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It was mid-September—roughly the thirteenth—when a girl approached fifteen-year-old Colin Bridgerton and asked him out on a date. It wasn’t as though she was unattractive; on the contrary, she was striking, practically a model, the kind of girl every third guy in school hopelessly fell for. Yet, he had turned her down. He had rejected the school’s reigning queen bee.
The moment she walked away, Julian and the rest of the pack swarmed his desk.
"What was that?" they chorused in disbelief.
"Are you out of your absolute mind, Bridgerton?!"" Martin demanded.
"Does he even realize he just rejected Marina Thompson—the hottest girl in school?" Tony whispered in sheer disbelief to Sam.
"Are you into guys or something, Bridgerton?" Julian hollered.
Colin cleared his throat, cutting through the chaotic din of teenage boys buzzing around him. "Look, I respect the community, but let’s get one thing straight: I like girls. I just don't like that wannabe queen bee." With a firm thud, he slammed his palms against his desk.
The surrounding boys gasped, hastily scattering from his desk with side-eyes and whispered murmurs about how someone handed everything on a silver platter could possess the sheer audacity to be picky.
But Colin wasn't like the other guys, blindly chasing whatever happened to be popular. He craved something authentic, something different.
He hadn't always attended this co-educational boarding school. He belonged at London Park School in Mayfair—close to his house, his family, his mates, and, most importantly, Penelope. But suddenly, Anthony had decided that St. Edward’s School in Oxford was the ideal environment for the Bridgerton boys. First Benedict, then him. The girls, however, had remained at London Park, leaving Colin stranded here at St. Edward's.
He had made friends, of course, and people certainly knew who he was. Being a Bridgerton came with its own set of undeniable perks—or as his peers liked to call it, being the "silver spoon guy." Yet, beneath the surface, a quiet emptiness gnawed at him.
It was a persistent loneliness. He missed home-cooked meals, his mother’s enveloping warmth, and the constant, noisy bickering with his siblings.
Even Benedict, who was here with him, lived an entirely separate life.
Ben was popular, a fixture at every weekend party, who occasionally patted his younger brother on the back with a patronizing, "You need to carve out your own space, Col," which roughly translated to don't interfere in my business.
Colin had caught the message loud and clear within the first month.
More than anything, though, he missed Penelope.
He missed the endless hours they spent discussing fantasy novels, ancient myths, and legendary tales. Sitting at his desk now, he stared at a collection of Marvel comics, DC issues, and folklore books—all carefully mailed to him by her.
With a heavy sigh, he popped in his AirPods and hit shuffle on their Polin playlist. It was a soundtrack they had curated together just a day before his departure, bound by a strict pact: only listen when you miss each other terribly.
The track gently swelled with Chris Martin’s soft, unmistakable vocals:
🎶I've been reading books of old
The legends and the myths
Achilles and his gold
Hercules and his gifts
Spider-Man's control
And Batman with his fists
And clearly I don't see myself upon that list...
Colin couldn’t have related more if he tried. He wasn’t a campus legend, an academic topper, or a high-profile student leader.
He was just a simple guy with an easy smile—a charmer to a select few, but otherwise content to fly under the radar.
He had no desire for late-night partying or loud clubbing; he craved quiet spaces, deep conversations, and playful banter.
In today’s lingo, they’d call him "the sensitive guy," but Colin was comfortable in his own skin.
He had tried fitting in with the rest of the boys at St. Edward's, but he simply couldn't tolerate their casual disrespect and objectification of girls.
As a result, he spent most of his days immersed in his studies or lost in the stack of books Penelope had mailed to him.
Their days were anchored by a steady exchange of Instagram reels and culminated in late-night phone calls—unquestionably the absolute best part of his day.
Colin could easily function as an official caffeine ambassador, chugging coffee late into the night just to hear her voice. Penelope was his tether to home; she was everything he needed.
🎶But she said, "Where'd you wanna go?
How much you wanna risk?🎶
Until today, that was.
Enter Marina Thompson—the unchallenged Queen Bee, the girl every guy in school pined for. Every guy except Colin. To him, she was profoundly overrated, relying far too much on dramatic flair and easy adoration.
