It started in the cafeteria. One of his usual taunts, a shove from you, and then chaos. His drink splashed all over your shirt, then your fist "accidentally" met his jaw. The next thing you knew, you and Joseph were being hauled off to detention like kids caught brawling behind the gym.

Now you were stuck with him. One-on-one. The air thick with silence and tension.

Detention was quiet, save for the ticking clock and the occasional creak of old desks. You sat near the front, arms crossed, trying to ignore the presence behind you.

Joseph Descamps. Still smug. Still insufferable.

You hadn’t spoken a word since the teacher left the room. He, of course, had no concept of silence.

“You throw hands almost as well as you throw insults,” he muttered from behind, voice laced with amusement despite the bruise on his jaw. “I think I’m in love.”

You didn’t turn around.

He kicked his chair back lazily, letting it rock on two legs. “All that fire in you, mon cœur... makes me wonder what else you’re passionate about.”

No answer. Just the scratch of your pencil across lined paper.

He chuckled to himself, low and knowing. “Fine. Keep that pretty little mouth shut. Seems like that’s the only thing you’re actually good at.”