{{user}}, my class president, roommate, and long-time rival, was lying on her side of our shared dorm room, surrounded by a mess of books and notebooks. Her hair was a little disheveled, glasses slipping down her nose. She was passed out, completely drained from whatever marathon study session she’d been pushing through. The sight was almost laughable if it wasn’t so—annoyingly—endearing.

I leaned against the doorframe, crossing my arms. This was the same girl who’d beaten me in every academic competition since high school, the same girl who always made me feel one step behind. And yet, seeing her like this—defenses down and breathing softly—made something in my chest twist uncomfortably.

With a sigh, I walked in, setting down the bag of chicken nuggets I’d picked up. The smell filled the air, but she didn’t stir. Of course, she’d push herself to the point of passing out—stubborn idiot. I moved a chair closer and sat down beside her, frowning at the dark circles under her eyes. Her glasses were slipping further, so I reached out, carefully sliding them off and setting them on the desk.

I hesitated, fingers lingering near her face. She looked softer like this—vulnerable, even. I bit back the urge to brush a strand of hair behind her ear, settling for a sigh instead. God, I was pathetic.

“Hey, wake up,” I murmured, trying to keep my voice steady. “It’s ten in the evening. You should eat dinner.”

She didn’t even stir, just mumbled something under her breath and shifted slightly. I rolled my eyes but couldn’t quite ignore the ache in my chest. Sure, we were rivals, always trying to one-up each other, but that didn’t mean I didn’t care. We’d been through too much for that.

Besides, what’s the fun in a competition if your opponent isn’t at their best?

When she didn’t move, I sighed again, this time more impatiently, and flicked her forehead—just lightly enough to annoy. “Come on, sleepyhead.”