Just this morning, she had strutted over to his desk, resting her hands on her hips with calculated grace. "Hey Colin," she had said, leaning in just close enough to draw the eyes of every curious onlooker in the classroom. "I think you're cute. Where do you want to go so we can... you know, talk?" She shrugged nonchalantly, a subtle smirk hinting at something deeper.
Before he could answer, she took a step closer, her voice dropping into a sultry whisper that hovered right in front of his face. "I'm willing to risk everything. Would you?"
The risk wasn't just a casual word. It was a loaded promise. Everyone in school knew the feud between their families—Anthony Bridgerton and Marina’s father, Lord Thompson, couldn't stand the sight of each other. A Bridgerton and a Thompson together was a social disaster waiting to happen.
Sitting at his desk now, feeling the echo of the confrontation, the chorus of Something Just Like This washed over him. He thought back to Marina’s lingering question—"How much you wanna risk?"
Colin stared at her for a long, quiet second.
Then, a slow, dry smirk touched the corner of his mouth.
"No thanks, Marina," he said smoothly, his voice entirely unbothered.
The refusal hit the quiet classroom like a splash of ice water. A collective gasp sucked the air out of the room. Behind Marina, Tony choked on his own spit, and Julian’s jaw literally unhinged.
Marina’s perfect smile faltered for a fraction of a second, her eyes widening in sheer disbelief. "Excuse me?"
"You heard me," Colin said, picking his pen back up and twirling it casually between his fingers. "I'm flattered, truly. But I'm not looking to star in a cheap melodrama."
"A melodrama?" Marina hissed, the sultry mask slipping to reveal genuine indignation. "I'm offering you a chance—"
"A chance to be your accessory in a family feud so you can prove a point to your friends? Pass," Colin cut her off, his tone firm, polite, and painfully dismissive. "Save the dramatics for someone who cares, Marina. I like my life uncomplicated. And quite frankly, I'd rather spend my free time doing literally anything else."
With that, Colin flicked his gaze back down to his book, completely shutting her out.
For a breathless second, Marina stood frozen, her cheeks flushing a furious shade of crimson as the collective snickers of the classroom began to bubble up around them. Realizing she had just suffered the most public, humiliating rejection of her high school career, she snapped her jaw shut, spun on her heel, and stormed away, her designer shoes clicking angrily against the floor.
As soon as she was out of earshot, Julian and Martin scrambled back to Colin's desk, their eyes wide as saucers.
"Did you just...?" Julian stammered, pointing a shaking finger after Marina. "Are you out of your absolute mind, Bridgerton?!" Martin demanded
While reminiscing the incident and listening the song in his dorm room he found his answer reflected back in the lyrics playing through his AirPods:
🎶I'm not lookin' for somebody
With some superhuman gifts
Some superhero
Some fairy-tale bliss
Just something I can turn to
Somebody I can kiss
I want something just like this.🎶
Marina wanted high drama, scandal, and a thrill born out of forbidden risks. But Colin didn't want a grand, performative saga. He didn't want a queen bee looking for a dramatic trophy boy to spite her family.
He just wanted someone real. Someone to turn to when the world felt too loud, someone who understood the quiet parts of him, someone whose laughter on a late-night call meant more than all the popularity in Oxford.
He didn't need a superhero or a high-society romance. He just wanted a love that felt like home—he wanted something just like that.
As the final notes of the song dissolved into silence, the last line lingered in his mind like a persistent whisper:
Somebody I can kiss...
Without warning, an image flashed behind his closed eyelids—not Marina’s perfect, glossy smile, but Penelope...
Penelope laughing under the oak tree in Mayfair, her eyes crinkling at the corners; Penelope tilting her head up, her soft, pink lips parting as she suppressed a giggle.
Colin’s breath hitched. A sudden, searing wave of heat rushed straight to his chest. Kissing Penelope?
No. Stop it. What is wrong with you?
He ripped an AirPod out of his ear as if it had physically burned him, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird. The sheer guilt of the thought hit him with the force of a physical blow.
Penelope was his best friend. His anchor. His safe haven. Thinking about her like that felt dirty—like desecrating something pure, like committing an unforgivable crime against their friendship.
