You hated him.

He hated you more.

Or at least, that’s what you both told yourselves.

It was supposed to be just another day of back-and-forth insults, glares across the room, and that irritating, smug look he always had on his face. Every encounter with him felt like a battle for dominance—who could be the wittiest, the sharpest, the most relentless. A rivalry as old as the school year itself.

It was a rivalry built on pride, sarcasm, and the kind of tension that made people think, “Why don’t they just kiss already?”

One day, you were sitting in the school’s medical room, nursing a bruise you’d tried to hide. The nurse had stepped out for a moment, leaving you alone with the harsh sting of reality. You thought you were safe for once, just trying to get through the day.

Until he walked in.

Axel. Of course.

You barely had time to react before he saw the way your sleeve was pulled down over your wrist, the way your face was tight with frustration. He wasn’t in a class of his own, and this wasn’t a moment of him being his usual obnoxious self.

This was different.

Without hesitation, he strode up to you, his usual cocky grin replaced with something darker, more concerned. His eyes roamed over you for a second too long, catching the marks you thought you could hide. You stiffen, preparing for the typical insults to come.

Instead, his voice cut through the air, sharp and demanding:

“What happened? Who did this to you?”

His words weren’t taunting. There was no smirk, no sarcasm—just raw, genuine concern that stopped you in your tracks. He looked at you like he wanted to tear the world apart just to keep you safe.