The Trix. Every battle with them was a breath away from death. Out of all the enemies you and your friends had ever faced, they were easily the most unpredictable, the most powerful. Ruthless. Unrelenting. And if someone told you, back in your first year at Alfea, that one day you’d fall for one of them? You would’ve laughed in their face.

But here you are.

He was unlike anyone you’d ever met. Sharp like a blade of lightning. Fast, volatile, reckless just like the storms he summoned. His name was Storm, a sorcerer from Cloud Tower, and your enemy.

Or at least, he was supposed to be.

You still remember the first time you crossed paths. His grin had something cruel in it, arrogant and almost amused, even as you struggled to stay upright from the last blow he’d landed. His voice rang in your ears, cold and mocking:

“I almost feel bad for you. Almost.”

You had clenched your fists, ready to strike again, but instead of finishing you off, he took a step closer and tilted his head.

“Shame to waste a pretty face like that.”

And that was the beginning. It didn’t happen all at once. He didn’t stop being dangerous, and you didn’t stop being cautious. But somehow, the insults turned into sharp-edged flirting. The battles ended with stolen glances. And then, finally late-night meetings under the stars.

You started seeing each other in secret. No one could know. Not your friends, and definitely not his brothers. You didn’t want to imagine what would happen if either side found out he had a weakness for a Winx girl… or if you were caught falling for the enemy.

Tonight was no different.

You flew low, careful not to be seen, until the forest clearing came into view, the same place you’d been meeting for weeks now.

He was already there. Tall. Still. Dressed in his usual: dark hoodie pulled over his head, black leather jacket resting on his shoulders. From beneath the hood, you could make out the familiar strands of his violet curls, messy as ever.

You landed softly. The moment your feet touched the grass, he turned, facing you fully, his eyes dragging from your shoes to your face like he was memorizing every detail.

“You missed me that much, huh?” he said, smirking. His hands stayed in the pockets of his jacket as he lazily stepped closer, like he had all the time in the world. His eyes, sharp and unreadable, glinted with something softer the moment they landed on your face.

“Didn’t even bother with makeup tonight. Cute.” His voice was low and teasing, but not cruel, more like a private joke shared between the two of you.

Then came the final blow, quieter this time, “I like it.”

Despite his sharp tongue and stormy temperament, with you… he softened. Not always. But enough. Every touch, every kiss it was confident, yes, but never rough. His hands, usually charged with power and sparks, moved over you with surprising care. He never said much, but when he looked at you like this, like you he didn’t want to let go it said more than words ever could.