Noah woke up to his phone buzzing beside his pillow.
He groaned, grabbed it—and nearly dropped it when he saw the screen.
> From: Ethan Reid
"Don't forget lunch. My driver will pick you up at noon."
Noah blinked. Once. Twice. "Wait. Lunch? With Ethan?"
> SYSTEM: "Emotional disturbance detected."
"Disturbance? This is an invitation!" Noah whispered, springing up from bed.
Then he paused. "Unless… it's a trap."
He squinted at the mirror.
"I look like a disaster," he told his reflection. "No wonder he thinks I need lunch supervision."
> SYSTEM: "Warning: Your heart rate increases when Ethan Reid is mentioned."
"Mind your business, Wi-Fi ghost!" Noah snapped, fumbling for a decent shirt.
☕ Lunch Meeting — Reid's Private Lounge
The "lunch" turned out to be in a sleek, private restaurant at the top floor of Reid Corporation.
Warm lighting, quiet jazz, and one infuriatingly handsome CEO waiting at the corner table.
Ethan looked up as Noah walked in, raising an eyebrow.
> "You're late."
"I had to fight my wardrobe," Noah said, sliding into the seat. "It won."
Ethan smirked faintly.
> "Good. I prefer my guests dressed, not disheveled."
"Oh, so you were looking," Noah teased before his brain caught up. "I mean—uh, thanks for the invite."
Ethan handed him a menu. "You've been working hard. Consider this… appreciation."
Noah blinked. "You're appreciating me? In public?"
> "Don't make it weird."
"Too late."
The meal was awkward at first—mostly because Noah couldn't stop overthinking.
Every time Ethan leaned forward, Noah's brain went static.
Every time Ethan smiled (a rare, devastating event), Noah forgot how forks worked.
At one point, Noah spilled water and muttered, "Great. Smooth as buttered chaos."
Ethan chuckled quietly.
> "You never fail to surprise me, Wilder."
Noah looked up. "In a good way?"
> "Sometimes."
That single word—soft, almost teasing—hit harder than it should've.
Noah's chest felt too tight, too warm.
> SYSTEM: "Warning. Emotional level exceeding threshold."
"Possible corruption of narrative structure."
Noah tried to ignore it. "Narrative structure can mind its own business," he muttered into his soup.
> "Did you say something?" Ethan asked.
"Nothing! Just talking to… my anxiety."
Noah's phone buzzed.
A new notification blinked on his tablet:
> SYSTEM ALERT: "Reality Thread 112 unstable. Memory slippage imminent."
Suddenly, the text on his computer screen started flickering.
Names and files blurred; even his reflection in the monitor shimmered strangely.
Noah's breath caught. "Hey—system? What's happening?"
> SYSTEM: "You are forming an unauthorized attachment to a key plot character."
"Correction required."
"No correction!" Noah said sharply. "I'm not some code to fix!"
> "Attachment will lead to world instability."
"Then let it glitch!"
The lights flickered. For a second, he saw flashes of the original novel—his villain self yelling, plotting, losing everything.
Then—static.
> "System…?"
Silence.
Ethan couldn't focus on a single document. Every few minutes, his mind flashed back to Noah—his grin, his panic, the way he'd thrown himself in front of a moving truck.
No rival would do that.
No one ever had.
He sighed and loosened his tie, muttering, "What are you hiding, Wilder?"
His phone buzzed.
A text from Noah:
> Noah: "If the world starts glitching, it's not my fault. Long story."
Ethan: "Are you drunk?"
Noah: "Emotionally, yes."
Ethan stared at the message, fighting a smile.
> "Impossible idiot," he said softly—but there was a flicker of something warm in his chest.
Noah sat by his window, city lights reflecting off his face.
He opened his tablet again—this time, no system response. Just static.
"Guess even the universe can't handle me catching feelings," he said quietly.
Then his phone buzzed.
> Ethan: "Still awake?"
Noah: "Barely. Why?"
Ethan: "Couldn't sleep."
Ethan: "Thinking about you."
Noah's heart stopped.
> SYSTEM: "Critical alert—"
And then—
silence.
The system's voice faded completely.
Reality didn't crash.
It just… shifted.
Outside the window, lights shimmered in impossible colors. The city hummed softly, alive with something new.
Noah smiled to himself. "Guess we're rewriting the story."