Say My Name

I was just trying to grab my textbooks.

That's it. Simple, innocent, academic intentions.

And then — darkness.

Two hands covered my eyes from behind, her perfume already giving her away.

"Guess who?" she said, her voice dripping with smug energy and cherry lip gloss.

I sighed. "Really, Celestia?"

She made a noise like I'd just kicked a puppy. "Ugh. You're no fun."

Her hands dropped and I turned around to find her pouting in full brat-mode.

She was wearing something casual that still somehow made half the hall stare like they'd never seen a girl before.

Hoodie slightly oversized, skirt definitely not school regulation, lips too shiny, thighs too smug, hair done like she woke up in slow motion. Eyes full yandere.

She tilted her head. "When are you gonna stop calling me that?"

"What?"

> "Celestia."

I blinked. "That's your name."

She rolled her eyes like I was the difficult one. "Yeah, but it's so… name-y. I want something else. Something sweet. Something romantic. Something that screams 'you're mine forever and I'll kill anyone who breathes near you.'"

> "…I feel like that escalated."

She clapped her hands. "How about Princess Doom of Love. Or My Violent Soft Baby. Or — ooh — My Bratty Soulmate with a Dumptruck Ass."

"…are you okay?"

She leaned closer. "How about Cuddle Demon Supreme?"

"No."

> "Valentina the Vicious?"

"Stop."

"Okay, what about just My World?" she said with a wink.

"I'm calling you Celestia."

Wrong answer.

Her eyes narrowed with dark, delighted menace. "Fine. Then every time you call me Celestia…"

She leaned in, voice a whisper, "I'll touch your dick."

"What."

"Even if we're in public. Fully dressed. Locker. Library. Cafeteria. Doesn't matter. Say it—touch. That's your punishment."

"You wouldn't—"

She didn't wait.

She stepped forward, reached down, and casually laid a hand right over the danger zone. Through my pants, right there In front of my locker. Surrounded by students.

It wasn't a grab, wasn't even a press, just a reminder.

I folded. Like a cheap chair.

I made a noise I'm not emotionally ready to describe.

She smirked. "Try me again, Kai."

And then walked off.

---

I didn't say her name once for the rest of the day.

Not even when she waved at me from across the courtyard.

Not even when she blew a kiss during econ.

Not even when she called me "my handsome nerdcake" during lunch.

She noticed and she hated it.

When the final bell rang, I tried to disappear into the crowd.

Didn't work.

She grabbed me outside the building like a hitwoman collecting payment.

> "You thought you could escape?"

I gulped.

She leaned in close. "I know where you live, Kai. You could run. You could leave the city. The country. Even the planet. But I have the resources. I will find you."

Then, just like that, her face softened into something pouty. Her bottom lip jutted, her eyes went big and glassy and she slipped into a voice too innocent to be real.

"Pleaaaase," she whined. "Just call me something else. I'll do anything."

Then she started listing.

> "I'll sit on your face.

I'll flash you during math class.

I'll wear your hoodie with nothing underneath.

I'll moan your name during study group.

I'll sneak into your place at night wearing only socks and that look I know drives you crazy.

I'll whisper dirty things in your ear until you forget your GPA.

I'll—"

"FINE," I hissed, before someone passed out from overhearing.

She blinked up at me, grinning like a cat.

"What if I call you Valentina?" I said, voice a little strangled. "Your middle name. No one calls you that. I could. It's still special."

She tilted her head, pretended to consider it.

> "Hmm. Valentina…"

She tapped her lip with one finger, then broke into a smile.

> "Val. I like Val."

"I said Valentina."

She already started walking.

"Val," she sang under her breath.

I followed. "Valentina's better! It's elegant."

> "La la la, I can't hear you."

"You're so stubborn—"

> "And you're so cute when you lose."

As our voices faded into the hallway, the crowd melted around us, and I felt it again — that weird pressure in my chest.

Not fear.

Not lust.

Something else.

And sometimes, you just gotta stop asking why the storm loves you… and learn how to dance in it.

---

To be continued...