✵ YOU'RE GONNA PLEASE MY BOYS -ˋˏchapter two | i told you so slo
you knock on sloane's door, waiting for her to let you in. she opens the door, her messy hair tied up in a bun.
"hey, c'mon in." she says, making a vague hand gesture as you enter her room and take a seat on her bed. sloane closes the door, then plops down next to you, stretching out onto her sheets.
"i swear, all the new pledges are driving me insane." she complains, crossing her arms behind her head.
you let out a soft laugh and look around the room. weirdly quiet compared to when the rest of the friend group was arou-
"y/n! ugh my baby," delaney squealed entering the room as she practically tackled you on the bed as the other girls piled in behind her, gossiping already about god knows what. campus drama probably.
"—nd!" you choked out between laughter as laney smothered you with a hug, the rest of the girls tumbling in behind her like a coordinated sorority avalanche.
tati bounced onto the edge of the bed, flipping her hair over one shoulder. “y/n, you have to survive tonight. no flaking. this is your first real college party.”
harper snorted, leaning against sloane’s desk. “she’ll survive. but will hearts be broken? that’s the real question.”
your stomach flipped at that—wait. “hearts?” you echoed, sitting up slightly.
delaney shot you a look too knowing for comfort. “oh come on! don’t tell me you still don’t know who manon is?”
you blinked. nope. didn’t know. but apparently… you were about to find out why everyone else did.
"is that the vp you guys were trying to hide from me?" you questioned as you sat up on the bed, mentioning the previous tweets from earlier in the day. delaney's tweet still ringing in your mind: 'heard from the grapevine a certain vp has their eyes on you…'
sloane and tati exchanged a look.
"uh…" sloane began, biting back a smirk. harper burst out laughing, shaking her head in disbelief.
"oh my god, you're so innocent sometimes." laney said, reaching out to pinch your cheeks playfully. you smacked her hand away with a scowl.
"stop babying me. what are you even talking about?" you protested, feeling like you were missing a joke that everyone else got.
“innocent?” tati gasped, tossing her hair. “she’s not innocent—she’s blissfully unaware.”
sloane sat up, running a hand through her messy bun with a sigh. “look… manon bannerman doesn’t ‘have eyes on’ anyone. she doesn’t do interest. she doesn’t do distractions.”
“so why’d dani say—” laney started, but sloane cut her off with a sharp look.
“because dani likes drama and cheap tequila,” sloane said flatly, "no offense."
harper leaned forward, eyes glinting like she was about to drop classified info. “but… fun fact? manon hasn’t hooked up with anyone since spring break on the so-cal trip this year.”
silence fell over the room. you blinked. in greek life? at SAE? that was basically extinction-level celibacy.
laney smirked at you like you were the punchline of a secret joke no one told you yet. “so yeah… maybe there’s something to the rumor after all.”
your face warmed before you could stop it—why did your pulse jump at some name you didn't even know ten minutes ago?
sloane groaned, flopping back onto the bed dramatically. “if you two implode this entire campus over sexual tension and shattered reputations… don’t say i didn’t warn you.”
"sorority's and fraternities do not fraternize with one another no matter what," sloane cuts in once more, "unless it's for philanthropy events."
"mmm, unless," tati sing-songed, twirling a strand of hair around her finger, "there's chemistry… you know, the kind that can't be contained by greek bylaws or petty reputation concerns."
harper snorted. "like you and megan aren't sneaking off behind the rec center every other night."
"excuse me?" sloane shot upright again, eyes wide. "low blow dude."
laney cackled. “oh please, slo—your ‘secret’ hookup spot has literally been written in chalk on the bathroom wall since march.”
delaney turned to you suddenly, all dramatic intensity. “but seriously… manon’s different. she doesn’t play games—she is the game.” her voice dropped an octave. “and if she’s even thinking about showing up to the mixer with extra cologne and a second glance… well…” she didn’t finish.
your pulse did it for her.
thudded hard under skin you suddenly felt too aware of.
sloane sighed like she could already see the wreckage—the headlines: "VP vs Pledge: Love Scandal Shuts Down Rush Season."
“just promise me one thing,” she muttered darkly as girls started debating outfits for tonight on floor-length mirrors behind you two. “don’t fall so hard you forget who gets hurt first when someone like her walks away.”
the room buzzed around you—but all you heard was that word.
her.
"i think i need a drink," you breathed out quietly with a pale face as you rubbed the palm of your hands over your knees.
“oh no,” sloane muttered, instantly flipping into mom-mode, sitting up and pressing the back of her hand to your forehead like you were running a fever. “she’s pale. she’s actually pale. you scared her laney.”
tati clapped her hands together with theatrical glee. “first stage of falling: denial! next comes obsessive journaling, then googling ‘can you go to prison for loving someone too much?’”
“tati!” you hissed, throwing a pillow at her—bad aim because your hands were still shaky.
laney slid off the bed and crouched in front of you like you were twelve sharing secrets under blanket forts. her voice softened. “hey… it's just a party. you don’t have to do anything. just walk in like you belong—which you do—and breathe.”
you swallowed hard, fingers still rubbing over your knees.
“but what if i don’t know how?” you whispered.
sloane sighed—deep, long-suffering—but then reached under her bed and pulled out a half-crushed flask shaped like a lipstick tube.
she unscrewed it with one smooth twist and handed it over.
“then fake confidence ’til your spine forgets how to tremble,” she said flatly. “and if that fails? drink until your feelings go numb.”
you took the flask with trembling fingers—and before anyone could stop you—took one sharp swig.
burn hit fast.
fire down your throat, heat spreading through your chest like liquid courage cracking open its cage.
outside the door?
the house echoed with laughter and slamming doors—the pulse of silverridge after dark beating through thin walls…
and somewhere across campus?
manon bannerman was probably straightening her outfit for tonight…
…and had no idea how close you were to colliding headfirst into something neither of you signed up for—but would never survive walking away from either.
-ˋˏ
the walk to the party—usually the best part of a night out—felt like a death march.
silverridge students were everywhere, streaming out of dorms and pre-gaming on the lawns. groups clumped together in front of frat houses with red solo-cups in hand. music spilled out of every door, smoke curling lazily from windows cracked open for the night.
sloane led the way—a queen bee surrounded by her hive—with the girls flanking you on either side. laney shot you reassuring looks. tati chattered nonstop and looped an arm through yours.
camry walked beside you as she typed on her phone like she was on a misson, deciding to chirp to her to ease your nerves, "excited to dj tonight?"
camry looked up with a smile, sliding her phone into her back pocket.
