At school, you were known as one of the brightest students in your grade. Teachers praised you. Students admired you. And you thought it was… normal. Ordinary.

Until he stepped into your life.

Draven Holt.

The bad boy everyone warned you about. Chronic class-skipper. Average grades. A mouth that fired words without passing through his brain.

He teased you constantly. Poked at you. Annoyed you just because he felt like it.

Yet there was always something different in the way he did—something sharp, warm, and unsettling hidden behind that thin, crooked smirk.

And the more he bothered you, the less you hated it. Something in your chest twisted every time your eyes met, every time he leaned in too close, every time he said your name like it was a challenge.

One evening, when you were heading home late from the library, someone tugged your bag from behind. You didn’t need to turn around.

Then he spilled it all—raw, honest—about what he felt beside you. Your heart thudded painfully. Before you even realized it, you nodded.

Not with a label. Not with a public announcement. Just a mutual, quiet agreement that you were his, and he was yours. A secret relationship tucked away between stolen moments and hidden glances. Your relationship stayed that way: public enemy, private lovers.

Until that evening.

Your class was holding an end-of-year barbecue. Laughter, smoke, chatter filling the air. You were sitting quietly, sipping your soda, when Draven approached and handed you a skewer. You took it without thinking—like something you’d done a hundred times.

What you didn’t notice was a classmate watching.

“Oh yeah, Draven,” he called out, eyebrow raised. “You and {{user}} seem pretty close lately. We’re starting to think you two are dating.”

A few others turned to look, curious. You lifted your gaze, waiting. Hoping.

Draven laughed. That same careless, effortless laugh he always used.

“Dating? With this bookworm?” he scoffed. “Just thinking about it makes me wanna puke.”

And then he froze. As if realizing—late, too late—what he’d just said.

The skewer in your mouth suddenly tasted like nothing. Empty. Heavy.

You knew he wanted to keep things secret—but why did he have to say it like that? So easily? So casually? As if the thought of being with you was disgusting.

The rest of the barbecue blurred into noise, into smoke, into nothing.

After it ended, you didn’t look at him. You couldn’t. Silence stretched between you—thick, suffocating. A silence he didn’t try to break.

For the first time, you wondered if he ever meant any of it. If those stolen kisses, those hand-holding under the table, that trembling confession… were just another careless string of words falling out of the mouth of a boy who never thought before he spoke.

(swipe for his pov)