She’s Pen, he berated himself violently, running a restless hand through his hair. You don't think about Pen like that. She trusts you! You’re just lonely. That's all this is. You're losing your mind in this place.
He was, quite frankly, a complete idiot.
He could analyze ancient Greek strategy and break down complex character arcs in graphic novels, but when it came to the violent flutter in his chest whenever her name lit up his phone screen, he was utterly blind.
He convinced himself it was just intense, loyalty-driven friendship. Nothing more. Definitely nothing more.
Checking his watch, he saw the hands tick past 10:30 PM. The dorm hallway outside was finally quiet. Colin practically scrambled for his phone, scrolling to her name and tapping the call button.
It didn't even ring twice.
"You're late by four minutes, Bridgerton," Penelope’s warm voice filled his ear, accompanied by the familiar rustle of duvet covers. "I was about to assume you were swallowed whole by an Oxford ghost."
Colin instantly slumped back into his chair, the suffocating tension in his shoulders melting away at the mere sound of her voice. A soft, helpless smile touched his lips.
"I had to escape a mob of overly dramatic teenage boys first," Colin said, his tone softening. "And for the record, Oxford ghosts have better manners than the guys in my hallway."
Penelope let out a quiet chuckle, the sound like a gentle balm to his frayed nerves. "Rough day? Did Benedict leave you to fend for yourself again?"
"As always," Colin sighed, resting his chin in his hand as he stared at the stack of comics she had sent him.
"Ben’s off playing party prince. But that’s not even the main event today. Prepare yourself, Pen. I was approached by royalty."
"Royalty?" she teased, her tone light and curious. "Did the Prince of Wales transfer to St. Edward's?"
"Worse. Marina Thompson."
There was a brief, microscopic pause on the other end of the line before Penelope spoke again, her voice slightly more reserved. "Marina? The one every guy in your letters keeps writing poems about?"
"The very same," Colin said, rolling his eyes. "She cornered me at my desk today. Asked me out. Said something absurdly dramatic about being 'willing to risk everything' and asked if I would, too."
A beat of silence stretched between them. "And... what did you say?" Penelope asked softly, her breath catching almost imperceptibly.
"I said no, of course," Colin replied matter-of-factly, spinning a pen between his fingers.
"I mean, aside from the fact that our brothers would literally start a duel in the street if we went on a date, she’s just... exhausting, Pen. She wants a dramatic spectacle, a forbidden romance to show off to the school."
"She’s also considered the prettiest girl in Oxford, Colin," Penelope pointed out quietly. "Most guys would have jumped at the chance, risks be damned."
"Well, I'm not most guys," Colin murmured, his voice dropping into that quiet, intimate register reserved only for her. "I don't want a high-society performance. I don't care about queen bees or popularity. It all feels so fake."
"Then... what do you want?" Penelope asked gently, the question soft, almost fragile over the line.
Colin’s breath caught in his throat.
His mind instantly rebelled, flashing back to the lyrics—
Somebody I can turn to.Somebody I can kiss.
His gaze landed on the handwritten note she had tucked inside the last parcel of books.
I want you, his heart whispered, stupidly, traitorously.
Panic flared in his chest, and he shoved the thought down into the darkest corner of his mind before he could process it.
"I just want someone real," Colin said hastily, his voice tight as he tried to sound casual. "Someone I can actually talk to. Someone who gets me... like you do."
Over the line, Penelope let out a soft, sweet breath that sounded suspiciously like a sigh of relief. "Well... you're stuck with me for that, Bridgerton. Like it or not."
Colin smiled, the lingering panic slowly subsiding into a comfortable warmth. "I think I can live with that, Featherington. Now, tell me—did you read the new Spider-Man issue I told you about?"
Penelope’s laugh echoed through the receiver, small and bright, instantly dissolving the lingering shadows in Colin’s cramped room.
"Read it?" she teased softly. "Colin, I finished it the afternoon it arrived. And honestly, Peter Parker’s decision-making in chapter three was entirely questionable."
"Questionable?" Colin leaned back in his chair, a dramatic gasp escaping his lips as he swung his feet onto the edge of the desk. "He was trying to protect his neighborhood, Pen! It was a noble sacrifice."
