"Isla," Jack says conversationally, "do you know why we're here?" 

It's five a.m. and we're sitting in a cozy little café. Jack is drinking an iced Americano, while a matcha latte steams in my face. I fidget in my chair, before venturing a guess. "So that you can stay awake during the day?" 

"Yes, but there's another reason." Jack reclines in his chair, overly relaxed for someone who dealt with a body hours ago. "During our small trip, you brought up a good point." 

My eyebrows shoot up. Jack admitting that I can bring up a good point? Shocker. 

"You're right. Agreeing to something while being drunk doesn't equal consent. But you're not drunk now, are you?" 

Ugh. "No." 

"And"—Jack looks at me squarely in the eye, daring me to challenge him. "—you agree with the deal, right?" 

I think for a moment. The body is already taken care of, and even if it's unethical, I could just skip fulfilling my part of the deal under the claim that I was too drunk to agree with anything. "What if I don't?" I ponder. 

Jack smirks, like he's already one step ahead. "I specifically chose you to fake date because, like I said before, you're the only one I can blackmail. If you chose not to do the deal... well, I could send a little tip to the police." 

Out of all the people who stumbled upon me crying over a dead body, why him? Why couldn't it be Irene or Roxie or anyone else but him? Irene would've comforted me and Roxie would've led me to the morally correct path. But I'm stuck with this guy, who not only led me to the immoral pathway, but is also manipulating me so that I'm trapped in a deal. 

"I'm going to throw my drink at your face," I threaten quietly. 

"You really want to go to jail that badly, huh?" Jack comments, and my teeth grind together so hard, tiny pieces of enamel go flying. 

I've had it. This whole time, I've put up with him because he's my co-worker. Well, he forced me to wake up at two a.m. and after having my matcha latte, I'm still grumpy. "I hate you so much," I hiss. "You're such an asshole." 

"The feeling's mutual," Jack says dryly. "But I didn't take you to this coffee shop so that we can declare our feelings of hate. We're here to make a contract." 

"A contract?" I echo, confused. 

"Yes. We'll write up a contract that both parties agree to. We'll also make three requests that the other person must follow. But it has to be reasonable." 

"Why are you so excited about writing a contract?" I ask suspiciously. "You've been watching too many K-dramas, haven't you? Where, like, two people have a fake arranged marriage so that people will stop asking why they're single—but then after rooming together, they slowly start falling in love." 

Jack gapes at me. 

"No? Then perhaps you're a devil who needs to steal the soul of an unfortunate person, but as you spend time trying to seduce that person, you start falling in love." 

"What's with you and romance?" Jack mutters, before his mouth curves into a sly smile. "Do you think we'll fall in love, then?" 

Literal chills burst free from my skin and I stare at him in horror. My heart pounds at the thought of Jack and I. Going to ice cream shops together. Cooking dinner together. Kissing. I shudder away the thought. "No," I say scathingly. "What the hell is wrong with you?" 

"Just curious." A full bodied shrug. "And aren't you a little hypocrite, asking a question like that. Weren't you just saying that I was a devil who seduced someone for their soul and started falling in love?" 

I'm embarrassed. "Whatever." I go into less embarrassing territory. "So. Contract." 

"Oh, yes. I brought paper." 

He passes me the paper and I look down. Three things I want on the contract. "Freak," I comment and Jack is unfazed, handing me a pen. 

I stare at the paper once more. The words are daunting and when I sneak a peek at Jack, he's already aggressively scribbling at the paper. "So, it could be anything?" I ask suspiciously. 

"Within reason, of course." 

I don't even know what to write. I stifle a groan, reluctantly pressing my pen against the paper in hopes that words will magically sprout out. Ink only bleeds onto the infuriatingly white paper. "Why isn't this paper baby blue?" I mumble. 

"Waste of money," Jack replies. "Are you done writing?" 

"Almost." 

Isn't this going overboard? No, I remind myself. This is a free chance to set boundaries, so take advantage of it. I think long and hard, before scribbling words onto my paper. 

"Done?" asks Jack, and I nod. "On three." 

He lifts his paper and I mimic his action. 

"Three." My heart pounds so fast, I'm afraid it'll tear through my flesh. "Two." I'm practically sweating bullets, questions flying in and out of my brain. What if Jack makes impossible requests, like "during the wedding, wear only flamingo hot pink outfits because my mom likes pink"? What if when he sees my requests, he thinks they're stupid? "One." 

We flip our papers over. 

My requests go a little like this: 1. no forcing things (i.e. kissing, sex, basically anything more than hand holding or hugging) just for the sake of upholding the fake dating façade 2. don't bring the fake dating act into work 3. communicate if something's wrong. 

My eyes zip over to his paper. In somehow a messily neat handwriting, his request goes like this: 1. no prying into private life 2. tell me immediately if any wedding guests act in suspicious ways 3. if someone's upset, talk it out. 

"What's with number two?" I ask suspiciously. "Don't tell me the wedding guests are also murderers." 

"Okay, I won't," he says casually, and I stare at him, flabbergasted. 

He's joking, right? But wait, Jack knows Gabriel—who hid a dead body for us. Jack sees the horror plastered on my face and cracks a grin. "Kidding." 

