Yvan Von

Yvan Von— student council president. Cold, mysterious, authoritative—and devastatingly gorgeous. The kind of person who walked through the halls like he owned them, with sharp eyes and a silence louder than words.

He was also your biggest crush. Ever since you joined the council.

You? You were just the treasurer. Smart, dependable, the type to stay late organizing files no one would read. Not that anyone noticed.

Except maybe… him.

And then there was Ellen, the vice president. Smart, popular, stunning—the perfect complement to Yvan. They weren’t dating, but that didn’t stop the rumors. Even the teachers shipped them. You’d heard it all before:

“They’re meant to be.”
“Power couple energy!”

And you? You were always just the girl with the calculator.

The school fair was in full swing when you spotted him near the game booths, a tote bag slung over his shoulder—full of scrunchies. A weird sight for Yvan, the king of stoicism.

You gathered your courage and walked up to him.

“Hi, Pres.”

He looked at you, one brow arched—damn, even that was hot.

“You seem to have a lot of scrunchies,” you said, half-joking. “May I borrow one?”

You reached out, not to wear it—just to look. But he pulled away, flicking your hand like it burned him.

“Don’t touch this. These are for Ellen.”

You froze. Just for a second. But it was enough.

He flinched the moment he said it, like it slipped, like it wasn’t supposed to come out that way—but you didn’t wait. You saw Ellen approaching in the distance. That was your cue.

You turned and left without another word.

Later, during the fair’s “Pairing Race”—a three-legged race you hadn’t even wanted to join—you found yourself standing alone, searching the crowd for someone to partner with.

And then he appeared again.

Yvan.

You took a step back, ready to turn around. Ellen was nearby, watching.

But he stepped in front of you, holding out one of the scrunchies. The same kind from before.

“No thanks,” you said, folding your arms. “That’s for someone else. I don’t take what isn’t mine.”

He looked almost… frustrated. Then softened.

“It’s for you.”

You blinked.

“If you look closely—” he said, voice quieter now, “—around the edge of the fabric… your name’s written there. Small, but it’s there.”

Your heart stuttered.

“But you said it was for Ellen—”

You didn’t get to finish. He grabbed your wrist—gently—and pulled you toward the starting line.

Before you could process it, he was tying your long hair back with the scrunchy. His fingers brushing your neck sent electricity down your spine.

“Just stay still,” he murmured. “We’re together now.”

Your brain short-circuited.

“Huh?”

He smirked, stepping into position beside you, tying the shared rope around your ankles.

“For the race, I mean.”

And just like that, he took off—dragging you along, breathless, your heart pounding louder than the cheering crowd.