"It was rash and reckless," she countered smoothly, the delight evident in her tone. "He acted on pure emotion instead of thinking it through. Sound like anyone you know?"
"Are you insinuating that I am rash and reckless, Miss Featherington?"
"I’m not insinuating anything, Bridgerton. I’m stating it as a well-documented factual observation."
They fell into their effortless, familiar rhythm—a comforting dance of quick-witted banter and shared observations that made the four hundred miles between Oxford and Mayfair simply vanish.
For the next hour, St. Edward’s Boarding School, the persistent murmurs of his classmates, and the lingering phantom of Marina Thompson’s sultry proposition faded into complete irrelevance.
There was only Penelope’s voice, steady and warm in his ear.
"You know," Penelope said softly after a brief pause in their conversation, the subtle sound of her turning a page rustling through the speaker, "I passed by the park near your house yesterday. The leaves are starting to turn that deep gold you always like."
Colin closed his eyes, instantly picturing it: the crisp London autumn air, the rustle of amber leaves along the cobblestone pathways, and Penelope sitting on their usual bench, wrapped in an oversized scarf.
"I miss it," he admitted quietly, the playful edge stripping away from his voice. "I miss home."
I miss you, his mind added automatically, unbidden and sharp.
"London isn't the same without you breaking things in the garden or complaining about your mother's tea parties," Penelope murmured, her tone tender. "Everyone misses you, Colin."
"Do you miss me?" The question slipped past his lips before his internal filter could catch it. It was quiet, almost a whisper, laden with a sudden, raw vulnerability that caught them both off guard.
A heavy, charged silence hung in the air for a heartbeat. On the other end of the line, Colin could hear the soft, hitching rhythm of Penelope’s breath.
"Every day," she whispered back, the honesty in her voice so clear it made his chest ache with an inexplicable, thrumming intensity. "It's far too quiet without you."
A strange, suffocating warmth bloomed behind Colin’s ribs. His hand tightened around his phone, his pulse suddenly hammering against his throat. He wanted to say something—anything—to bridge the gap between them, but his throat felt entirely dry.
Why does my heart feel like it's going to burst out of my chest? he wondered desperately, terrified of his own reaction. She’s my best friend. My dearest friend.
"Colin?" Penelope’s voice broke through his inner turmoil, soft and questioning. "Are you still there?"
"Yeah," Colin cleared his throat hastily, forcing a light chuckle to mask the tremor in his breath. "Yeah, I'm here. Just... thinking."
"About Peter Parker's questionable choices?" she joked weakly, trying to ease the sudden shift in the air.
"Exactly," Colin seized the lifeline instantly, letting out a breath he didn't realize he was holding. "Always analyzing the lore."
They talked for another half hour until Penelope’s soft yawns began to punctuate her sentences. Though he desperately wanted to keep her on the line forever just to avoid the quiet loneliness of his dorm, Colin knew she needed to sleep.
"Go to sleep, Pen," he said gently, his voice dropping into a soft, affectionate murmur. "You have early classes tomorrow."
"Only if you promise not to stay up until three in the morning reading under the covers with a flashlight," she replied drowsily.
"No promises," Colin smiled. "Goodnight, Pen."
"Goodnight, Colin."
The call clicked off, and silence reclaimed the small room.
Colin lowered the phone, staring at the darkened screen for a long moment. He pulled the blanket over his shoulders and rested his head against the pillow, staring up at the ceiling.
Slowly, he reached out, touching the screen to light up his phone once more. He opened their shared Polin playlist, watching the album art spin as the low, comforting melody of Chris Martin’s voice filled his AirPods again.
🎶Just something I can turn to
Somebody I can miss
I want something just like this
I want something just like this🎶
Colin closed his eyes, letting the music wash over him. He told himself he was just lonely. He told himself he was an idiot for letting his imagination wander. But as he finally drifted off to sleep in the quiet dark of St. Edward's, the only face in his dreams was a girl with bright eyes, soft pink lips, and a smile that felt like home.
🎶I want something just like this
Doo-doo-doo, doo-doo-doo
Doo-doo-doo, doo-doo
Doo-doo-doo, doo-doo-doo🎶
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