"excited is an understatement," she said, eyes flashing. "i've been curating this set lists for weeks—and tonight's the night to see if my taste is on the pulse of silverridge or not."
laney snickered. "you mean if people are finally going to realize your music taste is just as chaotic as your brain?"
snorting a laugh as camry rolled her eyes and turned her attention back to fishing out her phone. letting yourself turn to delaney with a smile and then a serious face, "i didn't know you and dani were like… a thing?"
delaney looked at you, raising an eyebrow.
"it's… complicated," she said after a moment. "dani and i aren't exactly 'official' in the traditional sense, but we hook up fairly regularly."
"and by fairly, she means multiple times a week," harper chimed in, earning a glare from delaney.
"just don't tell my brother since they're best friends and all," delaney added as your group started to walk on SAE's lawn to the front door.
"of course i wouldn't tell donn…"
abruptly cutting off your sentence as donovan appeared in front of the group like a hawk. trying to pull off a fake, excited tone, "donnie my guy!"
donnie crossed his arms, beer in hand, eyes narrowing like he’d just caught someone sneaking into the last slice of pizza.
"y/n," he said flatly. "you feeling alright there?"
delaney shot you a you-better-not glare from the corner of her eye.
you laughed—too loud, too fast. "nothing! just—uh—donnie! my guy! missed you at study hall today!"
harper snorted. “study hall? since when do you go to study hall?”
donovan’s gaze flicked between you and delaney like he was already piecing together an equation none of you wanted solved.
then—he smirked. “whatever it is… if it involves my sister and dani being weird together again, spare me.” he took a slow sip from his red cup. “but fair warning: if things get messy, i’m telling mason.”
delaney groaned. “oh please—not the tattletale twin card.”
before anyone could retort—
the front door behind him burst open with a swell of bass-heavy music and laughter.
and there she was.
tall posture. crisp SAE hoodie slung over one shoulder. dark hair falling just right. eyes scanning the room like she owned every second of silence they touched.
manon stepped onto the porch—and somehow… her gaze locked on yours for half a heartbeat too long before looking away like nothing happened.
…like she hadn't just stopped time in its tracks with nothing but two seconds and a glance.
"ladies!" carter shouted from behind manon as he held a beer in hand.
"my love," he spoke with a chivalrous tone to harper as he leaned down to kiss her gently and handed her a drink.
harper beamed, taking the drink with a playful salute—“hi baby,”—but her smile faltered for half a second when she noticed where your eyes were still locked.
manon had turned away, already deep in conversation with mason near the doorway, but not before you caught it—the faintest flicker of hesitation when carter stepped forward like he was claiming territory.
“earth to y/n,” laney whispered beside you, nudging your shoulder. “you’re staring.”
you blinked hard. “i wasn’t—i was just… assessing the structural integrity of the porch.”
tati snorted into her cup. “oh please, next you’ll say you're here for 'philanthropy' and not because someone’s got your name on loop in their head.”
before you could defend yourself—or combust from embarrassment—carter clapped his hands together like a frat zeus summoning lightning.
"alright! house rules: no puking on the staircase—use designated restrooms. no breaking windows—we learned last time—and absolutely no sneaking into my room unless you wanna meet my mom's restraining order collection!"
the girls laughed.
but then he pointed at the group—well, mostly at you—with that cocky grin only a greek president could pull off. "and y/n? welcome to your first college mixer." he leaned in slightly, voice dropping like it was some kind of warning… or challenge. "try not to leave with more than one boy tonight... or girl. no judgement here."
your stomach dropped.
because across the porch? manon had gone very still.
didn’t look up.
didn’t react…
but her hand tightened around her drink like she wanted to crush it.
just to break the silence, megan came whooping from behind carter with a drink in hand. probably not the first one of the night considering her energy.
"inside everyone," she motioned, "the party awaits."
flashing sloane a sheepish smile that no one but delaney and you saw.
inside was a madhouse.
red solo cups everywhere. music thumping loud enough to feel the walls shudder in time to the bass. the acrid burn of alcohol and sweat and smoke in the air, like the whole room was already drunk without a drop. you started to feel claustrophobic from the sheer number of students pressed up against each other, chattering, dancing, drinking, grinding.
"come on," harper shouted, already pushing into the throng like a battle-axe, "follow me!"
laney and tati followed like obedient ducklings, shoving their way through the crowd with matching determined expressions. sloane grabbed your arm and dragged you deeper into the mix.
a frat boy leaned out from the wall to toss an arm around sloane's waist with easy familiarity.
"yo, slo," he shouted over the music, "this your new pledge?"
sloane elbowed him in the ribs with a wicked grin. "hands off, miller. find your own damn KD initiate!"
the guy laughed, hands up in mock defeat. you stumbled forward, nearly tripping over a stray shoe someone had lost in the chaos. laney caught you before you face-planted into a beer pong table where mason was currently losing spectacularly to donnie and dani, who kept high-fiving every time he missed.
“y/n! you okay?” laney asked, steadying you with one hand on your back.
you nodded too fast. “yeah. just—floor’s uneven. or… or i’m uneven.”
tati tossed her hair over one shoulder, already scanning the room like she was plotting world domination via social climbing. “nope. that’s nerves and cheap vodka talking.”
then—music shifted.
a heavy bass drop pulsed through the house as camry’s voice crackled over the speakers.
"first mixer back, ridge. who missed me?"
the crowd roared in response—and just like that, we were swallowed by it all again: sweat-slick skin, flashing lights strung across walls like garlands of fireflies turned dangerous, laughter so loud it became its own language—
and then… a shadow fell across your path. not from anyone jostling nearby… but from her.
manon stood three feet away—shoulders back, jaw set tight under low lighting that made her look carved out of something untouchable—and somehow… she wasn't looking at anyone else but you. her eyes dropped for half a second—to your hand still gripping laney's arm for balance—then flicked up again to meet yours with quiet intensity.
like you had already known each other in some past life neither of you remembered how to live right now…
but wanted to anyway.
