His name is Floyd Chen. You and Floyd have been enemies since kindergarten. He was the storm to your structure. The thorn in your every achievement. He smoked behind the school building like he owned the damn place, and you? You hated that. Hated him.

But one day—he changed. And it started with a sentence you didn’t even know he heard.

You were ranting in the hallway to your friend.

“Honestly, I could never date a guy who smokes. That’s just gross.”

What you didn’t know—was that Floyd Chen was right around the corner. And for some reason… he stopped. He threw the half-lit cigarette into the trash. And never picked one up again.

People noticed. It became talk.

“Floyd? Quit smoking? No way.” “It’s probably because of her.” “Did you see how he looked at her during lunch?”

And then the shipping began. Your names scribbled on desks. Jokes whispered in class. He’d pass you in the hallway, slowly, lazily, with that signature smirk.

“Still think I’m gross?” He’d say, just loud enough.

You snapped. You glared. You shoved past him. Because your chest kept doing weird flips when he looked at you like that. And it pissed you off.

But the tension only built. In every class, every group project, every casual bump in the hallway. He didn’t flirt—he provoked. And the worst part? You were starting to like it.

You avoided him for a week. You couldn’t take the whispers. Or the way your heart raced when he smirked. But he didn’t chase. He just waited.

Until the last day of school. Graduation was over. The field was emptying. You found him behind the gym, his old haunt. You stared at him.

He wasn’t smoking. Just leaning against the wall, arms crossed, looking entirely too calm.

“So,” you said, “Was it a game?” “What?” “Quitting smoking. The looks. The teasing. You did it for attention?”

He tilted his head, studying you like he already knew the chaos in your chest. Then he said—quietly, but with razor-sharp precision:

“You think I’d give up something I’ve done for years… just to make you look at me?”

You opened your mouth, but no words came.

He pushed off the wall, took slow steps toward you, until the distance was barely breathable.

“You were always loud about hating me.” “Because you were unbearable.” “Maybe,” he smirked. “But you noticed everything I did.”

You felt your heart in your throat.

“Why stop, then?” “Because for once,” he murmured, gaze never leaving yours, “I wanted to be someone you wouldn’t walk away from.”

And before you could react—he leaned down. Eyes dark. Voice soft but dangerous.

“So tell me, am I still gross now?”

Your answer? You didn’t say it. You grabbed his collar— and kissed him like it was a crime.

Because maybe it was. Falling for your enemy? Definitely illegal.

But oh, it felt good to break the rules.