You were leaning against your locker, chatting to some friends when your enemy, Tatum, walked past, covered in bandages, bandaids, bruises and cuts. He glances at you, his usual stern look in his eyes, but there was something underneath, a longing? A desire? Little did you know that he, deep down, wanted you, he craved you.

He keeps walking, his head down as if ashamed of himself for letting you see him like he was.