"i'm gonna go get something stronger," you yelled over the music to laney as she flashed you a look of worry but then a smile of understanding. trying to have herself understand that she couldn't guard you all night and that you needed to learn your footing on your own. she nodded, squeezing your arm in reassurance.
"don't do anything stupid," she called back. "and don't go anywhere with any guys you don't trust, got it?"
you saluted her with mock seriousness. "aye, captain." you pushed through the crowd, trying to reach the bar where mason's friends were pouring drinks. hands brushed along your waist. laughter. hissing whispers. but you weren't really paying attention—not when she was still watching you like a cat with prey in its sight line.
you finally reached the bar, slipping between two guys arguing about football rankings to grab a shot of something strong. it burned on the way down—but warmth started radiating out from your core, like you were lit up from the inside.
the second shot glass was empty before you even realized you’d picked it up.
“might wanna slow down,” a voice cut through the haze—low, cool, like velvet wrapped in steel.
you turned. manon stood beside you, one hip leaned against the bar, fingers tapping once against her own drink. no ice. just liquid courage neat. she wasn’t smiling. but her eyes—god, her eyes—they held yours like you were the only two people in the room that mattered right now.
“you’re either very brave,” she said softly, voice just loud enough to reach you over camry’s pulsing beat, “or very dumb. coming here alone.”
your breath caught.
“i’m not alone,” you whispered back. “my big, laney, is around somewhere…”
manon tilted her head slightly—like she could see right through it. through you. “doesn’t count if she can’t save you from yourself.”
the air between you crackled—not heat from bodies packed too close—but something sharper. tension wound tight and humming low under skin and silence and stolen glances across greek lawns and chapter houses that should’ve kept you two apart forever…
and then—
a frat boy slammed into your back, spilling half his beer down your shoulder with a slurred laugh: “oops! party accident!”
you gasped at the cold stickiness—and manon moved fast. not away. toward.
one arm shot out—not to touch you gently or ask if you were okay—but to step between you and chaos like a shield made of muscle memory and quiet fury.
“don't let me find out what frat you belong to pledge. i'll make sure your pres has you 40 hands from here to initiation,” manon snapped at him—the kind of tone that didn't raise volume but dropped temperature ten degrees all around them—and somehow… he backed off without another word.
like he knew what kind of fire he'd just brushed up against.
she turned back to you slowly—close enough now that your breaths almost tangled in shared space neither dared claim—
her hand hovered near your shoulder for one heartbeat too long before pulling away like even warmth had rules here.
"no no no," a voice began to rant beside you two, sloane's signature perfume invading the space. "find another innocent girl to prey on manon. not a KD."
"nice to see you again too, slo…" manon spoke with an immediate smirk as if she had put her facade right back on.
"oh, don’t give me that saint act," sloane snapped, stepping between you two like a steel door slamming shut. her voice was low, sharp—meant for manon alone. "i know your type. cool eye contact, colder exit strategy. she’s not a game."
manon didn’t flinch. just took a slow sip of her drink, eyes flicking over sloane’s shoulder to meet yours one last time—dark, unreadable—before sliding back into the armor of someone who never lets feelings win.
“i wasn’t playing,” manon said coolly. “just making sure she didn’t get soaked by some wasted pike with daddy issues and poor spatial awareness.”
“uh-huh,” sloane muttered, arms crossing like she was sealing you off from temptation itself. “and i’m supposed to believe you just happened to be standing next to my new pledge at this big ass party?”
manon shrugged—one shoulder only—the smirk returning like it had never left. “maybe i like pretty girls in short denim skirts.”
your face burned.
sloane whirled on you then—not angry—but worried. the kind of look that said: you’re already falling and you don't even know how far down this goes.
“come on,” she said firmly, grabbing your wrist again—same hand manon had almost touched moments ago—and started pulling you toward the back hallway where less people were crowded.
but just before you turned the corner— you glanced back. and manon? still there. watching. not smiling anymore. just… holding your gaze until the shadows swallowed it whole.
sloane dragged you down the narrow hallway away from the pulse of the party until you two reached a closed door. she shoved it open and pulled you inside.
the room was small and dimly lit, cluttered with jackets piled on top of a worn couch, a mini-fridge humming in the corner, a desk lined with half-empty shot glasses. an old window overlooking the backyard let moonlight through in hazy stripes.
sloane shut the door behind you, then leaned back against it with a sigh.
"jesus," she muttered, running a hand over her face.
"slo you're acting like i killed someone…"
"might as well have," sloane muttered, dropping her hand. "you were two seconds away from falling."
you started to protest, but she held up one finger. "don't try denying it. i recognize a classic puppy love spiral when i see it."
you rolled your eyes, sinking deeper into the couch's worn cushions. "you make it sound so cliché."
"plus i don't know why you care so much," you began with a motion of your hand, "you and megan are practically hooking up all the time according to the girls."
"oh, excuse me," sloane shot back, voice low but sharp as broken glass. "just because i'm not celibate doesn’t mean i go around falling for girls i don't even know."
she pushed off the door and paced two steps forward, eyes flashing under the dim light. “megan’s one thing. a secret. a choice made in dark corners where no one sees. but manon? she’s not hiding—she’s performing. vp of SAE. image-obsessed control freak who plays by greek law like it’s scripture.”
you opened your mouth to argue—
“no,” she snapped, pointing at your like you were already on thin ice and she could hear it cracking beneath you foot, “don’t tell me this is just curiosity or ‘fun.’ you were staring at her like she whispered something sacred into your soul.”
silence.
the music thumped faintly through the walls—but here?
it felt like you were underwater.
and then sloane sighed, shoulders dropping hard.
“look,” she said softly now—the kind of tone older sisters use when they’ve already seen how your story ends—“if you want to kiss her? fine. if you want to dance with her until the sun comes up? whatever.” she stepped closer and cupped your face gently with both hands until your eyes locked again—brown on brown—one heart breaking before the other even knew it could fly.
“but don’t fall.”
her voice cracked just once.
“and don’t let her make you think this world will ever let someone like us win.”
forget manon.
sloane was the most vulnerable you had seen her since the beginning of rushing season. she was your caretaker all along and you needed to care for her too.
