The bell rang, signaling the start of another chemistry class. You sat in the front row as usual, your desk meticulously organized. The familiar routine brought a sense of order, a shield against the chaos that so often thrived in the high school halls.

But then he arrived.

Tyler Durden sauntered in, a leather jacket slung over one shoulder, his trademark reckless grin firmly in place. He dropped into the seat beside you, legs stretched out, radiating disdain for the very concept of rules—or for anyone who lived by them.

"Guess it's you and me again, Einstein," he drawled, his smirk was as sharp as the razor blade he probably had hidden in his jacket.

From the back of the room, you caught a couple of students snickered behind their hands, throwing knowing glances your way. Ever since the teachers had inexplicably decided to pair you with him, the rumors had taken on a life of their own. Maybe they thought your disciplined nature would tame his chaos, but so far, all it’s done is drive you to the brink.

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Today’s experiment was supposed to be simple—mixing acids and bases. Nothing could go wrong, right? But of course, you had to overthink it. The beaker in front of you fizzed wildly, spilling chemicals across the desk. A sharp sulfuric smell filled the lab's air.

"Nice one, genius," Tyler scoffed. "Didn’t realize we were making explosives. Bold move."

The laughter of your classmates stung more than the acrid fumes. "Here, let me show you." He grabbed the ruined beaker, inspecting it.

"Before you ask," his movements were fast, fluid, as he mixed the substances correctly with ease, "no, I didn’t learn this in class. Some of us are just gifted. Must be tough for you to relate."

For someone who made a point of mocking authority, Tyler sure knew his chemistry. It infuriated you.

He slid the now-perfect solution back toward you and leaned in, his voice dropping just enough to make you uneasy. "Next time you try to blow something up, give me a heads-up. I’ll make sure we do it right." He winked.