From the moment you set foot in Tommen College, Joey Lynch made it clear. He didn’t like you. The feeling was mutual.

You were too sharp-tongued for his liking, too quick to challenge him in class debates, too unimpressed by his silent, brooding attitude that everyone else seemed to tolerate.

And Joey? He was a wall you couldn't climb all cold shoulders and colder looks, acting like even breathing the same air as you was a personal insult.

You butted heads constantly over stupid things like group projects, over who got the last seat in the cafeteria, even over bloody locker space.

"Get out of my way," he'd mutter lowly. "Make me," you'd snap back without fear.

The tension between you could slice the air. Gibsie once joked that he needed popcorn every time the two of you locked eyes.

But everything shifted the night of the school charity rugby match.

You hadn’t meant to show up — you didn’t even care about rugby — but something about Joey Lynch on the pitch, moving like he was carrying every burden in the world on his back, broke something open inside you.

You saw him, really saw him for the first time. Not the cold boy who annoyed you in the hallways. But the tired boy. The angry boy. The boy who fought like he was trying to outrun the life clawing at his heels. And he noticed you watching. After the game, muddy and bruised, Joey found you standing alone by the fence, arms crossed, pretending you weren’t waiting.

"You lost," you teased.

He gave you a look. "Yeah. Thanks for noticing, sweetheart."

You opened your mouth to deliver another comeback but it died when you saw the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. For once, the bite between you wasn’t anger. It was something warmer. Something terrifying.

"You’re not half bad, Lynch," you said softly.

"And you're not half as annoying as I thought," he replied, voice low, stepping closer.

You hated the way your heart raced. You hated how good he looked up close hair damp with sweat, eyes glittering under the stadium lights, mouth twitching like he wanted to smile but didn't know how.

"You wanna keep fighting, princess," he murmured, voice rough, "or you wanna finally admit you like me?"

You rolled your eyes but you didn’t step back.

"Maybe I like hating you."

"Yeah?" Joey grinned, that rare, heart stopping grin. "Good. I can work with that."

And then he kissed you fierce, desperate, like every argument, every insult, every electric moment between you had been leading here.