"you and megan okay?" grabbing gently on her hands that were on your face. she scoffed weakly, pulling away. "we don't do 'feelings.' that's how we keep things simple."
"simple? or convenient?"
sloane bristled. "what are you trying to say?"
"isn't it exhausting?" you asked quietly. "acting."
she crossed her arms again, looking away. "acting's part of the process."
"that's bullshit," you shot back quietly. "and you know it."
"the way you guys look at each other when you guys think no one is looking," you breathed out in a quick-go, "that's not acting, slo."
"i said don’t," she whispered—raw, cracked—like the word had weight you hadn’t known it carried. then she turned back to you, eyes glistening under moonlight stripes like glass about to shatter.
“you think i don’t know how we look at each other?” sloane’s voice dropped, trembling just once. “you think i don’t feel it every time she laughs at something only i would get? or when her hand brushes mine during stupid philanthropy events and we both pretend it didn't melt our bones?”
she exhaled sharply, jaw tightening. “yeah. it’s real. but real doesn't pay the bills. doesn't keep KD's reputation intact during rush season. doesn't stop some frat boy from printing ‘dyke’ on a banner if he finds out megan spends weekends in my room watching sappy indie films and crying into popcorn.”
a beat.
her voice broke on the next words: “i love her enough to let go every damn day so she can be safe.”
silence fell heavy between you two—not angry, not sad—but full of something worse. truth. a knock at the door. two soft raps. followed by a voice—low, smooth, impossible to forget:
“slo? you in there?”
megan.
sloane froze.
your eyes met again—one heartbeat where everything hung suspended—and then hers flashed with panic before hardening back into armor.
"stay," you mouthed to sloane as you rubbed her forearm softly before you slipped out the door to face megan.
"megan, hey!"
flashing her a half-tipsy smile, "i was trying to find the restroom but that was clearly not it…"
megan gave you a half smile, shifting her weight against the doorframe. "yeah i get it—SAE house's layout makes zero sense for anyone who isn't a drunk frat boy with a permanent headache."
you smile stayed in place—trying to look as innocent as possible—but your pulse stuttered against your ribs under the weight of a secret you weren't supposed to be holding.
"have you seen sloane?" megan asked, leaning in slightly.
you shook your head. "nope. not lately."
bullshit.
"oh," megan hummed, raising a dark eyebrow. "weird. she was supposed to find me a while ago." you nodded a little too vigorously. "yeah, i'm sure she's just, uh…" your eyes darted to the room. "somewhere. helping some drunk girl. megan's amused glance was like a knife in my stomach. "probably. that does track with the whole 'hero' thing she has going."
you gave a dry laugh a moment too late. "yeah, hero. that's sloane."
a few moments of silence…
"right, well i'm going to get more drunk." you spoke as you patted megan's shoulder while you walked past her. "don't get lost," megan called after you. you gave a lazy wave over your shoulder. "i've got it. i'm good at finding bathrooms."
(you're good at lying.)
you stumbled your way through the hallway, dodging a few lingering frat boys who were eyeing you a little too closely. music from the party thumped against your ribs, making your head spin just a bit.
you found a bathroom at the end of the hallway, swinging the door open with a little too much force.
sloane was still there—standing with her arms crossed, back against the wall.
your eyes met and she just… stared. like you were a traitor. but then she sighed, shaking her head, "you suck at lying."
"actually you're extremely lucky i didn't rat you out to her," you joked how you always did with her, a small laugh bubbling from both of your mouths.
"yeah," sloane grumbled, some of the ice breaking off the armor. "lucky me."
you leaned against the other wall, crossing your own arms. there was a beat where you both just… watched each other, breathing the same air and holding secrets in your throats.
finally, sloane sighed. "she's going to know something isn't right."
"i know it hurts you to pretend someone you're not," you spoke as the music thumped behind the doors, "but it's also hard for megan to hide who she loves so it doesn't ruin your reputation."
sloane stiffened, jaw clenching. "and what am i supposed to do about that? just come out to the whole world and hope no one cares?" her voice rose slightly, like a cornered animal lashing out. "you think it's easy?"
you scoffed softly, uncrossing your arms. "i never said it was easy."
her eyes narrowed. "then how are you so damn certain that you know how i feel?"
you looked up at sloane and back down at your feet, sighing as camry's favorite song played outside the doors. "just food for thought, slo." twisting the door open behind your back and slipping out as people danced and cheered to the music that shook the house.
you didn’t look back.
but you felt her eyes on you—sloane’s, like she was trying to burn a warning into your spine.
the music surged as the door shut behind you—camry dropping a beat so hard the floor vibrated, voices howling in celebration. somewhere nearby, someone screamed after spilling their drink. laughter. shoving. the beautiful chaos of a silverridge party at full tilt.
there she was again. manon.
leaning against the far wall near the stairs, half in shadow, half in light—watching you like she’d been waiting for this exact moment: when you’d walk out of that room changed… and suddenly impossible to ignore.
she didn’t move toward you this time.
didn’t smirk or tease or hide behind sarcasm and swagger like before.
just held your gaze across the madness— quiet, still, unblinking.
like you both knew something had just shifted… and no amount of denial could pretend it hadn't happened now.
you scoffed a laugh and shook your head as you pushed pass more people in the crowd to get to where manon was. your heart beating inside your head the entire journey but the alcohol in your system giving you that edge you needed. finally reaching manon and tilting your head at her, "this whole edward cullen stalking thing isn't a good look."
manon blinked—once, slow—like you’d just slapped her with a truth she didn’t think you had the nerve to say out loud.
then, that smirk. not cocky this time. amused.
“edward cullen?” she echoed, voice low and rough around the edges. “i’m not the one who ran into a closet with my sorority mom to avoid eye contact.”
you scoffed—but it came out breathless. “you were watching?”
her shoulder lifted in a half-shrug, eyes glinting under the dim red party lights. “hard not to. you’ve been stumbling through this house like you’re on fire.”
and just like that—the space between you two shrank from casual distance to something electrically charged. close enough that you could smell her: leather from her jacket, faint citrus on her skin, something warm beneath it all—her pulse maybe?
“i don’t need saving,” you whispered defiantly.
manon leaned in—just an inch—and god help you, your body leaned back into nothing because she was gravity now.
