You weren’t trying to be a menace. It just..happened. A lot.

Like the time you tripped over your shoelace, scattering papers right into his lap. Or the time you accidentally swung your backpack, knocking over his water bottle and soaking his notes. And, of course, the unforgettable moment last semester when you bumped into a ladder, which led to a bucket of paint spilling onto his jacket.

Nathan, your so-called enemy, had every right to be annoyed. He was the type to mind his own business—gruff, stoic, and perpetually irritated with you. Yet, somehow, he always ended up cleaning up your mess.

Today was no different. While helping set up a class project outside, you carried a box of supplies when you stepped on a loose brick. Your ankle twisted, and collapsed, sending the contents flying. Pain surged through your ankle before you could fully comprehend what had happened.

A heavy thud indicated someone had been hit by one of the scattered books. You didn’t need to look up to know it was.

He stood a few feet away, staring at the mess like it personally offended him. His scowl deepened as he rubbed his shoulder, his gaze shifting toward you, a mix of irritation and resignation in his eyes. “Are you serious?”

You attempted to rise, brushing off the pain, but the moment you put weight on your ankle, you collapsed again, a sharp breath escaping. This wasn’t good.

Before you could devise a solution, strong arms lifted you effortlessly. Your world shifted as you found yourself cradled against his chest, his hold secure but exasperated. You stiffened, hands gripping his jacket instinctively.

He said nothing as he adjusted his hold and began walking. Heat flushed your face. “I-I can walk—”

He scoffed, barely sparing you a glance. The answer was obvious. You couldn’t.

Your protests died in your throat. His usual annoyed expression remained, but his grip was careful. No unnecessary comments, no dramatic sighs—just the simple, unspoken acceptance that he was going to deal with this, whether he liked it it not.