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James enjoy gossip.
Actually saying James enjoyed gossip was like saying fish are mildly partial to oxygen or that standard black holes have a casual relationship with gravity.
James lived for it.
He breathed it, consumed it, and processed it through a highly refined internal filtration system that converted mundane human interactions into high grade narrative plutonium.
He could hear a whisper through three inches of reinforced concrete. He could deduce a breakup from the subtle, milliseconds hesitation between two people exchanging a pencil in classroom.
If the high school cafeteria was a stock exchange, James was Warren Buffett, except instead of trading blue chip equities, he traded who was seen crying behind the bleachers during third period.
His life was a constant hunt for tea.
Except for this particular day.
Tuesday afternoon was a desolate wasteland. It was 2:15 PM, that horrible, stagnant window between fifth and sixth period where nothing interesting ever happened.
The hallway smelled of floor wax, lukewarm lunch trays, and institutional despair.
James leaned against a bank of lockers, pretending to search his backpack for a highlighter, but his internal sonar was completely dead.
Not a single rumor. Not even a tiny, sad lie about someone’s older brother’s fake fake ID.
It was torture. He was starving.
Then, the universe delivered a feast.
Floating through the quiet air came the distinct, rhythmic cadence of hushed, breathless chatter.
James’s left ear twitched. It was coming from around the corner, near the water fountains.
He smoothly lowered himself into a crouch, pretending his shoe was unlaced, and shifted a few inches to the left.
His ears, metaphorically speaking, expanded to the size of satellite dishes.
"No, I swear to God, it’s true," a voice whispered.
It belonged to Chaerin, a junior whose entire persona was built on knowing things before the school newspaper did.
"He wasn't at the track meet on Saturday night. And Soyun said she saw someone leaving his house at, like, four in the morning."
"Wait," Hanna voice chimed in.
"You mean he has a girlfriend? Since when? He literally looks at every girl in this school like we’re dirty lint on his customized leather jacket."
"That’s the thing!" Chaerin hissed, her voice dropping an octave.
"It wasn't a girl. Soyun said the person was wearing an oversized hoodie and running toward a black car, and the frame was definitely a guy's. Martin has a boyfriend."
James froze. His hand, which was halfway through tying a double knot on his sneaker, stopped.
Martin Edwards.
The undisputed, reigning monarch of high school arrogance. The guy who walked down the hallway as if the floor had personally apologized to him for existing.
Martin, who wore custom tailored blazers to public high school, spoke in a drawl that implied everyone around him was vaguely disappointing, and smirked with such effortless condescension that it made teachers want to apologize for giving him A minuses.
Martin, who treated humanity as an inconvenient background audience to his personal movie.
Martin Edwards had spent the night with a mysterious boy.
James felt a surge of adrenaline so powerful it nearly blew his socks off. This was not just tea; this was an entire british empire’s worth of tea, hand picked and boiled in the tears of Martin’s massive ego.
He had to get closer. He needed details. He needed dates, times, hoodie colors, and shoe sizes.
James executed a masterclass in stealth maneuverability. He stood up, picked up his backpack, and strolled toward the water fountain with the unbothered air of a guy who didn't even know what gossiping was.
He took a long sip of lukewarm, metallic high school tap water, keeping his eyes fixed on the wall while his brain hungrily absorbed every molecule of air around Chaerin, Hanna, and their third co-conspirator, a girl named Byeol.
"...and honestly, if it's true, it makes so much sense," Hanna was saying, crossing her arms.
"That's why he's so dismissive of everyone. He thinks he's above the drama because he's hiding this super secret low key relationship."
James couldn't hold it in. The physical strain of keeping his mouth shut was causing a mild brain aneurysm.
He took his face away from the water fountain, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and casually threw his two cents into the void, staring straight ahead as if talking to the wall.
"Honestly, it’s always the ones with the high collared jackets," James said smoothly.
"Classic overcompensation. You project absolute invincibility so nobody asks who’s sitting in your passenger seat at 3:00 AM."
Silence dropped over the hallway like a falling anvil.
James realized what he had done. He slowly turned his head.
Chaerin, Hanna, and Byeol were staring at him. Their expressions were a horrifying mix of confusion, revulsion, and disbelief. It was the exact look a group of secret agents would give a random guy who wandered into their underground bunker wearing a bath towel and holding a bowl of cereal.
"James?" Chaerin asked slowly, her eyes narrowing.
"Are you... listening to us?"
"What? No!" James said instantly, his voice cracking.
"No! I was just... updating my water intake log! In my head! Out loud! I always say 'high collared jackets' when I'm dehydrated. It's a medical thing."
"You were hovering," Byeol pointed out coldly.
"You've been leaning against that locker for six minutes."
James felt a hot, prickling flush creep up his neck, burning through his cheeks like acid.
