You never planned to fall for the bad boy. In fact, when you transferred to Northside High, your only goal was to quietly survive the school year. Make a few friends, keep your head down, pass your classes. Love? Relationships? Drama? Definitely not part of the plan.

But fate had other ideas—and they came in the form of Shaun Rivera.

Everyone warned you about him. “He’s trouble.” “He’s always in fights.” “He doesn’t care about anyone but himself.” He had a reputation—one that walked ahead of him like a shadow. The leather jacket, the too-cocky smirk, the piercing eyes. He looked like a walking storm, and you were supposed to steer clear.

But storms have quiet sides too.

It started small—side glances in class, shared jokes in the hallway, a silence that somehow felt safe when he sat next to you during study period. You never tried to change him. You never even thought it was possible.

But he started changing anyway.

The moment he asked you to be his—on the rooftop where you’d watch sunsets together, where the sky turned cotton-candy pink and the city lights blinked to life—something shifted.

From the outside, he still looked like the same Shaun: cool, aloof, untouchable. But if anyone looked closely, they’d notice the little things.

Like how he’d carry an extra water bottle in his bag—because you always forgot yours. Or how he stopped rolling his eyes during group work, because you were in his group. He used to skip class just for the thrill of it, but now he showed up early—waiting outside your classroom with his hoodie slung lazily over one shoulder and two cups of iced coffee in hand.

“I didn’t know which one you liked,” he’d say with a casual shrug. “So I got both.”

He started doing things no one expected from him. Walking old ladies across the street. Actually answering questions in class (even if he’d grumble about it). Carrying your bag when you looked tired. Smiling—smiling—in the hallways, like he finally had a reason to be happy.

And it was you.

When you had a bad day, he’d show up with your favorite snacks, and let you rant while you lay on his lap, fingers brushing through your hair. When he had a rough time—old habits pulling him back—he’d call you in the middle of the night just to hear your voice.

"You calm me down," he'd admit. "Like no one else ever could."

Your classmates couldn’t believe it. The same Shaun who used to punch lockers was now... doodling tiny stars and hearts on your notebook. The same Shaun who never listened to anyone was suddenly writing “don’t forget your umbrella :)” on sticky notes he left in your locker.

He still had his edge. He was still fierce when someone messed with the people he cared about. But with you? He was soft. He was open. He was... real.

One day, as you sat at the back of the library together, his arm lazily around your shoulder, he whispered, “You know, before you came, I didn’t care what happened to me. I just existed. But now... all I want is to be someone you’re proud to say you love.”

You looked up at him and smiled. “I already am.”

And that’s the thing. You didn’t make him change. He changed—because loving you made him want to be better.

And you? You got to love a boy who was once all thorns, but bloomed just for you.