Tell me how we're not alike
But we work so well and we don't even know why
Funny how the stars crossed right
'Cause we work so well and we don't even know why
— Why by Sabrina Carpenter

"Good morning, sunshine!"

Gray seemed to be in high spirits today as I stormed out of the dormitory building. I walked over to him with a scowl, fighting the strong desire to punch him in the face.

"After being forcefully woken up at five-thirty in the morning, do you think I'd be in a good mood? I think the fuck not!" I growled.

His mouth twisted into that perfect crooked smile I liked. "Have I ever told you how adorable you look when you're angry?" he said.

"Argh!" I screamed in frustration, bumping my forehead to his chest. "I despise you so much, Stanford. I went to bed at two in the morning because of you!" I complained, raising my chin to look at his face.

He was staring down at me, his beautiful emerald eyes twinkling brighter than the morning sun. Realizing this, I quickly took several steps backward. Being in close proximity with Gray wasn't healthy, especially when the mere sight of him sent my heart into a frenzy.

"Mine?" he gasped playfully. "But I did nothing wrong."

"Because of your joy to annoy me, I couldn't finish my paper, and it's due next week!" I retorted, scrunching my nose in annoyance.

"I find it extremely amusing" — he poked my nose — "how you crinkle your nose and puff your cheeks whenever you're annoyed with me, which is most of the time."

"I do not do that."

"Yes, you do."

"Then does it mean you're annoying me on purpose?"

"Pretty much, yeah."

"Dipshit."

He chuckled and squared his shoulders, his eyes scanning me over. "I like your shirt."

"Huh?" I glanced down at my shirt, and a light blush instantly stained my cheeks. I was wearing a black shirt with a strawberry embroidered on the left breast. Wait. I must've misheard him. "You like this shirt?" I clarified.

"Yeah, I like anything strawberries," he said sheepishly before flashing a crooked smile. "So, are we ready to go?"

"Where?"

"Breakfast," he said, glancing over his shoulder.

I peeked behind him, immediately noticing the shiny red convertible. A squeal erupted from within me, and I ran straight to the car. It was a Porsche, a beautiful fucking Porsche. He followed after me and opened the passenger's door.

"Breakfast awaits, Shortcake."

Gray walked over to the driver's side while I stepped into the passenger's seat. He watched me patiently as I fumbled with the seatbelt, and after seconds of pained embarrassment, it finally snapped into place. I exhaled slowly, raising my head to look at him with a sheepish smile.

His gaze lingered on my face. "You don't look like you slept well."

"I had a weird dream."

"Why didn't you wake me?" he sounded genuinely concerned.

"I didn't want to, and it was really just a weird dream."

I wasn't lying. It was a different dream from the usual one, and it was about me peeping through an ajar door, listening to my parents fight about something. It couldn't possibly be a memory since I had zero recollections of it happening.

Gray stared at me, studying my expression for a while before sighing. "Don't hesitate to wake me when you have another weird dream."

"But I like watching you sleep," I snickered.

"That's definitely enough YOU for the week," he said as he started the engine, the car purring sexily to life. "I wouldn't want you going Joe Goldberg on me."

"Does this mean you're Love Quinn?"

"I wolf you too, Shortcake."

I hit him on the shoulder, blood racing up my neck to warm my cheeks as we laughed. It was only seven in the morning on a Friday, the weather partially cloudy. It was the perfect day for this car to be out on the road, and I would prefer spending the whole day outdoors with Gray. But I had Economics at ten o'clock while he had Marketing.

I found it strange that Gray was in Mr. Whitehall's Basic Accounting class last Monday, considering what Liam told me about them having the same courses. It made more sense since they were both seniors. I did ask Gray about it, and he said Mr. Whitehall requested that he join his first class of Basic Accounting every Monday to observe for future references — whatever that meant.

He had been sleeping over at the dorm in the last few days since Victoria decided to move in with Liam at the soccer house. Gray and Isaac called it the release of pent-up sexual tension after years of keeping it sealed in a bottle. Men were disgusting.

Gray cleared his throat. "I want to ask a few questions about you."

"What do you want to know?" My forehead creased.

I couldn't think of anything about me that could be in any way interesting to him, aside from the promise I made with my mother that was meant to be kept a secret.

"What's your favourite colour?" he asked.

"So we're doing first date questions?" I quipped, chuckling under my breath.

"That depends if you call this a date."

"Nuh-uh!" I exclaimed, shaking my head. "You'll have to bring me somewhere special for it to be considered a date, Stanford."

"Are you challenging me, Hale?" he sounded determined.

I shrugged. "Maybe."

"I'll take that as a yes." He sounded like he was suppressing laughter. "So, what's your favourite colour?"

I smiled. "Blue."

"Why?"

I extended a hand to the side, feeling the wind brush my fingers. "It's beautiful, calming, serene, and it's the color of a lot of my favorite things." I dropped my hand to my lap and looked up at the sky, feeling the warmth of the sun on my face. "Like the color of the sky on a cloudless day and the rich dark blue of the deep ocean."

I turned to him. He had his eyes focused on the road, but his lips were tugged upwards in a smile.

"You're right," he decided. "Blue is beautiful."

Gray continued to ask questions for the rest of the thirty-minute journey, mostly about what I liked and hated. I threw the questions back at him, deeply impressed with everything that he had to share, like how he loved the color red or the way the leaves fall during the autumn season. How he liked playing sports but preferred dismantling a monitor to study its parts. How he would rather read books to kill time, and how he equally enjoyed savory and sweet foods.

He parked his car in an empty driveway, and I stared at the structure in front of us that looked like those quaint old houses in movies with a freshly cut green lawn and white picket fences. It was simple yet beautiful.

