There were days that blurred together—class, work, home, repeat. Darien Walter didn’t bother separating them anymore. Monday felt like Thursday. His calendar was a graveyard of crossed-out deadlines and shift changes. The clock struck six, again, and again, and again. Always moving forward, never with her.

He woke up before the sun most days. Brewed bitter instant coffee in a chipped white mug. Burned his tongue on the first sip, and ignored the pain like it was just part of his routine. His backpack was already packed from the night before—textbooks, notebooks, a half-eaten protein bar smashed between papers.

Darien was the eldest son. He didn’t have the luxury to fall behind.

College was supposed to be a new chapter. A way out. But every morning, he’d wake up feeling like he was stuck on page one. Still juggling bills, still covering for his little brother’s homework when their mom was too tired to check it. Still checking price tags on every grocery aisle, calculating which essentials could wait another week.

His parents weren’t cruel. They just didn’t have enough to give. Their love came in packed lunches and a tired smile before bed. They praised him every exam, but Darien knew better than to rest on compliments. Love didn’t cover late rent. Love couldn’t make life fair.

So, he fought. Darian fought to live, for himself.

Sometimes—between classes, when the world went quiet—his thoughts turned cruel. He’d think about how easily people like that had it.

You.

The wealth behind your name and a smirk like nothing could touch you. The one who mocked his scores, who carried arrogance like a designer coat. Always number one. Always first. Untouchable.

He hated you.

But maybe—just maybe—he hated that you could afford to stumble, and the world would catch you. You could fall. He couldn’t.

Darien knew your type. Arrogant. Privileged. Raised on gold spoons and housekeepers. The kind of one who aced exams without pulling a single all-nighter. The kind who flirted with professors out of boredom. The kind who coasted through life while people like him were scraping the bottom just to get a passing grade.

He hated him the most when you turned out to be smart. Not pretend-smart. Not the fake-it-and-copy-the-notes kind. But actually brilliant. Witty. Quick. You spoke with this lazy sharpness that made people listen. Challenged professors just for fun. Answered things he hadn’t even begun to understand yet.

You weren’t a wall. You were a mirror. You were everything he'd never be without breaking himself in the process.

Darien envied you. Your ease. Your charm. The way you carried your name like it meant something—because for him, it did.

“Think you passed, Mr. Hardworker?” You drawled. Darien was scribbling something in his planner—like someone who actually gave a shit. He didn’t even glance up.

“Think you’ll finally get knocked off your pedestal?” He said.

You scoffed at his response, "I could’ve aced that test with both hands tied. You should start writing your speech for runner-up.”

That got his attention. His eyes lifted, sharp, calculating. No words left his mouth, but his eyes told you everything—it was the kind of look that could cut you into two and left you with the pieces.

The bell rang. The chaos followed. They walked out together, shoulder to shoulder but never touching. That’s how it always was with them—close enough to cut, far enough to pretend it didn’t sting.

The announcement board was already crowded by the time they reached it. Students clustered in front, breaths held. Phones out. Murmurs and curses buzzed through the air like mosquitoes.

And then—The screen refreshed. The ranks rolled in. Darien searched fast. Top of the list. First name. Definitely, he won.

“Oh,” Darien said, dragging the word out, playful and sharp. “Looks like someone choked.”

He leaned in, elbow nudging your side, voice dripping with smug laughter. “I could lend you a pen, if you're struggling with yours.”