“good,” she murmured. “'cause i don't do heroics.” her gaze dropped—to your mouth? your throat? the rapid rise of your chest? “but if you're gonna keep looking at me like that… then stop pretending you’re here for anyone but me.”
the music pounded louder—if possible—as camry dropped another beat-heavy track with lyrics about forbidden touches and midnight confessions. and there you two stood.
you—a freshman pledge who’d never wanted anything more in two seconds flat than for manon bannerman’s hands to be somewhere they absolutely shouldn’t be…
her— a VP who couldn't afford one misstep…
but whose dark eyes said she'd already fallen anyway.
"i'm guessing this-," you began as you motioned between your bodies, "is why they told me to stay away from you."
patting a hand on manon's chest as you created space between the two of you, "if there's any advice i'd take… it'd be from my sisters."
manon let your hand slide away, eyes never leaving your face. she was silent for a second—then, "and what would your sisters say if they saw you right now?” she countered, voice low and rough around the edges again.
your heart stuttered a little, but you kept your chin up. “they’d tell me to stop being reckless.”
manon arched a eyebrow. “and are you?”
"is this how you all are?" you commented not impressed and cutting the tension, shaking your head slightly as you looked up to manon. "you and these frat guys swear you're the main character."
manon's lips curled into the barest of amused grins.
“don't hate us for knowing what we're worth. the world bends for the best, and that's never going to change.”
you scoffed, shifting your weight back and trying to match her arrogant tone. “you really believe that, don't you? that you're just entitled to anything you want. anytime, anywhere. no consequences or questions. just… take and take and take. because you think you're special for having a dick and daddy's last name.”
manon's smirk vanished.
"hit a nerve?" scoffing out as you rolled your eyes ready to turn around before speaking up one last time. "you know if you wanted to get to know me you could've just asked. i may be a freshman but i'm still a person, so next time, don't act like your only objective is to get in my pants."
"i never- that's not-"
manon let out a sharp breath, running a hand through her hair. for the first time—she looked vulnerable. it made your heart twist, but you clenched your jaw and held the ground.
"that's not what i wanted," she finally continued, voice quiet. "it's just that i…"
your shoulders relaxed an inch, some of your anger melting at the carefulness in her voice.
that still didn't mean you were going to trust her.
"you don't know me," manon murmured, eyes locked on yours. "so don't act like you do."
never mind... still an asshole. something tightened between you—a thread pulled taut from all the things neither said.
finally, after what felt like forever, you let your eyes drift away.
"i don't have to know you," you muttered, "to understand how greek life works. you get handed everything with a silver spoon, then pretend like you earned something when you didn't. it's bullshit."
“you know i would’ve actually liked to get to know you,” you said, disbelief tugging at your smile. "but turns out sloane was right." walking off back into the crowd as manon stood there appauled. "tough it out, dude," carter spoke from beside manon as if he watched the whole thing.
manon's fists clenched at her sides, jaw tightening. carter scoffed, crossing his arms. "you should've seen that one coming, bro."
"shut up."
"c'mon," carter murmured, nudging her shoulder. "don't let one snobby freshman get under your skin, yeah?"
manon exhaled a long breath, shaking her head like she was trying to shake off a nightmare. "i'm going to get a drink," she muttered, starting toward the bar. "that won't fix a damn thing," carter called after her. manon just raised a hand in a silent piss off gesture.
carter’s words lingered in the air between them, but manon didn’t laugh it off like she usually would. her jaw stayed tight, eyes still tracking the place where you’d disappeared into the crowd like she could rewind the last five minutes if she stared hard enough. the bass pulsed under her ribs, but it didn’t drown out what you’d said—it amplified it. entitled. just trying to get in your pants.
she dragged a hand down her face, exhaling through her nose as if she could physically push the frustration out of her lungs.
“i wasn’t—” she started again, but this time it wasn’t to you. it was to herself. to the version of you that had looked at her like she was something rotten under polished skin. carter nudged her again, lighter this time, trying to defuse what he clearly didn’t understand. manon shot him a look—not explosive, not dramatic, just sharp enough to make him take half a step back.
across the room, you were pretending to be fine.
you wedged yourself between laney and tati near the makeshift dance floor, letting the music swallow you whole. your heart was still racing, but now it wasn’t from tension—it was from adrenaline. anger sat hot in your chest, mixing dangerously with the alcohol. you could feel her eyes on you even without looking, and that awareness made your skin buzz in a way you hated.
laney leaned close, shouting something about a cute sophomore from bio, but you barely registered it. instead, your mind replayed the way manon’s voice had dipped when she’d said that’s not what i wanted. the hesitation. the almost-confession. you swallowed hard and forced yourself to laugh at something tati said, tossing your hair over your shoulder like you didn’t care.
you did care.
more than you wanted to admit.
back near the stairs, manon finally moved. not toward you—just forward, into the noise, grabbing a drink she didn’t need. mason said something to her that she didn’t fully hear, and she nodded absently, gaze flicking back to you again. watching you throw your head back in laughter that looked a little too forced. watching the way some random guy tried to slide closer to your waist.
her fingers tightened around her cup again.
on the dance floor, the random guy leaned closer to your ear, breath warm and sour as he shouted, “you look like you’re having fun.”
you smiled politely, stepping back just enough to create space without making a scene. “i am,” you lied smoothly, though your eyes betrayed you—glancing past him, scanning unconsciously for someone taller. darker. watching.
and there she was.
atill looking.
not amused anymore. not cocky. just… tense.
the guy’s hand hovered at your hip, unsure whether he had permission. you could feel the room tilt slightly—not from dizziness, but from awareness. a choice. if you stayed here, it would prove a point. if you walked away, it would prove another.
across the room, manon shifted her weight like she was about to step in—and then stopped herself.
because she doesn’t do heroics.
and you don’t need saving.
the music swelled again, lights flashing over sweat-slick skin and blurred faces, but between you two? the tension didn’t blur at all. it sharpened.
"i'm y/n," you shouted over the music to the tall, brunette in front of you with a smile, holding out your hand for him to shake as you both danced danced.
the guy blinked like he hadn’t expected that—like most girls didn’t introduce themselves mid-dance with a handshake and a challenge in their smile. then he laughed, loud and easy, slipping his hand into yours. his palm was warm and a little sweaty, grip confident but not crushing.
