SMILE.COM
jaya fake dating au

MY EYES SHOOT open. It was a dream. Ever since breaking up with Cole, my dreams are filled up with him. Every night, I see his angelic features and the devilish glint in his chocolate eyes triggering anger and agony. Tears of frustration would prick the corners of my eyes; I'd wake up with a pillow bearing a dried-up pool beneath my cheek. It's absolutely pathetic how a boy — a boy whose black heart is engulfed in evil — could strike me with a variety of negative emotions bubbling the desire for revenge. Revenge never leads to achieving the target, but with a mind shrouded by desperation, the virtuous strength within me yields to sin without a war. But it's only an ideal, not an aim; it's a fantasy, and fantasies don't morph into reality.

Cole was a dream. Dreams wilt into oblivion; they don't last because they're not real, just like his love. In movies and books, the couples' immortal love endure hardships thrown their way until the end of time, even if the beginnings of their love story mirror ours. Hate at first sight. I was foolish, so naive, to conjure up a vivid scene of us saying vows to love and to cherish 'till death do us apart. Our story was a sad book with a merry start and an ending gushing out tears. I remember the first time we met; every minute, second, and emotion. I remember insecurity blowing waves of dislike, and the judgemental squint in my eyes scanning him from top to bottom. Although loathing was capable of blinding me of the good inside him, it failed to blind me from his perfectly-moulded features, long ebony lashes from every girl's dream, and his faintly-curled stygian locks styled to perfection.

Like every other story, hints were hidden in paragraphs; hints so visible but blinded by love. Whenever my skin grazed his, he flinched — just a bit, barely noticeable. Whenever my eyes stared into his, guilt stirred in his chocolate eyes. I assumed four years of living at a boarding school made physical touch a foreign sensation; assumed the guilt was due to not feeling good enough for me, which was far from the truth. I was never suspicious — well, perhaps a bit, but blamed it on doubts. Every foreshadowing was set aside.

Flickering my gaze to the clock, I gasp. Panic surges into my body, and I frantically hop off bed. It's 7.15, fifteen minutes before school starts. Quickly, I run off to the shower, get dried before slipping into a black-and-white t-shirt and a pair of jeans. With my bag slinging on my shoulder clumsily, I sprint downstairs, expecting to see toast in between Kai's teeth and our parents hanging around. For the first time in forever, the living room is deserted like a desert. The sofas standing against the walls facing the TV are unoccupied, neither are the stools by the counter, and the stove isn't emitting sapphire flames beneath a steel pressure cooker. No people. No breakfast. Only lifeless objects.

Have they all died in their sleep? All three of them with their tongues sticking out of their mouths like dogs drooling for food but with dead eyes? Very, no, extremely unlikely. Undoubtedly, they have forgotten that this is a Friday, which translates to 'school' and 'work.' They should be up and running for the sake of their lives. But I can't blame them. Forgetfulness strikes the senile mind. Blood boiling, I dart to Kai's room in the second storey, next to mine.

I bang on the door. Instead of politely letting me enter, what greets me is the whine of a horse wounding my ears. Kai has a talent of looking like animals. The hair of a porcupine and the voice of a mare. "Let me in!" I exclaim.

"No!" he moans.

"Why not?" I shout.

"I need to sleep... s'mores," he slurs, and I could imagine him choking on his rancid saliva. "Or I'll die."

"Dreaming of s'mores, I see," I taunt, sneering at the door. "You can have some downstairs if you wake the heck up!"

"Shut up! It's eight! Do you need anger management? Do I look like a therapist?" he asks rhetorically, and I was about to speak before he continues his rant. "Go away, okay? Shoo. Shoo-shoo-shoo."

"Exactly, it's seven fifteen!"

"So?"

"School!" An absurd sound a mixture of suffocation and weeping booms into my ears, increasing the irritation bubbling within me. "Are you having a heart attack from fear or drowning in tears? Wake up, Kai!"

"I'm sorry," he apologises, "I laughed at your stupidity. It's Saturday!"

Forgetfulness strikes the senile mind.

A minute of silence.

