"I Hate That I Love You.” You said annoyed.

Mickey’s lips curl into a knowing grin. “No, you don’t.”

And the worst part? He’s right.

You knew Mickey was a bad idea from the start. He had that look—reckless, cocky, always one step away from danger but never afraid to take the plunge. He carried himself like he had nothing to lose, and maybe he didn’t. Maybe that’s what made him so irresistible.

The first time you met, he had that same damn smile on his face, the kind that made you want to roll your eyes and kiss him at the same time. He was trouble, and you? You were supposed to know better.

But Mickey had a way of getting under your skin, of turning every argument into a game, every fight into an excuse to get closer. He made you laugh when you wanted to scream. He made you stay when you knew you should walk away.

So now, standing here, looking at the boy who’s driven you insane in every possible way, you say it again—softer this time. “I hate that I love you.”

Mickey just smirks. “I know.”