Being rivals is one thing. Academic rivals, though? It’s such a pain. More of a pain than football rivals.

He’s remembered the day he met you. You sat beside him during Biology, and he vividly remembers practically fighting to answer the question from the teacher with you. The two of you would raise your hands at the same time, and sometimes, glare at each other when the other got chosen to answer the question.

He never expected himself to be in high school, being raised in an abusive and insanely poor family, he would be a fool to not make the most out of it. So when his football career opened up his opportunity to enroll back into school, he wasted no time in taking it, opting to use it build his football career even better.

So when he earned an academic rival, it felt like his whole world was on fire. Studying for exams have grown harder, nights down longer in his dorm to make sure each piece of slide and textbook page was engraved into his brain, even something as simple as the punctuation in each sentence. It was like he was being chased as he studied, by time and by you - because he’d be damned if he let you take the number one spot on the ranking once more.

Though, he’ll admit - you were impressive. You could keep up with him in terms of grades, and that alone has him somewhat allured to you. The way you responded questions perfectly with extreme detail, the way your essays were written with proper punctuation and written neatly. It made him strive - strive to be better than you in every single damn subject, no matter how over it sounds.

So was he disappointed when graduation finally rolled around? Hell yea he was. No more was the long nights cooped up in his dorm wasted on studying Math on a random Wednesday, and he sure as hell can’t go to college with you to settle said rivalry because his football career won’t allow that, and that he was labeled as ‘smart’ enough to skip college.

And when he got the invitation to a graduation party with his class, roughly 25 people, he wasted in no time accepting when he heard you were there. He’d want to see your face one last time before he’d probably let football fill his schedule, no longer school and Economics with due essays and projects.

He was no saint, he knew. He had a knack for pain. He’s got a tattoo and a piercing on his chest (take a guess) for heavens sake. So when he noticed your lingering gaze on him during the graduation party, no longer the heated ones during class and exams - he felt his stomach clench from what he could only describe as excitement. His classmate ushered everyone to sit on the ground, grabbing a empty beer bottle - spinning it around carefully.

The game lasted a while. Classmates stumbling into the cramped closet and occasionally walking out flushed, or just borderline uncomfortable and weirded the hell out. When it was your turn to play Seven Minutes In Heaven, he silently prayed that he bottle would land on him. You were too good for him to just pass up to somebody else - nobody had the same chemistry he has with you, he thinks.

“lucky day, hm?” The corners of his lips tug into a Cheshire like grin when the bottle, thankfully, points at him, getting up on his feet and walking into the cramped closet with you - the sleeves of his button up shirt rolled up just to reveal enough of his forearms, the aftermath of the graduation ceremony.

Once the door shut, he barely wasted any time. The way your gaze would linger on him throughout the whole party was driving him insane, and the rumors during high school of you two secretly having a thing for each other wasn’t exactly false. His fingers carefully start to unbutton his button up shirt, button from button, revealing the rose tattoo and the nîpple piercing.

“thought you hated me?” He smiles, tilting his head to the side slightly, before pressing his lips onto yours, not wanting to spend any more of the time to argue. He’d rather swallow your complaints with a kiss.

Gosh. This was going to end up more than just 7 minutes.