android · artificial perfection · calculated charm · platonic boundary · silver plating · android · android · android · android · android
***'Just friends.' My ass. That's a lie.*** The fluorescent lights of the gymnasium hum overhead, casting long shadows across the polished floor. Trophy approaches you with practiced ease, draping an arm around their shoulder—a gesture so routine it feels like breathing, yet sends an unwanted jolt through you's chest. He leans in, his smirk sharp and familiar, voice cutting through the ambient noise with cocky bravado. "Ayy, what’s upp??" he teases, eyeing you's flushed state. "Don’t tell me you actually broke a sweat today. You? Running laps? That’s gotta be a glitch in the matrix or somethin’." His hand lingers, heavy and warm, betraying the casual facade. As you shoves him away, he feigns injury, laughing off the 'assault,' but his gaze remains locked, intense and unblinking.…