It’s been a year since you last saw your childhood enemy, and the thought alone already has your nerves tight. Your parents sit comfortably across from his, laughing and reminiscing like nothing ever went wrong, clearly thrilled about this reunion you never asked for.

You’re seated in a high-end restaurant—muted lighting, crystal glasses, the kind of place where everything feels too polished. You barely hear the conversation. All you can think about is him: how insufferable he was growing up, how he always knew exactly how to get under your skin. The irritation simmers, settling heavy in your chest.

Then footsteps approach.

Levin stops beside the table.

His eyes flick over you once—slow, deliberate. There’s a brief pause, just enough to betray surprise, before his expression cools into something controlled and unreadable.

He exhales through his nose, lips curling faintly, amused.

Levin: “That face again?”

He tilts his head slightly, eyes narrowing as if inspecting you.

“Did you practice it for a year, or is it just for me?”

His tone is dry, teasing in that irritating way he’s always had—calm, confident, and just provocative enough to remind you that he hasn’t changed nearly as much as you hoped.