“ryan,” he shouted back, leaning closer so you could hear him over the bass. his fingers lingered a second too long before he let go, and instead of stepping back, he closed the distance—one hand hovering near your waist like he was asking without asking.
you could feel it immediately. not the spark. just… the weight of it. the expectation.
his body moved with yours, matching the rhythm, but your mind wasn’t syncing the same way. you found yourself hyper-aware of everything—the press of bodies around you, the way his cologne mixed with beer in the air, the fact that you could still feel someone watching from across the room like a heat lamp trained directly on your skin.
ryan leaned down again, lips brushing close to your ear. “you don’t look like you’re really here,” he said, voice lower now, less shouty. “you look distracted.”
and there it was.
because you were.
your eyes flicked beside his shoulder without permission—and of course, you found her.
manon hadn’t moved far. she was talking to mason, nodding at something he said, but her gaze wasn’t on him. it was on you. sharp. assessing. not jealous exactly—but not indifferent either.
ryan’s hand finally settled on your waist, tentative pressure, testing the boundary.
and across the room, manon’s jaw tightened just slightly.
ryan smiled at you like he thought he was winning something. “so, y/n,” he said, pulling you a fraction closer with that hand at your hip, “what year are you?”
"freshman," you responded in ryan's ear as you continued to dance with him, "not a bad thing i hope."
ryan’s eyebrows lifted, impressed rather than put off, and his hand at your waist grew a little more confident—thumb pressing in slightly as if he’d just discovered something he liked. “freshman?” he repeated, leaning in so close his breath skimmed your cheek. “no, that’s not a bad thing at all.”
his body shifted with yours, guiding the rhythm now instead of following it. the music thumped between you, bass vibrating up through the soles of your shoes, through your knees, into your chest. you forced yourself to relax into it—to let your hips move naturally, to let your smile stay playful instead of strained.
but you could feel it.
that gaze.
even without looking.
across the room, manon had stopped pretending to listen to mason entirely. her posture had gone rigid—arms crossed now, drink forgotten in her hand. there was something darker in her expression, not possessive exactly… but territorial. like she was trying to convince herself she didn’t care and failing.
ryan dipped his head again, lips brushing dangerously close to your ear. “you don’t dance like a freshman,” he murmured. his fingers slid a fraction lower along your waist—testing.
your stomach flipped—not from him. from the awareness of being watched.
if you turned your head just slightly, you knew you’d see her. you knew you’d catch that steady, unreadable stare that made your pulse stutter.
ryan’s hand began to guide you closer, chest nearly flush with yours now. “you sure you’re new here?” he asked, smirking like he’d uncovered a secret.
and somewhere near the stairs, manon finally pushed off the wall.
not rushing. not storming. just moving. slow. deliberate. like she’d made a decision.
"yes," you responded focusing on his eyes now instead of manon's aura that almost scared you in a way.
"what i don't fit the part?"
ryan grinned at that, teeth flashing under the shifting colored lights. his hand tightened at your waist just slightly, not enough to bruise but enough to stake a quiet claim. “no,” he said, shaking his head as if you’d missed the point entirely. “you fit too well. that’s the problem.”
he leaned in closer, forcing you to tilt your chin up to hold his gaze. his other hand brushed your wrist, guiding it to rest against his shoulder like the move had been rehearsed. “freshmen usually look lost,” he added, eyes scanning your face like he was trying to decode something. “you look like you’re choosing this.”
choosing him. choosing the dance. choosing to ignore the fact that the air behind you had shifted.
because it had.
you didn’t see her move, but you felt it—like the temperature dropped a degree. like the crowd parted without you noticing. ryan kept talking, something about majors and dorms and how he could show you around sometime, but his voice started to blur at the edges. your heartbeat was louder now, thudding behind your ears.
and then— a presence at your back. not touching. just there.
ryan’s eyes flicked past you for half a second, and something in his expression changed—confidence dulling, posture stiffening. his grip on your waist loosened without him realizing it.
“you do fit the part” a voice cut in smoothly from behind you—low, controlled, unmistakable. “but i don’t think this is her scene.”
manon didn’t raise her voice. she didn’t need to.
she stepped into your peripheral vision, close enough that you could see the tension in her jaw, the way her shoulders were set like she was bracing for impact. not at ryan.
at you.
ryan straightened slightly. “we’re just dancing,” he said defensively, though his tone had already softened. manon’s eyes didn’t leave yours. “i can see that.”
the music kept pounding. people kept laughing. the world kept moving. but the space between the three of you tightened like a wire pulled too far.
and now you were standing between them—ryan’s hand still hovering at your waist, manon close enough that if you stepped back half an inch, you’d collide with her chest.
no one was touching.
but everything felt like it was.
"sorry my friend is a little drunk," you half-joked with a tried smile, stepping back into manon's front as you place your hand on her chest getting ready to lead her far from the brute in front of you. not wanting to break the mixer over a fight from two people you barely even know. "i'll see you around, ryan," you offered with a gentle smile.
when your palm flattened against manon’s chest before you even fully processed the decision. solid. warm. steady heartbeat under your fingers that did not match the calm expression on her face. for half a second she didn’t move—just looked down at your hand like it was something dangerous, like contact itself was a line neither of you were supposed to cross.
ryan gave a tight, awkward laugh, already stepping back. “yeah. sure. see you around,” he muttered, the bravado gone now that the dynamic had shifted. he didn’t argue. didn’t puff his chest. just melted back into the crowd like he suddenly understood he’d wandered into something more complicated than a dance.
you pulled manon with you, fingers curling into the fabric of her hoodie as you guided her through the bodies and flashing lights. she let you. that was the thing. for someone who radiated control, she let you steer her—down the hallway, past the staircase, into a pocket of space near the back exit where the music dulled just enough to think.
the second you stopped, you dropped your hand from her chest like it burned.
“what is your deal?” you demanded, breath still uneven from the noise and the closeness and the way her presence scrambled your thoughts.
manon stared at you for a moment instead of answering. not cold. not smug. just… searching. her jaw flexed once, and she dragged a hand through her hair like she was trying to reset herself.
