jacket. He hadn't just enjoyed the thrill of a successful lie yesterday. Belatedly, with a wave of terrifying clarity, Josh realizes exactly why he had leaned into it so easily. He had wanted it to be real. He had wanted the arm around the shoulder, the declaration, and the quiet safety of it to be completely, unreservedly true. He had wanted Pete.
He thinks about the alternative. If he says no, he’s single again. He’s back to square one, chasing after people who don't actually care about him, spinning ridiculous webs of lies just to feel important. And then there’s the school situation. Yesterday, Louise had created a massive scene by loudly 'outing' him and Pete in front of half the year. Josh had spent the last twenty-four hours bracing himself for the absolute worst. He expected the locker-room teasing, the whispers, the endless grief from the popular crowd.
But remarkably... nobody had given him any grief. The world hadn't ended. In fact, most people hadn't even blinked. More than anything, Josh looks sideways at Pete. Pete, who is currently watching him with an expression of pure, unfiltered vulnerability. Pete, who knows exactly how pathetic and manipulative Josh can be, and somehow still chooses to stick around. Pete, who makes him laugh until his ribs hurt, who watches terrible late-night telly with him, and who has been the most consistent, grounding presence in his chaotic life.
He really likes spending time with Pete. He likes the ease of it. He likes how he doesn't have to pretend to be a suave romantic hero when he's just sitting on the floor of Pete's bedroom, sharing a bag of stale crisps. The silence stretches between them, no longer suffocating, but heavy with anticipation. Josh swallows the lump in his throat. He lets his shoulders drop, finally releasing the tension he’s been holding since yesterday, the stiffness of the suit fading into the background.
"Yeah," Josh says quietly. He turns his head to meet Pete's gaze, a small, genuine, half-shrug of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. "I mean, if you want."
Pete stares at him for a beat, as if making sure he heard correctly. Then, a slow, brilliant warmth floods Pete’s face. He bites his lower lip, a nervous, incredibly endearing habit he gets whenever he's trying to contain a massive amount of excitement, and nods his head.
"Yeah," Pete says, his voice small but completely certain. "I want."