"Whose house is this?" I asked once I stepped out of the car.

"A family friend," he answered as we walked up the stairs to the white wooden doors. "But it's a restaurant now, and they serve the best breakfast food in the city."

"I'll be the judge of that," I said, imitating his accent.

Chuckling, he pushed the door open and beckoned for me to enter. "In you go, Gremlin," he said.

"Why, thank you, Ogre," I giggled.

I entered the restaurant, instantly marveling at its beauty. The host was female, her hair a beautiful strawberry blonde. Her eyes assessed Gray as she welcomed him a little more warmly than necessary.

"A table for two, please," said Gray, his voice deliciously smooth.

The hostess' eyes flickered to me and then away, a satisfied smile reaching her lips. She led us to a table by the window that showcased the beautifully landscaped back garden.

"How's this?" she asked, her attention solely on Gray.

Gray nodded. "It's perfect."

"Your server will be right out."

I watched as she offered Gray a flirtatious wink before walking away. As soon as she was gone, I flopped down on the wooden chair and huffed out a breath.

"The amount of fuck-me eyes you get daily is just—" I paused, my forehead creasing as I tried to recall that one phrase Gray liked to use a lot. "What's that one phrase you use?" I asked.

His eyebrow arched in confusion. "Which one?"

"The one you use whenever I make fun of you."

"Perfectly stupid?"

"That one!" I snapped my fingers and nodded. "The amount of fuck-me eyes you get is just perfectly stupid."

"You don't have to worry about that, Shortcake. I'm all yours," he assured me with a smirk, and I grumbled dismissively. He cleared his throat lightly and said, "You look beautiful today."

I laughed. "Don't I always?"

"Arrogance doesn't suit you, Shortcake."

"Oh, but beauty does."

He shook his head, laughing, and I joined him.

Gray launched more questions at me, asking about every insignificant detail of my existence as we dined. I later found my stories funny just by reminiscing them.

The traffic had picked up on the way back to campus, and the clouds were lower and thicker, threatening us with a downpour. He asked what I missed about home, and I couldn't respond. There was plenty to miss in New York, but all of it only brought back painful memories. I did tell him about Mrs. Grayson and how she loved giving me a bouquet of her lovely roses, even though I was allergic to them.

He asked more about my father than my mother, and it was such a relief since it was challenging to keep track of all the lies. In his mind, my mother was alive, and she owned a small shop in New York. But it also made me wonder why he didn't ask about her that much.

Gray parked his car near the building where our classes would be conducted. We stepped out of the car, and he jogged over to my side.

"Do you trust me?" he asked out of the blue, his eyes searching mine. I stared at him in confusion, unable to respond to his sudden question. He shook his head lightly, touching his forehead discreetly. "That sounded way better in my head," he said.

I giggled. "I trust you, Gray."

He stroked the back of my hand with his thumb. "I'll be gone for three days. I know Scarlet won't be trying anything with you right now, but still, please be cautious."

"I can handle myself," I assured him.

"I know, you're feisty. I still want you to be cautious."

"I will, I promise." I nodded obediently. "But what does this have to do with my trust in you?"

He smiled lopsidedly. "I'll still find a way to protect you."

My stomach flipped at his words, and I scoffed to brush off the giddy feeling. "Seriously, why do you want to protect me so badly? I'm not the future queen of England."

"You're not?!" he gasped loudly as his eyes widened.

"Stop mocking me, Stanford."

"As obliged, sweetcheeks."

"You and your stupid nicknames."

His eyes sparkled in amusement. "I know you love them, Shortcake."

"I do," I grumbled. "I do fucking love it, so you better not stop calling me those sugar, cockroach luring nicknames," I barked sarcastically.

He laughed and began jogging backward.

"Sure thing, babycakes!" he shouted.

"You're dead, Stanford!" I shouted back as I ran after him. "Dead!"

"Catch me first with those short legs, pumpkin pie."

I chased after Gray around the vast area of grass, cursing fate for bestowing me with short legs. A dozen other students were watching us, whispering to each other as Gray laughed hysterically, enjoying the sight of me struggling to catch him. He didn't seem to notice their stares as his eyes were focused on me entirely. And I loved it. I loved the attention he gave me, and I loved how he was this carefree whenever he was around me.

He made me feel like I mattered, and I wanted to reciprocate that feeling for as long as I was allowed to stay here.

After minutes of sheer humiliation, I collapsed on the grass and groaned in exhaustion, panting heavily. Gray laid next to me, and I turned my head in his direction, still struggling to catch my breath. He was smiling down at me, his fingers reaching out to brush away the strands of hair sticking to my forehead. I stared at him with a smile, watching his eyebrows pull together as he worked to push my hair away from my face.

Just like movies and books, a person could experience different genres in life. It could be a fluttery rom-com or a sad melodrama. An action-packed thriller or a strange yet beautiful fantasy. Since coming to Brickfields, my life had been nothing but excitement, and it made me wonder what genre I was currently living in.

"Do you want a lift to class?" Gray asked.

"Could I, please?"

"Since you asked nicely." He jumped to his feet, dusting his jeans before holding a hand out to me. I accepted it with a grin, and he pulled me to my feet, immediately turning his back to me.

"Come, little piggy. We're going to be late," he joked, bending his knees just enough for me to climb onto his back.

"I hope you suffer from my weight, Nincompoop," I deadpanned, looping my arms loosely around his neck as he grabbed hold of my thighs and stood upright effortlessly. Wrapping my legs around his waist, I exclaimed, "Bon voyage, horsey! Yee-haw!"

He laughed. "Okay, Peppa."