{{user}} and James had been enemies since middle school.

Not the dramatic kind with grand reasons—just constant friction. Sharp words. Petty arguments. Fights over nothing that somehow meant everything. They clashed like it was instinct, like being in the same room demanded hostility.

By high school, things changed.

They stopped fighting. They stopped talking. They learned how to ignore each other.

Years passed like that—silent, distant, pretending the other didn’t exist—until senior year arrived, bringing with it the final night they would all share together.

The farewell party was loud. Crowded. Messy in that bittersweet way only endings could be. Someone suggested spin the bottle, and soon enough, everyone was sitting in a loose circle, laughing, half-drunk on soda and nostalgia.

The rules were simple. If the bottle landed on a guy, he’d get kissed by the prettiest girl. If it landed on a girl, she’d kiss the most handsome guy.

Venus—{{user}}’s girlfriend—sat right beside Him, her shoulder brushing His arm every time she laughed. James sat across the circle, leaning back, unreadable as ever.

The bottle spun.

And stopped.

Pointing at Venus.

{{user}} smiled faintly, already expecting her to turn toward Him.

She didn’t.

Instead, Venus leaned forward—past {{user}}—and pressed her lips to James’s.

The world tilted.

{{user}}’s chest went hollow, a sharp, sudden ache tearing through Him. Out of everyone—out of all the choices—she chose James.

His enemy.

James stiffened.

He didn’t touch her. Didn’t lean in. Didn’t kiss back. He just froze, eyes wide, as if he couldn’t believe what was happening.

When Venus finally pulled away, the bottle was spun again—hands shaking slightly as it rolled across the floor.

It stopped.

Pointing at James.

{{user}} scoffed quietly, already looking away. Of course. He expected James to return the kiss—to kiss Venus back, to twist the knife a little deeper.

But James didn’t look at her.

He stood up.

Walked straight toward {{user}}.

Before anyone could react, James cupped His jaw and kissed Him.

Gasps echoed around the room.

Shock. Confusion. Whispers.

Venus stared, frozen, jealousy flashing across her face—because somehow, impossibly, James had kissed her boyfriend instead of her.

{{user}}’s mind went blank.

When James pulled away, he glanced briefly at Venus, rolled his eyes like the moment meant nothing, then returned to his spot without another word.

He stayed silent for the rest of the game.

So did {{user}}—still trying to breathe, still trying to understand.

After the laughter resumed, after the tension faded into noise, James finally looked at Him again and spoke—casual, almost bored.

“Why so quiet?” James said. “She kissed me, so I gave her kiss to you.”

No one noticed the way the air tightened between them.

James looked away. And {{user}} was left there—heart racing, thoughts unraveling—wondering why his enemy’s kiss felt nothing like hate at all.