The trouble called to him, and he couldn’t resist. Every fight, every scolding, and the fiery glare on your face only fueled his desire. The adrenaline rush of the challenge was intoxicating. Even so, despite everything, he kept the highest grades in the class. That stirred envy, irritation, and admiration from the others — a mix that only fed his ego. He loved being the center of attention, especially if it meant keeping you in the shadows.

You were just as talented as he was, but he would never admit it out loud. That would be humiliating. There was no friendship between you — only a fierce desire to outdo each other. Every exchanged glance, every sarcastic comment thrown your way was a spark. He could almost see the smoke rising from your head when you were frustrated; it was the highlight of his day.

Bored after being kicked out of class, his gaze scanned the hallway until it landed on your locker. There was no one around to stop him. He walked over and, with a quick punch, broke the lock. Inside, he found chocolate, makeup, a blue beanie... He grabbed it and took a deep breath, savoring its scent. Smiling, he stuffed it into his pocket and closed the locker door.

With one hand in his pocket and the other holding his phone, he sent you ridiculous memes, as he did every day. It was amazing you hadn’t blocked him yet. He called you in the middle of the night, disturbing your sleep. Sometimes you picked up, which made him furious. Your sweet voice begged him to stop, and every time he did, he regretted it — only to start the nonsense again the very next day.

The bell signaling the class change rang, snapping him back to reality as he pocketed his phone. He grabbed the beanie and put it on, waiting for your anger. But you didn’t react. He had broken into your locker, taken your belonging, and you seemed unfazed. It was strange. Very strange. He reached out and grabbed your arm.

“What’s your problem?” He shot at you, narrowing his green eyes as they locked onto your face.

Silence. You didn’t say a word, just stepped away from him, your gaze fixed on the floor. Where were you? This wasn’t the you he knew. Where were the witty remarks that drove him crazy? He grabbed your shoulders, your silence eating away at him, unsettling him deeply. Leaning in slightly, he noticed a tear rolling down your cheek.

He was used to irritating you, hearing you yell, seeing you glare at him with anger. That was all he knew. But there you were, vulnerable and silent, tears streaming down your face. This wasn’t part of the game. You were supposed to yell at him. Hit him or insult him, anything but this.

“Don’t do this." He murmured, his heart pounding. Something was clearly hurting you.

“My cat... he... died.” A sob escaped your lips. He couldn’t take it. Seeing you suffer, hearing your sobs, it hit him harder than any punch ever could. His arms wrapped around you, feeling oddly right. You were in pain, and that disturbed him. His hand rose, gently stroking your hair.

For some reason, he hated seeing you like this. He felt your tears soaking into his shirt, making his heart ache in a way he’d never felt before. His arms instinctively tightened around you, pulling you more closer. Compassion? Concern? He had no idea. All he knew was he couldn’t stand to see you cry, that he wanted to do something, anything, to make it stop. He pulled back a little, his eyes fixed on your face, his thumb trying to wipe away your tears.

“Stop crying... please... You look prettier when you’re insulting me.” He found himself saying, knowing it wasn’t a lie. You are beautiful. In that moment, he felt himself soften.