The humiliation. The social death.
He, James, the maestro of secrets, had been caught red handed, eavesdropping like an amateur middle schooler.
He wanted the floor to open up and swallow him into the plumbing system. He took a tiny step backward, clutching his backpack strap like a life preserver.
"I'm leaving," James announced with zero dignity.
"Forget I exist."
"Wait," Hanna said suddenly. Her eyes lit up.
"James, don't you and Martin live on the same street?"
James paused. His foot hovered an inch above the floor
"We... used to live near each other. Before he moved to the house with the stupid electronic gate, yeah."
Chaerin's expression did a complete 180. The suspicion vanished. She took a step toward him, leaning in.
"Did you ever see anyone at his house?" she whispered.
"Like... lately?"
James looked at their faces. Three pair of wide, expectant, gossip starved eyes staring at him like he held the keys to the Vatican secret archives.
The humiliation melted away.
They wanted him to contribute.
James shifted his backpack. He leaned against the wall. A master was about to go to work.
"Lately?" James laughed, a light, dismissive little chuckle that practically screamed I know everything and you know nothing.
"Please. Martin’s house.it's a fortress of secrecy. But if you think he's just 'hiding a low key relationship,' you guys are vastly underestimating how dramatic that guy actually is."
Chaerin gasped softly. Hanna grabbed Byeol's arm.
"Explain," Chaerin demanded, stepping closer.
"Right now."
James leaned in, lowering his voice into a conspiratorial whisper.
"Look, I’m not one to talk," he lied seamlessly, "but Martin isn't the type to just 'date' someone casually. He’s intense. Like, terrifyingly intense."
"Really?!" Byeol squeaked.
"He always seems so cold!"
"That's just the front!" James said, his hand waving dismissively.
He was warm now. The engine was firing on all cylinders. The high of having an audience was driving his brain into hyperdrive.
"Behind closed doors? Total nightmare. Possessive. Needy. Crazy. "
"Like, if you don't text him back in four minutes, he starts drafting a five page essay on why you don't appreciate his intellect."
"No way!" Hanna covered her mouth.
"How do you even know that?!"
Now, a normal person with an ounce of self preservation would have said : "Oh, I heard it from a senior," or "Just a vibe I get."
But James was no longer a normal person. He was a artist lost in the heat of creation. The adrenaline was pumping, his creativity was bursting at the seams, and his ego was riding high on the collective gasps of three teenage girls.
He needed to prove his authority. He needed to be the ultimate source.
"How do I know?" James scoffed, rolling his eyes as if stating the most obvious fact in human history.
"Because I used to suffer through it! We used to be close! Extremely close!"
Chaerin’s jaw dropped so low it nearly detached from her skull.
"You... and Martin Edwards?!"
"Yes!" James spat, completely drunk on the power.
"We used to date! Okay? Fine! You pulled it out of me! We are exes."
"And let me tell you, being Martin Edwards's boyfriend is a full time unpaid internship in emotional management!"
The girls collectively lost their minds. Chaerin let out a high pitched squeal, Hanna gripped her head with both hands, and Byeol looked like she was about to faint onto the floor.
"YOU DATED MARTIN VANCE?!" Chaerin yelled whispered.
"Keep it down!" James whispered frantically, loving every second of it.
"Yes! But it was a disaster! He is the sweetest boyfriend in the world for about two hours, right when he gives you some ridiculously expensive gift like, he bought me this vintage leather journal once just because I said I liked the smell of old paper—and then BOOM!
"Pure possessive madness. He’s obsessed. Absolutely crazy about whoever he’s with. He used to get jealous of my cat because I petted it while he was trying to explain french philosophy to me!"
This was, of course, a complete and utter fabrication.
The truth was that James and Martin had been childhood neighbors who played with legos until seventh grade, at which point Martin grew three inches, discovered hair gel and high fashion, and decided James was a social liability.
They hadn't spoken more than ten words to each other years.
The "vintage leather journal" was a notebook James had bought himself at Target for $4.99.
But right now? In this hallway? James was the tragic ex lover of the school's most mysterious prince, and he was putting on an Oscar worthy performance.
"I can't believe this," Hanna gasped, her eyes practically bulging out of her sockets.
"So... wait! If he's so possessive, who was at his house on Saturday?!"
"Oh, please," James scoffed, his brain completely detachment from reality as he rode the high of the gossip wave.
"Saturday? Saturday was nothing. He’s just trying to make people jealous. Honestly, he probably had someone over just to talk about himself. "
"Now, if you want to talk about actual drama... I mean, God, he literally begged me to come over last night."
Chaerin grabbed James by the shoulders.
"LAST NIGHT?!"
"Yes!" James laughed, entirely carried away, the momentum of his own fake story dragging him off a metaphorical cliff.
