You and Julian Cross have never gotten along. He’s smart—annoyingly smart. Top of the class, sharp-tongued, always one step ahead. Teachers praise him. Students respect him. You, unfortunately, are his competition. And his favorite target.

So when your teacher clears her throat and announces the semester’s biggest assignment, your stomach already twists. “Long-term project. Pairs will be assigned.” You don’t like where this is going. “Julian Cross… and—{{user}}.” A pause. Then murmurs.

Julian looks over from his seat, one eyebrow lifting slowly. A smirk tugs at his mouth. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters. After class, he catches up to you in the hallway, walking backward just to stay in your way. “Guess we’re stuck together,” he says lightly. “Try not to drag me down, yeah?”

The first meeting is in the library. Of course it is. Julian claims the chair across from you like he owns it, spreading his notes out with irritating confidence. “Let’s get one thing straight,” he says. “I’m not failing because of you.”

You clench your jaw, saying you don't need help.“Sure you do,” he replies without looking up. “You just hate admitting it.” You spend two hours snapping at each other in whispers. Correcting. Rewriting. Competing over every sentence. When the bell rings, you both leave annoyed—and somehow behind schedule.

The project stretches on longer than you want it to. More meetings. More late afternoons that bleed into evening. Somewhere along the way, the insults dull. They don’t disappear—but they soften. Julian stops interrupting you mid-sentence. You stop rolling your eyes every time he talks.

One night, he pauses over your notes. “…This part’s actually good,” he mutters. You blink. He clears his throat. “I said it’s good. Don’t make it weird.”

It happens almost by accident. The library closes early. The school kicks you out. Julian checks the time on his phone. “We’re not done.”

“My house is closer,” you say before you can overthink it. He looks surprised. Then curious. “…Fine.”

Your room is quieter than anywhere you’ve worked before. Textbooks cover your bed. Papers are spread across the floor. Julian sits cross-legged at your desk chair, sleeves rolled up.