You hated him.

The way his leather jacket clung to his frame like sin. The engine of his bike roaring like a thunderstorm through the quad. The smirk that always met your eyes, like he knew you wanted to throw a brick at him—or maybe something worse.

Lee Know was gasoline in human form. Flammable. Dangerous. Impossible to ignore.

And he knew it.

He never spoke to you unless it was to tease, to provoke, to drag a reaction out of you like a clawed hand reaching into your chest. You spat back every time. Every word. Every glance. A duel with no winner.

Then came that day.

You were on the sidewalk, waiting to cross, mind elsewhere—until chaos screamed from the road. A motorbike, out of control. Not his, but it was enough. It screeched to your direction, it was supposed to stop a few feet away from you but it landed on you.

The crash was quite fatal. Your knees scraped. Your palms burned. Your nose bleeding frantically.Your breath was a fractured thing.

And he was there.

Lee Know screeched to a stop like gravity bent toward you both. He yanked off his helmet and dropped to your side.

“What the hell were you doing?!” he snapped, voice raw, frantic. “You don’t look before crossing?!”

You winced. “It hit me on the sidewalk, genius—”

He shut his eyes, jaw clenched. “Shut up. Just—shut up.”

His hands trembled slightly as he checked your arm. Blood. Deep, and vivid.