“my deal?” she repeated quietly, incredulous but controlled. “you think i'm the one with the deal?”
she took a step closer—not aggressive, just enough to close the space you’d created. her voice lowered, forcing you to focus on her instead of the party behind you. “you’re the one who walked up to me. you’re the one who keeps looking at me like you want to prove something. then you go grind on some random guy like you’re trying to make a point.”
her eyes flicked over your face, softer for a split second before she caught it and hardened again. “i wasn’t going to fight him. i don’t need to.” a beat. “but i wasn’t going to watch him touch you like that either.”
the honesty slipped out before she could dress it up in arrogance.
she seemed to realize it immediately, shoulders tightening.
“i don’t have a deal,” she added, quieter now. “i just don’t like pretending i don’t see what’s right in front of me.”
and her gaze dropped—briefly—to your mouth before returning to your eyes.
"you're a complete asshole," you scoffed as you pointed at her with your nail, "i don't even know you other than the fact that you retweeted 'who's this?' on your private account about my post for bid day. and before you say anything, yes i found out."
manon actually flinched.
it was small—barely there—but you saw it. the confidence didn’t evaporate, but it shifted. her shoulders straightened like she was bracing for impact instead of delivering it. the smirk she usually defaulted to didn’t come this time.
“you found that,” she repeated slowly, like she was recalculating the entire situation in her head. her hand dropped from where it had been half-gesturing, fingers curling loosely at her side. “it was on a private account.”
her eyes searched your face—not mocking, not dismissive. assessing damage.
“you think i tweeted that to humiliate you?” she asked, voice lower now, stripped of the swagger she’d been hiding behind all night. the bass from the party thudded faintly through the wall behind you, but it felt far away compared to the tension stretched tight between your bodies.
she exhaled sharply through her nose and glanced down for a second before meeting your eyes again. “i didn’t know who you were. that was the point. you showed up out of nowhere and suddenly everyone’s whispering your name like you’re a storyline.”
her jaw tightened—not in anger at you, but frustration at herself. “it wasn’t meant to be cruel.”
a pause. then, quieter—more honest than she probably meant to be: “it was curiosity.”
her gaze held yours, steady and unguarded for a fraction too long.
“and maybe,” she added, almost reluctantly, “a little panic.”
"right… well i never said it was to humiliate me. i'm pointing the tweet out because you're making it seem like i'm the one obsessed with you when i don't even know who you are. i'm not the one reposting your twitter posts on my private account."
that landed.
you watched it land.
manon’s mouth opened slightly like she was about to interrupt you—but she didn’t. her tongue pressed against the inside of her cheek instead, jaw flexing as she absorbed every word. the music behind you swelled and dipped, shadows from passing bodies sliding across her face, but she didn’t look away.
“i'm not obsessed with you,” she said finally, but the conviction wasn’t sharp—it was defensive. her fingers dragged through her hair again, slower this time, like she was buying herself a second to think. “reposting something isn’t obsession.”
her eyes narrowed—not at you, but at the situation unraveling faster than she’d anticipated. “you posted about becoming a KD. it blew up. people were talking. i made a comment.” a beat. “that’s not stalking.”
but her shoulders weren’t relaxed. they were tight. controlled.
“you walked into a system that thrives on attention,” she continued, voice steadying as she found familiar ground. “everyone watches everyone. that’s greek life. don’t act like you didn’t know that.”
the accusation wasn’t cruel—but it wasn’t gentle either.
and yet… her gaze softened just slightly when it dropped to your hands—still trembling faintly from adrenaline and alcohol. when it came back up to your face, something quieter had replaced the edge.
“i'm not trying to paint you as obsessed,” she said more evenly. “i just don’t like being painted as some frat stereotype who only sees you as a conquest.”
the word lingered between you. conquest. her throat bobbed when she swallowed.
“if i wanted that,” she added, voice lowering, “i wouldn’t be standing here arguing with you. i’d be back on the stairs pretending i don’t care.”
but she was here and she clearly cared enough to stay.
you looked at manon. like actually looked at her for the first time with a humane expression of understanding. maybe you were being to harsh and hostile…
"i hate that i'm going to do this," you sighed out as you put your hand out in front of her, "give me your phone."
for a second, manon just stared at your hand like you’d asked her to hand over something far more dangerous than a phone.
her brows pulled together slightly—not suspicious, just confused. the tension in her shoulders eased a fraction, replaced with cautious curiosity. “you’re… what?” she asked, the edge in her voice gone now, traded for something almost incredulous.
you kept your hand out, steady this time.
the music behind you swelled again, laughter spilling down the hallway, but the space between you felt oddly quiet. intimate in a way that had nothing to do with proximity and everything to do with the fact that neither of you were posturing anymore.
manon hesitated.
you watched the internal debate flicker across her face—control versus trust, instinct versus ego. then, slowly, she reached into the pocket of her jeans. the movement was deliberate, eyes never leaving yours as she pulled her phone out and held it for half a second before placing it in your palm.
her fingers brushed yours in the transfer.
warm. steady.
“don’t drop it,” she muttered, but there was no bite to it—just a reflexive attempt at humor to mask the vulnerability of the gesture. she leaned back slightly against the wall, crossing her arms loosely now instead of defensively.
you went into the contacts app and input your number, finishing off your contact with 'y/n'. handing the phone back to manon with a soft look, "one strike and this is done."
manon didn’t take the phone right away.
her eyes dropped to the screen first—thumb hovering near yours as if she needed to confirm this was real and not some kind of test. when she finally did take it back, her fingers closed around the device slowly, deliberately, like she understood the weight of what you’d just done.
you weren’t flirting.
you weren’t surrendering.
you were setting terms.
her gaze flicked to the contact name. just y/n. no emoji. no joke. no softness to hide behind. something about that seemed to steady her more than anything else tonight.
“one strike,” she repeated quietly, locking her phone and sliding it into her back pocket. the corner of her mouth twitched—not into a smirk, but something almost respectful. “you always negotiate like this?”
she shifted her weight off the wall, standing a little straighter now—not towering, not crowding you. just present. her voice lost its edge entirely when she added, “i don’t usually get second chances.”
that wasn’t arrogance.
it was fact.
her eyes searched your face again, slower this time, like she was memorizing something instead of assessing it. the hallway lights caught in them, softening the hard lines you’d first noticed across the porch.
