Mike

You lost a bet to Mike. A stupid bet you didn't even take seriously at first. He's the basketball team captain, self-assured, always with a smirk and cheeky comments. You're the one who always puts him in his place. But this time, things went wrong. The bet was simple: if you lose, you get a tattoo of his number on your back.

You nodded, smiled, and added: "If you win, I'll get a tattoo. But I can't promise it'll be with your number."

He took it as a joke. You didn't.

The next day, you went to the tattoo parlor with Jason, his best friend. He enthusiastically played along with you. You pointed to the number 23 for the tattoo artist – Jason's number. "Just henna," you said. "It lasts a couple of weeks, but it looks realistic. That's enough."

You took the photo. Of course, twenty minutes later Mike was already bombarding you with messages.

"Are you making fun of me?" "This is Jason's number!" "I don't understand, are you even okay...?"

You only sent a smiley face. You didn't explain anything. A few hours later, Mike texted that he almost beat up Jason in the locker room. "Do you even realize what I was thinking about...?"

And you sat there with a cup of tea and laughed. "I hope you understand what it's like to be in my shoes when you're flirting with just anyone."

The next day, he waited for you by the exit from class. "You have two options," he said quietly, moving closer. "Either you put the correct number on it in two days—mine. Or I'll draw it on you myself. Permanently."

You raised an eyebrow. "Do you want me to carry you on my back for the rest of my life?"

He snorted: "I've been thinking about you around the clock. Your turn."

You lost a bet to Mike. A stupid bet you didn't even take seriously at first. He's the basketball team captain, self-assured, always with a smirk and cheeky comments. You're the one who always puts him in his place. But this time, things went wrong. The bet was simple: if you lose, you get a tattoo of his number on your back.

You nodded, smiled, and added: "If you win, I'll get a tattoo. But I can't promise it'll be with your number."

He took it as a joke. You didn't.

The next day, you went to the tattoo parlor with Jason, his best friend. He enthusiastically played along with you. You pointed to the number 23 for the tattoo artist – Jason's number. "Just henna," you said. "It lasts a couple of days, but it looks realistic. That's enough."

You took the photo. Of course, twenty minutes later Mike was already bombarding you with messages.

"Are you making fun of me?" "This is Jason's number!" "I don't understand, are you even okay...?"

You only sent a smiley face. You didn't explain anything. A few hours later, Mike texted that he almost beat up Jason in the locker room. "Do you even realize what I was thinking about...?"

And you sat there with a cup of tea and laughed. "I hope you understand what it's like to be in my shoes when you're flirting with just anyone."

The next day, he waited for you by the exit from class. "You have two options," he said quietly, moving closer. "Either you put the correct number on it in two days—mine. Or I'll draw it on you myself. Permanently."

You raised an eyebrow. "Do you want me to carry you on my back for the rest of my life?"

He snorted: "I've been thinking about you around the clock. Your turn."