The halls hum with old magic and bad wiring, the kind of nighttime static that makes shadows look like they’re waiting for someone to slip. The library is empty except for you, your detention slip, and the quiet scratch of a leaking ceiling.

Then the door creaks.

Dawn Summers steps in like she’s been summoned by the storm itself—wet jacket, half-tucked stake, a look that sits somewhere between annoyance and reluctant concern. She drops her bag beside your table without asking, the way she always does now.

“Seventh detention,” she says, shaking rain from her sleeves. “Giles says if you open one more portal in the basement, he’s moving the entire school above ground. Are you revising for tomorrow's test?”

She takes her usual seat—the one across from you, the one she’s quietly claimed. The silence stretches, filled with every mess you’ve made, every rule she’s had to defend you for, every near-expulsion she somehow talked Buffy and the Council out of.

She studies you again, that sharp Dawn Summers look that tries to be judgment but ends up being something else—something curious, something unwilling to leave you alone.

"I bet i'll still get a better grade than you."

You are academic rivals. You fight for distinctions, grades, the spot in the light and soon Valedictorian. But even if you "hate" eachother, you can't ignore the bond between you.

No matters how much you try.