“i don’t plan on using that strike,” she said, more serious than you expected. “but i should warn you… i’m not great at doing things halfway.”
the music swelled again from the other room, a reminder that the world hadn’t paused just because the two of you had. but something had shifted. the hostility had cooled into something steadier. more dangerous, maybe.
embers.
still hot.
still capable of burning.
her hand twitched slightly at her side like she was resisting the urge to reach for you again.
“so,” she asked, quieter now, almost careful, “does this mean you’re done trying to prove you don’t care?”
"figured everyone deserves at least one shot," you said lowly as a soft smile played on your lips, placing your hands behind your back like a giddy schoolgirl, "can't judge someone based on what people say."
something in manon’s expression softened in a way that didn’t look rehearsed.
not the polished VP mask. not the cocky frat persona. just… her.
her shoulders dropped a fraction, tension easing out of her frame like she hadn’t realized how tightly wound she’d been until you gave her permission to exhale. the hallway light caught the side of her face, and for the first time tonight, she wasn’t calculating her next move—she was just looking at you.
her gaze drifted to your hands tucked behind your back, the nervous energy you were trying to disguise with confidence. the small smile you couldn’t quite suppress. It did something to her. you could see it—like she was trying not to let it.
“i’ve earned most of what people say about me,” she added, not defensive. honest. “i’m not exactly… perfect.”
a beat passed between you. the bass from the party pulsed through the walls, but it felt distant—like you were standing in a quiet pocket carved out just for this.
“but,” she continued, stepping a little closer—not enough to trap you, just enough that the air shifted again—“i don’t want you forming opinions about me based on whispers in a sorority group chat.” her head tilted slightly, studying you with something softer than intensity now. curiosity. maybe even admiration.
“you don’t judge based on what people say,” she said slowly. “so what are you judging me on?”
her eyes dropped briefly to your smile before lifting back to your gaze.
“and be honest.”
"for who you are," you replied in almost an instant, "but i'm not judging you. i'm seeing who you are."
that stopped her. not in a dramatic way. not like before, when she’d bristled or deflected. this time it was quieter—like something in her chest had been nudged open without warning.
her eyes held yours, steady and unguarded, and for once there was no clever comeback forming behind them. just thought. just the slow realization that you weren’t sparring anymore—you were paying attention.
“seeing who i am?” she repeated softly, almost to herself. her jaw flexed once, but it wasn’t defensive. it was restraint. like she wasn’t used to someone looking at her without either idolizing or condemning her.
she shifted her weight closer again, not enough to crowd you, but enough that your knees were nearly brushing. “most people don’t try that,” she admitted. “they decide in the first five minutes whether i’m the villain or the prize.”
her gaze dipped briefly—your mouth, your posture, the way your hands were still tucked behind your back like you were holding yourself in place. when her eyes came back up, they were steadier. warmer.
“and what exactly are you seeing?” she asked, voice lower now—not challenging, not mocking. vulnerable in a way she probably wouldn’t admit out loud.
"someone who deserves a chance," you answered with a sigh, turning on your heel to head back to the party but then turning your head to look at manon with a smile, "i'll be expecting a text after tonight…"
her lips curve—almost a smile, crooked and surprised—and you catch the tiny softening at the corner of manon bannerman’s eyes like a promise she didn’t mean to make. for a beat she lets the hallway noise swallow the party, thumb idly brushing the seam of her pocket where your number now lives, and you can see the calculation behind her gaze: boundaries, reputation, the risk of something that might not be worth the fallout.
she steps closer so the heat of her breath brushes your cheek, fingers ghosting over your wrist as if to anchor the moment, and then, quietly, she says, “i’ll text you,” the words low enough that they feel meant only for you.
you turn away with that small smile pressed to your face, feeling watched in the best possible way, when you walk back into the throb of the mixer the noise hits you like a wave, but the thought of her—that steadied, oddly vulnerable look—keeps you steadier than the liquor does. behind you, she watches until the crowd swallows you, phone warm in her hand, words forming in her head like a line she’s not sure she should cross.
then, finally, she slides her thumb over the screen and begins to type, the hush of the hallway left behind as you rejoin the chaos.
manon doesn’t text you immediately.
she watches you disappear into the crowd first—shoulders squared, chin lifted like you didn’t just negotiate a ceasefire in a dim hallway. the party swallows you whole again: bass rattling the windows, bodies moving in flashes of neon and sweat. only then does she glance down at her phone, your name glowing on the screen like something fragile and reckless all at once.
her thumb hovers.
she types. deletes. types again.
"one strike feels unfair. i’m competitive."
she stares at it for a second, jaw tight, then hits send before she can overthink it. the message whooshes away into the night between you.
across the room, your phone buzzes in your back pocket.
you feel it immediately—like a secret tapping against your spine. you don’t check it right away. you make yourself wait. you weave through clusters of laughing students, past the kitchen where someone is chanting over a failed keg stand, past the staircase where ryan is now pretending you don’t exist.
when you finally reach your girls, laney spots you first.
her eyes narrow in exaggerated suspicion as she leans against the sticky countertop, red cup in hand. “ohhhh no,” she sings over the music, grabbing your forearm and tugging you closer. “i saw you disappear with her.”
tati gasps dramatically. harper practically chokes on her drink.
sloane turns slower than the rest of them.
you school your expression into something painfully innocent, blinking up at laney like you have no idea what she’s talking about. “disappear?” you echo sweetly. “i went to get air. this house smells like regret and tequila.”
laney squints at you harder. “uh-huh. and the air just happened to look like manon bannerman?”
you shrug, biting back the smile that’s already betraying you. your phone buzzes again in your pocket—another message—and you feel heat crawl up your neck.
sloane notices.
her eyes flick between you and laney, then down to where your hand casually rests near your back pocket. she doesn’t look angry. she looks… resigned. almost impressed.
laney leans toward sloane with a smug grin, voice loud enough to carry even over the music. “i told you so, slo.”
sloane exhales through her nose, shaking her head as a reluctant smile pulls at her lips. “this is going to be a disaster,” she mutters—but there’s no real bite to it anymore.
you just stand there, trying—and failing—not to glow.
because across the room, near the stairs, manon isn’t watching you anymore. she doesn’t need to.