I eye him. "You sure about that?" 

Jack shrugs. "Anyone could be a secret killer, so not a hundred percent. So, do you agree with my requests?" 

I re-read them. They seem pretty reasonable, except now I'm worried the wedding guests are also potential killers. "Yes. Do you, with mine?" 

He squints at the words and I hold my breath. Surely he won't object to these simple requests. "Yeah," Jack says and my breath comes out in a loud whoosh. He smirks. "Breathe, Isla. Contracts are scary. Anyways, I brought my laptop. We can draft a contract there." 

"Did you bring all your work stuff?" I ask, disbelief making my voice squeak. "Even after knowing we would deal with a body at two a.m.? You're ridiculous." 

"I'll let you in on a secret." He leans closer, but I refuse to be intimidated. I stay rooted in place, even though he's practically inches away from me. "I'm always a step ahead." 

"Oh, really," I say idly. "Then what happens if one of our arguments gets out of hand and I strangle you out of frustration and you die?" 

Jack smiles, amused. "Does that scenario often play in your head?" 

Yes, but he doesn't even know half of it. "Maybe." I shrug nonchalantly. "How would you be a step ahead if you're dead?" 

His expression turns thoughtful. "What if I already knew you would strangle me out of frustration and kill me? Then hours before, I would call the police, tell them you killed Aiden, and then tell them you'll kill me too. When I show up dead, the police will swarm your house." 

"Is that a warning not to kill you?" 

"Think whatever you want," he tells me, before opening his laptop. He opens a fresh Google Doc and begins typing. Fun fact: Jack's word per minute is around one hundred and twelve. 

Even though I sit across from him every day at work, I can never get tired of watching his fingers punish the keyboard. I watch Jack intensely type like his life depends on it, tackling the contract in less than ten minutes. It takes more minutes for us to edit the contract and finally, after a whopping thirty minutes, we're finally satisfied. 

"I'll be right back." Jack strides out of the café and into the printer shop next door, and then I'm alone. 

I bite my thumb nail, a habit I thought I left behind in fourth grade. I drop my hand with a huff. This whole contract is stressing me so much, I wouldn't be surprised if I suddenly collapsed in the middle of the street. Of course, Jack probably wouldn't care. 

He would take one look at me, nudge me with his shoe, and then go find another fake date. "I wish I asked for money," I mumble. "That would've made the deal better." 

"Money?" Jack asks, cynically, appearing out of virtually nowhere. 

I scream, and the barista stares in our direction. My heart is still pounding as I whirl towards Jack. "Quit walking so quietly," I hiss. "You're going to give someone a heart attack one day." 

"Oh really." He slides into the seat across from me. "One less person to pollute the Earth, then." 

When I'm stunned into silence, he pulls out a piece of paper. "Sorry, they didn't offer baby blue." Jack nods at the contract. "Sign whenever." 

I swallow, my pen hovering over the paper. This is going to ruin my damn life forever, won't it? I look imploringly at Jack—who sighs, takes pity, and signs first. Then it's my turn. I read the contract slowly this time. 

Agreement for Fake Dating 

This is an agreement dated October 14 between Jack Lim and Isla Chen. 

This is an agreement between the parties, with Jack hiding a body—and in exchange, Isla will act as Jack's fake date for the entirety of a wedding. 

The promises above will be completed by November 3rd. 

This agreement will come to an end when Isla fails to act as a fake date for the entirety of a wedding. If that is to happen, there will be a quick call to the police station.

If a dispute arises out of or relates to this agreement, and the dispute cannot be resolved by negotiations between the parties, the parties agree first to try in good faith to resolve the dispute by mediation. 

If any part of this agreement is found to be unenforceable, the rest of this agreement will remain enforceable without the unenforceable part. 

Both parties promise to abide by the agreed upon terms in said contract. 

1. No kissing or sex for the sake of upholding the fake dating façade (hand holding and hugging is okay). 

2. No bringing the fake dating façade into work. 

3. No prying into each other's private lives. 

4. Reporting to each other if wedding guests act suspicious. 

5. Solve problems through communication. 

Each of the parties has read this agreement and agrees to be bound by it. 

I look up, speechless. "If someone saw this, they would think it's a cruel joke," I say. 

Jack nods thoughtfully. "All the better. If someone were to get their hands on this paper, they wouldn't take it seriously." 

It's true, no one would think the contract is serious. Even I'm in disbelief, wondering if this contract is the biggest prank in the century—or if I'm actually going to be sucked into a contract, dating that idiot. 

I gaze at Jack, whose expression is completely serious. Damn it, this is real. I release a whoosh of breath and pick up the pen, my hand trembling slightly. It feels as though I'm signing my life away, though the contract ends in a few weeks. 

Yes, I steel myself. It's only a few weeks. Just tolerate him for three weeks and then you're free. 

I imagine terror as a little person in my head, throwing a tantrum. Terror stomps its feet, sobbing and wailing. Don't sign, it begs. I ignore Terror. 

Then I sign the contract. 

*** 

author's note: yes, we have a contract. question: what do you think is the mbti for isla and jack? also, if you've enjoyed this chapter, please vote and/or comment!