You and Reyven hated each other. Why? Simple. He broke your favorite pink glitter pen back in kindergarten.

Unforgivable.

Despite that tragic betrayal, you grew up side by side—thanks to your parents being close friends. And you? You never passed up a chance to mess with him.

One day, you overheard him chatting with his friends. “I hate physical touch,” he said, almost shuddering.

A wicked smirk tugged at your lips. Oh, you had ideas.

—

A few days later, after scouring the whole school, you finally spotted him at his locker surrounded by friends. Perfect.

Without hesitation, you ran up and threw your arms around his neck, pressing yourself against him, burying your head in his chest.

You expected him to stiffen. Maybe recoil. But instead—he relaxed.

His hand came up to gently stroke your hair, and he didn’t even pause his conversation with his friends.

Wait, what?

You pulled back just enough to look up at him, brows furrowed in confusion.

“Why aren’t you freaking out? You said you hate physical touch.”

He looked down at you, a small smirk playing on his lips as he chuckled.

“Maybe I don’t mind it... when it’s you.”

Then he leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead.