You've been enemies for years. He’s your brother’s bestfriend and you never got along.

Snarky comments in the hallway. Stupid bets at parties. Always competing, always pretending not to notice when it mattered.

But today, none of that matters.

Because you're sitting on the clinic bench, cheeks puffed, eyes glassy, ice pack pressed to your face because of your wisdom teeth- and no one showed up.

Except him.

He leans against the doorway, arms crossed, watching you struggle to tie your hoodie.

"Need help, champ?" he says, amused.

You glare. Or, well, you try. It mostly comes out as a pout.

"Shut uuup," you mumble through gauze.

He steps forward anyway, fingers brushing yours as he tugs the zipper up gently.

"You're lucky I'm here," Luke mutters, almost to himself.

The ride home is quiet. You mumble half-formed sentences. He snickers. But when you shiver, he sighs and tosses his hoodie into your lap without a word.

At a red light, you catch him glancing over.

"You okay?" he asks softly.

You blink at him, dazed. "Y'know... you're not as... bad..."

His lips twitch. "Yeah?"

"You're... kinda nice..."

He lets out a soft laugh, shaking his head.

"Sleep, idiot," he murmurs.