"He was being so dramatic! Calling me at 11:00 PM, talking about how he missed 'what we had.' "
"So I went over, we argued for three hours, spent the night, and I had to sneak out the side gate at dawn just so his driver wouldn't see me! It’s exhausting!"
He chuckled airily, waiting for them to laugh at how crazy Martin was.
Instead, the three girls went dead silent.
They slowly turned their heads to look at each other. Then they turned their heads back to look at James.
"Wait..." Chaerin whispered, her voice trembling with awe. "
A side gate?"
"An oversized hoodie..." Hanna whispered, staring at the baggy grey sweater James was currently wearing.
"Leaving at dawn..." Byeol breathed.
Chaerin gasped so loud it sounded like a vacuum cleaner suddenly turning on.
"JAMES! YOU WERE THE GUY AT HIS HOUSE!"
James’s brain suddenly hit the emergency brakes. The intoxicating fog of gossip instantly cleared.
Wait.
The girls just had heard a rumor about Martin spending the night with a guy in a hoodie...
And James had just smoothly plugged himself right into the starring role of their half baked, distorted rumor, completely validating it and adding a fake night before last twist to it!
"No—wait—" James stammered.
"No, no, no! I was talking about—I meant hypothetical! A hypothetical night!"
"You literally said you snuck out at dawn!" Chaerin squealed, clutching her chest.
"Soyun saw someone leaving at four in the morning! It was YOU!"
"It wasn't me! I was asleep in my bed! I was wearing pajamas with ducks on them!" James panicked, his hands flying wildly in the air.
"I made it up! I was exaggerating!"
"Oh, James, you don't have to lie to protect him!" Hanna said, her eyes brimming with sympathy.
"We get it! He's possessive! He’s keeping you a secret! It’s so toxic, but honestly... it’s so hot."
"IT IS NOT HOT! IT IS NOT REAL!" James shrieked, but it was far too late.
The train had left the station, derailed, and smashed into a dynamite factory.
"We won't tell a soul," Chaerin promised solemnly.
She was already pulling out her phone under her binder with lightning fast thumbs.
"Your secret is totally safe with us."
"Wait! Chaerin, stop typing! Chaerin!"
The bell rang.
The three girls darted down the hallway leaving James standing alone by the water fountain. He realized he had just casually nuked his own social life.
The next morning, James walked through the doors of the highschool feeling like a man walking toward a firing squad.
He had spent the entire night staring at his ceiling, praying that the girls had forgotten.
Or that a larger scandal, like the principal getting arrested or the gym catching fire, would eclipse his foolishness.
He stepped into the main hallway.
Instantly, the ambient noise of hundred teenagers talking dropped by about seventy percent.
James froze.
A group of varsity lacrosse players standing near the trophy cases turned to look at him. Normally, these guys wouldn't notice James if he accidentally walked through their huddle wearing a neon sign.
But today, Jiho, the team captain, looked at James with an expression of profound, solemn grief.
Jiho walked over to James. He placed a heavy hand on James’s shoulder.
"Hey, man," Jiho said softly, his voice full of genuine pain.
"I just... I heard about you and Edwards."
James swallowed hard.
"Jiho, listen, it's—"
"You don't have to say anything, bro," Jiho interrupted, squeezing his shoulder with enough force to bruise.
"Toxic love is real. A guy like that... he’s got a dark soul, man. You deserve someone who lets you out of the house in the daytime. He doesn't deserve you. Stay strong."
The team captain gave him a solemn nod, did a weird bro fist to chest gesture, and walked away.
James stood there, his mouth hanging open.
"What?!"
He took a few steps forward. A group of freshmen practically scrambled out of his way, whispering in hushed, reverent tones.
"That's him..."
"...the secret boyfriend..."
"...heard Edwards keeps him trapped in a golden cage..."
"...snuck out through the side gate at dawn..."
James felt sweat breaking out on his forehead. He practically sprinted down the hallway toward his locker, desperate to find Chaerin or Hanna and force them to issue a retraction.
Je bumped directly into the girls near the cafeteria. They were surrounded by a crowd of six other girls, all hanging onto their every word.
"Chaerin!" James hissed, shoving his way through the crowd and grabbing her arm.
"What did you do?!"
"James!" Chaerin beamed, looking at him like he was a tragic war hero returning from the front lines.
"Oh, sweetie, how are you holding up? Did he text you this morning? Is he being possessive again?"
"I HAVEN'T SPOKEN TO HIM IN YEARS!" James screamed.
"The whole school thinks I'm his secret abused secret lover!"
"And we are all standing behind you!" Hanna added fiercely.
"Honestly, half the school is ready to jump Martin in the parking lot if he tries to exert his toxic male dominance over you again. You're a survivor, James."
"I'M NOT A SURVIVOR, I'M A LIAR!" James squeaked.
