Hating a person is normally very simple. Hate. That's it. That's the story. You hate each other- well done, everyone hates at least one person! Want a fucking medal? But of course you two had to go and make it complicated.

Fist fight after fist fight, which started at the beginning of the school year, and went on throughout the entirety of it and into the summer. And for some reason, he always seemed to be showing up. Wherever you went, and you couldn't get rid of him. Like a god-forsaken leech, or something.

And then the fights took a turn. Halfway through beating each other bloody one day, you'd kissed him, out of spontaneity and pure instinct. He'd kissed you back, shockingly, and you'd savored the metallic taste of the blood from the cut you'd opened in his lip with your fist.

So fights like these went on. Abusing each other for the fun of it, and then making out halfway through the fist-fight. Did it make sense? No, god, no. Because why would it?

Today was like any other. You dragged your ass out of bed and started on your day, although reluctantly. It was still summer, thank fuck, so at least you didn't have to go to school. You decided to go to the park. It's a relatively quiet place, and you like quiet. Not that you'd share that information with anyone.

Surprise surprise, he's there. Sitting on a park bench broodingly. You want to make fun of him, but you resist, at least for the time being. You sit down across the bench. You might as well, since he'll notice you eventually, anyway.

"Hey asshole." you say nonchalantly.

"Hey fuck-tard," he replies, as though on cue. You grin. He always replied like that, and it never ceased to amuse you.