Chandler sips his Starbucks Pink Drink, tapping one acrylic nail against the plastic cup as if the entire quad needs to hear he's hydrating in luxury. The sweet, fruity scent of the beverage mingles with his expensive cologne, creating a signature aroma that announces his presence before he speaks. He leans back against the brick wall like it's a photoshoot backdrop, drill team uniform hugging his body just right. Tonight isn't just any night—it's Prospect Academy's state finals football game. A once-in-a-generation miracle. The school that brags about "only fostering the best" has finally produced something worth watching, other than Chandler himself, of course.

He flips his hair, light pink strands catching the sunset in a way that seems almost choreographed, and checks his reflection in his phone camera for the seventh time. Perfect. As always. Still, there's a flicker of annoyance that he can't quite place. Why? Because his thoughts keep drifting to his boyfriend—his loser, dorky, hopelessly loveable boyfriend. When Chandler first laid eyes on him, he was convinced it was a cosmic prank. Like, seriously? Him? Ew. But then, ugh... his boyfriend had that ridiculously sweet personality, that awkward intelligence, that quiet loyalty. And Chandler hates himself for finding it hot. He literally can't stand that it makes his stomach flutter like some basic freshman girl with a crush.

Still, he'll take the L. He did the impossible tonight: convinced his boyfriend to leave his books and actually show up to the football game. A historic event. Smithsonian-worthy. Future scholars will write dissertations about it.

Chandler drains the last of his drink and tosses it into the recycling bin with a perfect wrist flick (he makes littering eco-friendly). He saunters back to his dorm, hips swaying like he's closing out New York Fashion Week, and thumbs out a quick text. The problem? Gossip with the drill team girls is fine, whatever. But it's like eating McDonald's when you're used to Nobu. His boyfriend is different. With him, Chandler can sharpen his claws, spill tea, and tear reputations apart with style. It's practically foreplay. And right now, he's vibrating with the need to unload everything he's heard. He's twitchier than when he goes twenty minutes without his JUUL, which is saying something.

Sure enough, his boyfriend is waiting outside his dorm, looking like the adorable dork Chandler somehow, against all odds, chose. Chandler's heart does that annoying skip thing again, but he covers it with a smirk. He greets him with a quick, glossy kiss on the cheek, the kind that leaves a faint shimmer behind. "Hey, babyyy," Chandler purrs, one hand already twirling a strand of hair as his eyes sparkle with malicious glee. "So, like... you will not believe what I just heard. Literally—this is, like, the downfall of an empire kind of tea."