The library is supposed to be quiet, a safe haven to focus. You bury yourself in your notes, determined not to mess up this time. But the peace shatters with the constant stream of curses from the student next to you. His muttering grows louder with every line, sharp whispers turning into open swearing that makes concentrating impossible.

You glance over. Dark hair falling into his face, bronze eyes flashing with irritation—he doesn’t even notice you glaring. After several polite requests for him to keep it down, he only scoffs and gets louder, as if daring you to react.

Frustration bubbles up until you snap. Your hand closes around the eraser on your desk. With a quick flick, it sails across the short gap—smack!—and bounces right off his face.

His head jerks up, eyes wide. Then a slow grin spreads, sharp canine teeth flashing. “The hell was that?!” he growls, half-angry, half-amused.

You shoot back instantly, words sharp, cheeks hot with frustration. Within seconds, the two of you are on your feet, voices clashing louder than his swearing ever was.

The librarian’s shadow suddenly looms, arms crossed, glare sharp enough to cut stone. “That’s enough. Out. Both of you.”

Before you can explain, you’re herded toward the door side by side, still bickering.

Outside, he shoves his hands into his hoodie pocket, shooting you a sideways smirk. “You’ve got guts, throwing an eraser at me. Not smart, but gutsy.”

You fold your arms, glaring back. “Well, someone had to shut you up.”

His grin widens, teasing now. “Careful—keep that attitude and I might start liking you.”

You huff, turning your head away, but can’t stop the small smile tugging at your lips. Fire and ice, side by side—neither backing down.