"I made it up! All of it! The journal! The cat! The late night sneaking! It was a lie because I wanted to gossip with you!"
Chaerin smiled gently, patting his cheek as if comforting a delusional child.
"Oh, honey. Denial is a natural stage of trauma. It's okay. You don't have to protect his reputation anymore. He's an arrogant monster."
Before James could scream into a fire extinguisher, the crowd around them suddenly went dead silent.
A heavy, oppressive quiet swept through the entire hallway.
The crowd parted.
Walking down the hallway, looking like he had just stepped off a runway, was Martin Edwards.
He was wearing his signature dark navy blazer, tailored trousers, and leather loafers. His blonde hair was impeccably styled.
He was looking directly at James.
And he was smirking.
It was the smirk of a cat that watched the mouse build its own trap, step into it, and pull the lever.
James’s heart stopped.
Martin knew.
Of course he knew. The entire school knew! The lunch ladies probably knew!
Martin strolled straight toward James, his long legs covering the distance effortlessly. The crowd of students gasped, pulling back to give them space, expecting a dramatic, explosive confrontation between the tragic exes.
James did the only logical thing a brave, dignified young man could do.
He turned on his heel and tried to sprint away.
"Not so fast, sweetheart," a smooth, deep voice purred.
A long arm reached out and casually blocked James’s path, pinning him against the wall. Martin leaned in close. The scent of expensive cologne flooded James’s senses.
Martin leaned down, his face mere inches from James’s face. His eyes were dancing with delight.
"Where are you going in such a hurry, James?" Martin asked softly, his voice loud enough to carry to the eager students currently holding their breath around them.
"Running away from me again? Just like you did at dawn?"
James squeezed his eyes shut.
"Kill me now," he prayed to whichever god handled high school embarrassments.
"Strike me down with a lightning bolt."
"Martin," James whispered frantically through clenched teeth, opening one eye.
"Please. I am begging you. I will give you my soul. Just tell them I'm crazy. Tell them I made it up."
Martin leaned closer, his lips hovering near James’s ear.
"Tell them you made it up?" Martin murmured, his breath warm against James's skin.
"And ruin the best rumor this boring school has seen in three years? Absolutely not."
James opened both eyes, staring at Martin.
"What?!"
Martin pulled back slightly, his smirk widening. He reached out and casually adjusted the collar of James’s baggy grey hoodie, his fingers lingering just a second too long against James’s collarbone.
"You know," Martin said aloud.
"I was hurt when you snuck out through the side gate yesterday, James. You didn't even leave a note. And after everything I said to you about us?"
The crowd collectively gasped. Chaerin clutched her chest so hard she nearly dropped her phone.
"HE CONFIRMED IT!" someone whispered from the back.
"OH MY GOD HE CONFIRMED IT!"
James felt like he was floating outside his own body, watching his life crumble into dust.
"Martin, stop," he squeaked.
"Please."
"Stop?" Martin hummed, leaning in again, his eyes locking onto James’s panicked ones with terrifying intensity.
"Why should I stop? You told everyone I was possessive, obsessed, and crazy about you. It would be rude of me not to live up to your expectations, don't you think?"
Martin’s hand moved from James’s collar to lightly brush a stray lock of hair away from James’s forehead.
The gesture was so gentle, so absurdly romantic, that half the girls in the hallway let out a synchronized, breathy sigh.
James was paralyzed. His brain went blank.
"I... I... the journal..." he stammered uselessly.
"Ah, the vintage leather journal," Martin smiled, his eyes glinting with wicked amusement.
"I remember how much you loved the smell of old paper. I’ll have to buy you another one. Maybe this time you’ll stay the whole night."
"MARTIN EDWARDS YOU MONSTER!" Hanna blurted out from the front row.
"LEAVE HIM ALONE! HE'S SUFFERED ENOUGH!"
Martin kept his eyes locked on James, his smirk softening
He leaned down until he was whispering directly against James’s burning cheek.
"My office hours are after sixth period, James," Martin murmured, his voice dripping with playful menace.
"If you want to clear the air... you know where my locker is. Don't keep your possessive boyfriend waiting."
Martin winked at James, turned around, and walked down the hallway like a king inspecting his domain.
The hallway erupted into absolute chaos.
People were screaming. Chaerin was crying tears of joy. Jiho from gave James another solemn nod of solidarity from across the hallway.
Three different people tried to hand James a juice box as a peace offering.
James stood glued to the wall. His face was redder than a fire engine, his chest heaving, his brain completely wiped clean of all logical thought.
He lived for gossip. He existed for gossip.
But as he watched Martin Edwards walk away, James realized two very important things.
First: He was never, ever going to gossip again as long as he lived.
Second: Martin Edwards was an absolute nightmare... and James’s heart was beating entirely too fast.