Everybody’s left for the day, the school deserted and the hallways empty but you linger, your books tucked under your arm, leaning against your locker. You’re waiting—because you know he’ll come.

And right on time, Simon’s walking down the hallway to you. Your childhood bully who’s had a sudden fucking change of heart in the beginning of senior year.

He’s taller now, broader. The boy who used to pull your hair, shove your books out of your hands, and taunt you with cruel smirks is no longer some scrawny little bastard. He looks tired, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his jaw tight. He’s been trying to talk to you for weeks, lingering in the hallways, offering hesitant glances your way, but you haven’t given him the satisfaction.

You want him to stew. The sudden moral compass hasn’t won you over or whatever personal growth he thinks he’s had.

“{{user}},” Simon mutters, and his voice is gravelly as he stops in front of you, dark blond hair in his eyes that are the same shade of steel grey you’ve always hated.

His lips press together, and for the first time, you see hesitation in his eyes. It's strange—Simon Riley never hesitates. Not when he was younger, running his mouth with insults that left you simmering, not when he used to get in fights just to prove he could. But now, standing in front of you, he’s awkward. Unsteady. Unsure.

“I was a right dick to you when we were kids,” Simon mutters finally, and you raise a brow, wholly unimpressed.

“Oh? You were? Funny, I hadn’t noticed."

Simon’s jaw clenches, and you see the flicker of frustration in his gaze.

“Look—"

“No,” you cut him off, stepping closer, watching the way he stiffens. “You don’t get to just look your way into forgiveness, Riley." This boy made those years hell for no goddamn reason. You never did anything to Simon, never once did him wrong but he took it out on you anyways. And now you want revenge.

“What do you want from me, {{user}}?” Simon mutters, jaw working. “What’s it gonna take?”