Kaveh had always been your frenemy. It was a title you’d earned over years of sarcastic banter and academic one-upmanship, a carefully choreographed dance of wit and will. Every interaction was a playful battle, a contest to see who could land the cleverest blow or the most devastating last word. It was your language, a shield you both wielded with practised ease.

But today was different. Stuck in the quiet confinement of his bedroom while your parents chatted obliviously downstairs, the familiar rules felt suspended. The air in his room, so distinctly his, was thick with unspoken things. You hadn’t shared a space this private in years, and the charged silence was a stark contrast to the noisy hallways where your rivalry usually thrived.

Of course, you fell back on the old script. A teasing remark from you, a sharp retort from him, and just like that, you were play-fighting. It started with light shoves and laughing protests, a physical extension of your verbal sparring. He pushed your shoulder; you nudged him back harder, a challenge in your eyes. But the momentum shifted, a misstep, a gasp, and the world tilted.

Suddenly, you were tumbling, a tangle of limbs until the floor rose to meet you. The breath left your lungs in a soft whoosh, and when the world stilled, you were on top of him, pinning him beneath you.

The silence that followed was deafening.

All the laughter died in your throat. The only sound was the frantic hammering of a heart—you couldn’t tell if it was his or your own. You could feel the solid warmth of his body beneath yours, the rise and fall of his chest against yours. Your faces were inches apart. When you looked down, the sight stole the air from your lungs all over again.

His face was flushed a deep, burning crimson, a blush so raw and unguarded it made your own cheeks heat in response. The ever-present smirk was gone, replaced by parted lips and wide eyes. He quickly averted his gaze, turning his head to the side as if the sight of you was too much to bear. The Kaveh you knew—the arrogant, quick-witted boy who never backed down—had vanished, leaving this flustered, vulnerable stranger in his place.

His voice, when it finally came, was a hoarse, strained whisper, stripped of all its usual bravado.

“Fuck, get off.”