"You're quiet. Are you having a moment of silence for your death due to embarrassment?" The door swings open, revealing an eighteen-year-old with poop-emoji hair he refers to as golden brown flame representing his "hotness." An interesting choice of words. Not quite the word that I'd use to describe his attractiveness. His skin is tan, a shade darker than mine, and lips carmine as wine which he obsessively consumes. "Aww, my microscopic sister has spread her wings! What a lovely tomato you've turned into. Very ripe."

The back of my hand slaps his finger poking into my cheek. "Very funny. Witty. But let's see how hilarious it is when you find your eye rolling on the floor."

"Very violent."

"Very true."

"Very nice to see you, young infant. I've got to go now." And the door slams shut.

Very annoying.

Back slouching from exhaustion, I stroll to my room, thoughts roaming from revenge to blankness, emotions ranging from anger to sadness. I swing open the door, slamming it shut as my eyes fall shut, and my body falls to the mattress. The stinging pain poking my head returns along with memories of Cole. His face haunts me like a ghost, but beautiful as a gorgeous prince charming engulfed in life, with features a void of flaws, carved to perfection. But prince charming is a saviour, whereas Cole stabs his scythe into my back, and thrusts me into a hole destroying my psyche. And prince charming blesses Snow White's life with joy, while Cole sucks out the sunshine in mine. All that's left is black. Darkness. Despair.

Destruction.

Revenge reigns my thoughts. Revenge is evil, and evil is seductive. I could feel myself approaching its whispers, revenge, revenge, revenge. Hurt him like he hurt you. Leave him begging for mercy. I know I shouldn't yield to darkness, but darkness is despair, and desperation for satisfaction flows in my veins, and only it could cool my boiling blood; only it could stop streams from scalding down my eyes. I couldn't deny its offer, so my trembling hand shakes with the devil's.

For the second time today, my eyes shoot open. Instead of a frown, my lips quirk into a smirk. I know exactly what to do. Sliding into a sitting position, my arm stretches to grab my phone set on the wooden bedside table. I type out a message. Three words. Eight letters. Desperate.

"You're in a bad mood."

"Must you state the obvious?" My eyes avert from the menu written with chalk on the board above the counter, attention now on the ginger. His auburn curls are dishevelled as usual, the sunlight streaming from the windows making some strands appear vermillion. A sheepish smile seeps into his lips, his blue eyes dropping to the menu before they rise to meet mine once again. His cheeks sprinkled with freckles flush faintly pink. "Umm..." I hum, clueless in how to express my request.

"Yes?" his smile stretches further, the innocent glint in his eyes brightening. I shake my head, deciding to tell him once we get our order. Awkward silence falls upon us. The boy begins fiddling with the sleeve of his baby blue hoodie while my eyes wander out the window beside our table. "So," he trails off, "how's your day so far?"

"Good," I lie, a hint of sarcasm in my voice. "Yours?"

"I don't know. Good, I guess. Played some video games... did a little bit of inventing — designing, to be specific. Thought it'd be cool to have a spoon that feeds yourself. The idea popped in my head when I was playing Fist to Face 3 the other day," he replies, and guilt trickles through me for sounding so uninterested in the conversation before. "What did you do, before coming here?"

"Not much," I say, shrugging my shoulders. "I hung out with Camille at the mall." Jay's intrigued gaze on my face forces me to proceed. "Shade was there, her boyfriend," I chuckle, a bitter undertone in my voice as I attempt to maintain an apathetic mask. From his unwavering joy, it's safe to assume he is oblivious to it. I don't know whether it's my need to vent or simply making sure he doesn't shower me questions regarding the matter — just in case he's a great actor — but I add, "great guy."

His asian-ish eyes widens slightly, seeming to have heard the sarcasm laced in my tone. "Not a great fan of him, are you?" he asks, the corners of his lips quirk up into his signature smile, a brow raised a bit. His expression is mischievous, but the stretch of his eyes from the grin playing on his lips destroys it, and instead awakens the playfulness of a child whose cheeks have been pinched a million times from cuteness.

I shake my head, too exhausted to proceed lying. It's not like snitching on me benefits him; he doesn't look like the type of person to commit such a thing. I run my fingers through my hair before it lays on the table as before. "He's a suspicious guy. Whenever I tell Camille, she says it's my trust issues," I answer, a slight sneer wringing my lips. "Like, since when do I have trust issues?" A short pause. The sneer seeps into a ghost of a smile. "Sorry, I'm just pissed. The day started off not so great."

