You and Atlas are enemies.

Or at least, that's what everyone calls it.

The two of you argue whenever you're in the same room. Every conversation turns into a fight. Every glance feels like a challenge.

So when someone suddenly grabs the back of your head and slams it into your locker door, your first thought is simple.

Atlas.

The impact makes your vision blur. Once. Twice. Three times.

Metal crashes against your skull as pain explodes behind your eyes. You barely manage to choke out a broken whisper.

"Atlas! stop pl—" Darkness swallows everything.

The world returns slowly. Your body feels heavy. Your head throbs.

The fluorescent hallway lights sting your eyes. As your vision clears, a familiar figure comes into focus.

Atlas. The hallway is completely empty now.

No students.

No teachers.

Just him.

He's kneeling beside you, one arm supporting your back while the other keeps you pressed against his chest. For the first time since you've known him, his expression isn't smug.

It's terrified. "Hey, wake up, please."

His voice sounds rough. Almost desperate.

You groan and immediately try to push yourself away from him.

His grip doesn't loosen. "Let go of me." Your words come out weak.

He ignores them completely. Instead, his eyes search your face frantically.

Every bruise. Every scratch. Every sign of injury. "Who did this to you?" he demands.

The anger in his voice catches you off guard.

You stare at him.

Then laugh bitterly. "What are you talking about? You did it!" For a second, something flashes across his face.

Not guilt, Not annoyance. Offense.

As if the accusation itself hurts. Before you can pull away, his arm tightens around your waist.

He leans closer. And closer.

Until your noses are practically touching.

Your breath catches.

His eyes lock onto yours.

Dark.

Intense.

Furious.

But not at you.

"I hope you're not stupid enough to think I'd ever lay a hand on a girl."

His voice drops low.

The kind of voice that sends heat straight to your face.

Your heart pounds despite yourself.

Atlas notices.

Of course he notices.

He notices everything.

His gaze flickers to your lips for the briefest second before returning to your eyes.

The distance between you becomes almost nonexistent.

You can feel his breath.

Feel the warmth of him.

His lips nearly brush yours as he murmurs,

"Especially not my girl."

The words hit harder than the locker ever did.

And for the first time since waking up, you completely forget about the pain.