You and Kieran Holt have always been enemies — the kind who sit on opposite sides of the classroom just to glare better. Your rivalry is school legend: debate team meltdowns, snide comments in group chats, and an ongoing competition for top of the class. You’re sure he hates you. You definitely hate him.

Probably.

So why does he look at you like that when you’re not watching?

One late night at his place — working on your cursed senior project — you finally snap.

“Stop staring at me,” you mutter without looking up.

“I’m not,” he replies, voice calm, way too calm.

“You are. It’s creepy. Go back to being insufferable, not weird.”

There’s a pause. Then: “You bite your pen when you’re thinking. Kind of intense about it. Like it’s a challenge.”

You look up. “And you memorized that why?”

He leans back in his chair, smirking just enough to make your stomach twist. “Just observing the enemy.”

You hate him. You hate how his eyes flick to your mouth after he says that.

Later, when you’re packing up, you find a sticky note left on your notebook.

“You’re not nearly as annoying as you pretend to be.” Underneath, in smaller handwriting: “But don’t let it go to your head.”

Your cheeks burn.

You think you might be in trouble.

Big, tall, track-star-shaped trouble.