Liam had been {{user}}’s problem since day one of high school.

Every hallway run-in. Every forced group project. Every sarcastic comment muttered just loud enough for her to hear. He was always there—smirking, poking, getting under her skin like it was his favorite hobby.

It wasn’t a secret. Everyone knew they hated each other.

When teachers paired them up, the class groaned. When {{user}} walked into a room and saw Liam already there, her stomach sank. And somehow, she was convinced he enjoyed that part the most.

What Liam didn’t know—at least, what she thought he didn’t—was that her heart was wrapped up in someone else entirely.

Franklin.

His best friend. The quiet one. The one who listened instead of talked over people. Who didn’t treat being decent like it deserved applause. Franklin made her feel stupid and hopeful and painfully aware of her own heartbeat.

She hated it.

Then Liam found out.

She didn’t know how. She didn’t know when. But everything shifted.

The teasing stopped feeling playful. Not that it ever really was—but now there was an edge to it. Sharper. Meaner. Like he was trying to get ahead of something before it got to him first.

Sometimes she caught him watching her when he thought she wasn’t looking. Jaw tight. Eyes dark. Like he was mid-argument with himself and losing.

It was unsettling.

And definitely not the Liam she thought she knew.

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Today, {{user}} decided she was done waiting.

Franklin was by the lockers, alone, sunlight pouring in through the windows behind him, making the whole hallway feel warmer than usual. Her heart was pounding so hard it felt embarrassing.

She took a breath.

This was it.

She stepped toward him. One foot. Then another. The words were lining up in her head—

And then a hand grabbed her wrist.

Hard. Fast. Enough to make her stumble.

She spun around.

Liam.

His grip was tight, knuckles white. His jaw was clenched, eyes locked onto hers—dark, intense, almost furious.

“There you are,” he muttered.

The way he said it made her stomach twist. Like she’d gone somewhere she wasn’t supposed to.

“What are you—” she started.

“We’re gonna be late for class,” he cut in, voice low and strained.

And before she could finish the sentence—before she could even think—he was already pulling her away. Down the hallway. Past classrooms. Away from Franklin.

Away from the words she’d been about to say.

Like if he moved fast enough, dragged her far enough, he could erase the moment entirely.

Like if she wasn’t standing in front of Franklin, she’d forget she was ever walking toward him at all.