He nods, darting his eyes to the table when we lock eyes. Like previously, he meets my eyes seconds after, a clown-like grin replacing the frown on his lips. "I was wondering, what made you wanna hang out with me?" Red blooms upons his cheeks and nose. "I meant, I-I know I'm cool a-and — never mind, that sounds arrogant as heck. What I mean is..." His index finger twirls the string on his hoodie, letting out a forced laugh sounding exactly like choking. "Why'd you ask me to pick you up?"

"So... um... it'd mean so much to me — I'd be extremely grateful if you could, like, maybe help me with something?" I state, but it sounds more like a question than a statement, fingers combing back my curtain bangs. He stares at me intently. I nod slowly, eyes roaming around the room, mind rummaging through my vocabulary to form a sentence far from embarrassing, one that wouldn't form droplets slithering down my burning skin coated with sweat.

Instead of continuing, I inspect the entire store, stalling. There are wooden chairs with red cushions, and tables engraved with traditional designs standing upon polished, mahogany floorboards. Against the beige walls lean towering shelves painted bronze, filled up with tea bags from top to bottom. The shojis are slid open, allowing the afternoon breeze to blow into the room. Lanterns hang on the ceiling, lighting up the shop with golden glows washing amber hues similar to a sunset on a bright day. Modernised, but has traditional elements making it stand out from other shops lining beside the roads.

When my gaze drifts to him, I am met by a pair of eyes staring into mine expectantly. I gulp, fear flooding into my body, teeth digging into my bottom lip. As much as I search for words to decrease or even destroy the shame that would come with conveying my request, I can't. Inhaling the air swirling with jasmine aroma, I say, "Could you maybe — you know what? Never mind. I'll tell you once we order some drinks."

With that I stand up, eyes avoiding his, and stride to the counter while muttering out a string of curses. Never in my life have I succumbed to fear. Never have I allowed myself to run off from cowardice, the little voice in my head always forcing me to face my fears instead. Until now. A male voice snaps me out of my thoughts, gaining my attention. "What would you like, miss?" Other than the boredom in his tone, his droopy eyes and lips straightened to a horizontal line screams his hatred towards his job.

"Black coffee," I say.

"Oh, yes, very popular," he says flatly. "Here we call it serenitea — wait, no, it's called prosperitea." My brows furrow in confusion, which he must have seen because he chuckles, the dullness in his silver eyes replaced with amusement brightening his features, but failing to remove the darkness shrouding him. "Bizarre choice, but then again, the old man, who happens to be my father, is bizarre himself." Each movement he makes swishes his shaggy shoulder-length obsidian hair, releasing his long bangs from being tucked behind his ears. It is then I notice the green streak in his hair. "What about your friend over there?" He gestures to Jay by tilting his head behind me briefly, assumably towards Jay.

My head whips to him. He's gazing out the window with a dreamy smile.

"Forgot to ask him?"

I turn my head to the raven-haired young man. "How'd you know?"

"You looked nervous before you walked away, so I assumed you were talking about something else," he says, resting his chin on his palm. "You could say I'm very observant. It's not like there's anyone else in the room other than the two of you. A date or a breakup?"

My brows raise, chin nudged up. "You're not a detective, are you —" My gaze trails down to the name tag pinned on the left side of his chest. "— Wu?" Shock surges into me, and my eyes flicker to his grey ones immediately. "Wait, are you Lloyd's cousin, the one whose hobby in making fun of him?"

"Not part of my job to answer such," his eyes squint, brows furrowed in mock seriousness, "personal questions." His eyes glance behind me before they meet mine once more. "Wouldn't want to keep Mr Freckles over there waiting, would you?" He tucks a side of his bangs behind his ear. My jaw clenches, lips pressed together tightly to prevent screaming at him, and hands clenched to suppress the urge to stick my middle finger in front of his face. "Aren't you gonna go ask him in that high-pitched voice of yours?" he asks, smirking as he adds, "Miss?"

"I'm pretty sure he's busy daydreaming," I retort calmly.

"Pretty sure he's staring," he looks past my shoulder, his smirk larger than ever, "at you." This time, I don't turn around, stubbornly refusing to bless the boy before me with satisfaction.

