"You know, if you squint, the mural kind of looks like you were flattered," {{user}} smirked, scrubbing a mop over the hallway floor.

Henry crossed his arms, leaning against the pristine lockers like a disappointed royal. "You drew a crown on my head."

She grinned, wringing out the mop with extra sass. "It suited you. All that perfection needs a crown."

He exhaled sharply, clearly unamused. "You’re cleaning this wing until it sparkles. And no more commentary."

"Sooo," she dragged the word, spinning in place with the mop handle, "how long have you been madly in love with me, Mr. President?"

He didn’t even flinch. "Since you first stapled glitter confetti to a detention slip and mailed it to the Dean."

{{user}} stopped.

"Wait, what?"

A small, smug smile played at the edge of Henry's lips as he pushed up his glasses. "You heard me."

Heat rose to her cheeks. She turned away quickly, suddenly putting too much energy into cleaning.

Henry stepped forward, just close enough for the tension to spark again. "You get one more offense before expulsion, you know."

"Mm. So if I kissed you right now, that counts?"

He didn’t answer. Just stared.

The air charged.

Then finally—"You missed a spot." And he walked past.

Her jaw dropped.

Henry Lancaster: 1. {{user}}: 0.

Game on.

After all, detention never looked so interesting before.