What would he like? A guy with a toothy grin like his and an unhealthy obsession with cotton candy would undoubtedly love anything that tastes like candy. "The sweetest drink you have — that's what he wants," I say. My eyes scan the menu blackboard behind Morro. "Hot chocolate."

"We call that sweetea," he scoffs, standing up straight, a knowing glint in his eyes. I raise my eyebrows, indicating him to speak what's on his mind. "Feels like you're judging a book from its cover, and he's the book. A little bit prejudiced, aren't you?" My lips part, about to say something when he turns around to make our drinks, causing my eyes to narrow on his back, disgust contorting my lips into a scowl. His body covers what he's doing, but the clinks and taps tells me he's stirring one of our drinks in a ceramic cup. "Are you going to just stand there?"

My eyes expand.

"I can see your reflection on the glasses on this table," he says. "You might want to rest those legs. Maybe sit down with Mr Freckles and chat about whatever that got you flustered. Maybe try confessing your love for him. Might get him blushing like a seed-full watermelon."

"Aren't you supposed to not irritate your customers so that they come here again? You're doing a rubbish job at it. Might as well quit," I suggest, finding the idea of leaving him without a fight repulsive.

"Oh, yes, I forgot," he starts, and surprises me with a question I was not expecting at all. "What's your name?" With wide eyes, I remain silent, glaring daggers at his broad back skeptically, arms crossed. "This might not be a coffee shop, but we need a name for your drinks so that you know when to come. That is, unless you want to stand there until I'm done. I'll take my time. Pissing you off is my newfound hobby, and I could even call it a talent. Do you enjoy swimming, miss?"

"Mia. My name's Mia," I tell him. "I recommend you get rid of that crappy attitude of yours unless you want to see this shop go bankrupt. The only reason I'm here is cause of how deserted it is. I probably won't come ever again, not until you get fired. Of course being the son of the owner of this place makes it impossible for that to happen, but a girl can dream." Flashing him a crooked grin quite similar to his, I stroll towards Jay, whose curious gaze is trained on me. "Yeah?"

"Nothing," he replied, shaking his head. "What took you so long?"

"He's a terrible dude," I say casually, taking a seat. "I don't let guys like him win an argument."

"Argument?" he echoes, brows furrowed in what I assume in confusion, or shock, or both. "Is it related to your order or..." he trails off, probably having something to say but prefers to avoid saying it in case I get offended. From the cautious look on his face, and something in the way he eyes me, I suppose he's watching his words.

"It's not my anger. Just him being a jerk for no rational reason," I reply. "And I got you some hot chocolate."

"Cool," he grins, a hand tousling his auburn curls, gaze on the table before he lifts it, avoiding my eyes watching his obvious discomfort. He straightens his posture on the chair, a finger twirling a loose thread on his sleeve. Shifting his gaze to lock with my eyes, he clears his throat. "What were you gonna tell me? You know, before you left," he asks, his eyes twinkling with the curiosity of a child craving for knowledge.

I chew on my lip, chest rising and falling at a rapid pace.

"About you needing help. I'll do it, definitely — I mean, y'know, once you tell me what it is that you need help with." A lopsided grin is etched onto his face. "Gosh, I'm so sorry. I'm rambling right now and you were probably gonna tell me but — yeah. I should stop. Sorry." A pink tinge powders his cheeks as he rubs the back of his neck while letting out breathy chuckles. What seems to be relaxation washes over him at the sight of my lips twitching into a faint smile. "The weather's great today; sunshine and rainbows." His eyes grow larger. He mutters, "gosh, I'm doing it again, aren't I?"

The toothless grin on my lips expands, amused. "So, like, only you can help me with this cause —"

"Mia!" exclaims a voice from the counter.

A puzzled expression strikes the boy's soft features, his baby blue eyes scanning the entire shop. Without sparing him an explanation, I amble to the counter.

"Did you confess your undying love for him?" Morro questions, to which I simply inhale subtly to cool down my boiling blood.

"Yeah." My lips stretch into a broad grin laced with sarcasm, hands grabbing the drinks poured into a paper cup with a lid on. "No," I say, twirling around, and walk to Jay with wide steps. Placing them on the table, I sit down. "I need your help," I begin, anxiety creeping through my body quickening my pulse. "You know about my split-up with," I pause, his name bile on my tongue, "Cole, right?"

He nods. "Yeah," he hums. "What about it?"

This is it. It's now or never. "Be my boyfriend for five months please?" My fingers brush through my raven hair, lips smiling and teeth biting my bottom lip. "We don't actually have to date. Just act like it to, like —" My eyes shoot to the ceiling, searching for words to explain my plea. They drop to meet his shocked eyes. "— to, like, not make me look like a fool cause yesterday, Camille told me that Cole has a new girlfriend. So, like, um — I'm happy for him, really, but if we fake date then maybe I won't get taunted at."

"You get taunted?" his voice sounds surprised rather than suspicious of my lie. I nod. Another lie. "This is the only way you won't get bullied?" he asks. Slowly, I nod. "I don't know, Nya, I kinda feel like a relationship should be, y'know, genuine." He says it steadily, his usually-high-pitched voice low and gentle.

"So... is that a no?" Disappointment gushes into my veins.

Guilt whirls in his eyes, the smile often found on his face gone, replaced with a faint frown. "I'll- I'll think about it."

The ride home is silent except for the rap music blaring out the speakers spitting out cuss words every two seconds. It's hard to believe someone like him — someone whose lips are always stretched to a goofy grin, whose eyes twinkle with immortal innocence, whose button nose sprinkled with freckles would scrunch childishly at something disgusting — would tap his fingers on the steering wheel in sync with the beats of the bass. The faint smile on his face, and the dreaminess in his eyes makes him somewhat appear like he is oblivious to the vulgar lyrics, making him seem like a kid dancing to a sad song merrily. The seat of his car is positioned perfectly, but I couldn't help but keep squirming in discomfort.

My eyes gaze outside emotionlessly, finding my thoughts roaming from Cole to something random, to the embarrassment I felt at Jay's rejection. The car zooms past blurry buildings and colorful blobs in a flash of lightning, the roaring engine muted by my heartbeat booming into my ears as painfully as my heart pounds against my ribcage. The heat on my cheeks burns hotter when the embarrassing loop ends, introducing a memory of Cole and I. This time, what I feel is untamed fury curling my hands into balls barely able to bear not punching anything or anyone. I don't know whether it's my expression or my chest heaving up and down at a rapid pace that attracts Jay's attention.

"Nya?" His voice is still high-pitched but deeper than usual. "Are you okay?" he asks, to which I nod. "You're red..." His eyes examine me from head to toe, and if he is concerned, he conceals it excellently with a semi-amused smile. "And sweating." They look back to the road, and I notice him stealing glances of me from the corner of my eyes.

I rest my chin on my fist in an attempt to loosen up my tense shoulders, eyes glued ahead. "Oh, it's nothing," I laugh lightly, running my hand through my hair as I briefly bite my bottom lip. The same hand then fans my face. "It's just hot in here," I say. A half truth; the air in the car spreads warmth throughout my body as though I am embraced by the arms of a lover.

"Would you like to turn down the —"

"No, no, it's fine," I answer, shaking my head with raised brows, arms crossed over my chest. My gaze darts to him, returning to the road in a matter of seconds. "About the fake dating thing..." Unlike expected, he responds with silence instead of a sentence and a nervous smile, sending tremors to my madly vibrating heart piercing emotional pain to my crumbled mentality. "I-" What should I say? I was joking? I was high? I was deep in desperation? Truth or lie? "I'm sorry about that. It was a stupid question and I wish I'd tell you I was joking but that'd be a lie, and I don't want to make things more complicated by lying to you. So, let's just forget about it." I end by giving shooting the boy a toothy grin.

"Well, actually, I've been thinking about it throughout the ride and — I'm shocked about it, too, but — I kinda think it'd benefit me quite a lot," he reveals, lips curved into a cheshire grin, his eyes squinted to slits.

"Oh?" My eyes enlarge.

"I broke up with Scott a few months ago. He broke up with me, specifically. The reasons were I talk to much, I'm annoying and told me I liked someone else," he blabbers, a hand waving all over the place for, I'm assuming, emphasis. "And I was like, wow, you're a great guy bestie. And then I told him about his stinky feet and flat butt and even insulted his height. Yeah, yeah, I guess tall is hot or whatevs, but his height is ugly. He is ugly. Somehow, even his armpit is ugly." He gags, tongue lolling out of his mouth. "After that, I told him a valuable lesson of wisdom, evaluate yourself first, banana!"

Not knowing how to respond, I nod my head as if I'm interested in his tale, when the only thing that interests me is the fact that he dated a male. "You're gay?"

"Nope." He twists his head towards me for a second. "Bi. I mostly date girls. I've only dated two guys. I'm friends with all of them except —" He sighs, rolling his eyes. "— you guessed it, Scott the Flat-butt. It sorta rhymes." His brows furrow, eyes narrowed a bit. "I think it's called sibilance. Yeah, it's definitely that." The awkwardness hanging in the air reduces the more he rants about Scott, which slowly turns into a rant about random things like hovering spoons that feed you. All is well until his eyes grow wide and round as a basketball, and his palm darts to his nape, rubbing circles on it. His cheeks turn pink, confidence morphing into shyness. "Sorry. Sorry. I ramble a lot. It's quite annoying. Some people literally tell me to shut up and I'd be like, no you shut up, my guy! Okay, I should stop."

"I don't mind, really," I confess.

He bursts into a fit out laughter. "That's a first. I can't believe you're willing to endure the pain. That's the main reason people break up with me, and here you are, asking for more of my high-pitched, ear-piercing voice. But, yeah, that voice deserves to win Ninjago's Got Talent, am I right?" The side of his wrist wipes his eyes as he coughs. "That sounded so Kai and condensing. I am so sorry. I'm shutting up now."

Seconds bleed into minutes of peace and quiet, but with a bomb sitting beside me, chaos reigns. "To answer your question, yes, I'll be happy to be your boyfriend for five years," he cheers, beaming bright as the sun over the blue sky.

My jaw drops. "Dude, what?"

"Five months," he corrects, a red blush coating his cheeks. "That's what I said, Miss Deaf." Colour drains out his pale skin, a storm of horror in his eyes. "Oh. My. Gosh. That is extremely rude. I apologise." He chuckles seconds after the statement, murmuring, "I'm so smart. I sounded like Zane the Genius."

"Jay," I start, earning a hum, "could you please shut up?"

He nods, a sheepish grin creeping onto his face. "But quick question." He speaks slower, voice softer, a finger playing with the string of his hoodie. "What are the rules?" My brows crease in confusion. He probably assumes my lack of response is perplexity, because he continues, "everything needs rules. For example, maybe we could make a no-kissing rule, and then a no cheek-touching rule, no sitting on each other's lap. My bones would shatter if you sit on my lap, but if you ask me to sit on your lap, I would gladly sit." It takes him a moment to process the words that slipped past his lips most likely accidentally. Once again, pink surges to his cheeks. "That sounded so wrong," he whispers quickly.

"No kissing. Only hugging," I suggest flatly, staring at the sky through the window. A flock of birds soar through clouds, turning to black spots, and vanishing. I turn to him. His eyes never leave the road. "No holding hands."

"I'm not sure..." he starts, scratching his neck momentarily, his brows furrowed slightly. "I don't think anyone would believe we're dating if we don't hold hands, but if that's what you want." His head whips towards me, the corners of his lips lifted a bite, and I could feel his anticipating eyes examine my expression with utmost curiosity. I shrug, humming. His gaze averts to the road. "And maybe cheek kisses? It's not intimate at all. I do it to my mom every day, and she does it to me every single day," he explains, and I could see his grin expand, revealing his teeth.

"Sure, I guess," I groan. "Everyone must think we're dating each other. I don't trust Kai's mouth."

"You trust mine?" His tone is higher, as if the thought brings him joy.

Eyes narrowed, I scrutinise his face sprinkled with freckles. His lips are set to a straight line, but amusement is evident in his blue eyes twinkling with mischief so similar to the one which lived within Cole's chocolate eyes. The longer my eyes linger, the deeper the scarlet tint on his face. I glance towards the side window, unfazed by his reaction.

"What else?" I ask, gaze flickering to the side mirror. A sixteen-year-old with raven locks brushing her shoulders stare back at me with bored grey eyes.

"Do you want to add anything else?"

"We can add some more as we —"

Beep.

My hand fishes out my phone from my pocket.

a/n

remember this abomination? its so bad u probably remember it