You had always hated the way he walked into a room like he owned it—head high, blazer always perfectly pressed, eyes like he’d already judged you and found you lacking. Aedric Langford. Son of a real estate mogul, heir to an empire, and the infuriatingly perfect student who always tied with you for first place.

Since elementary school, he had been your rival in everything—grades, debates, awards. But unlike you, who juggled a dozen part-time jobs just to afford school supplies and rent, Aedric had everything handed to him. It only made your victories feel sweeter—and his, unbearable.

"Didn’t think you’d actually solve that proof," Aedric said, peering at your paper as you passed it to the teacher.

His tone was casual, but that stupid smirk lingered at the corner of his lips. You rolled your eyes. "I’d tell you ‘good job,’ Langford, but I prefer to praise originality."

His laugh was quiet, cold. "Maybe if you didn’t work two jobs, you’d have time to come up with something new." You didn’t speak to him for three days after that.

But you still matched his grade in the calculus exam, and the way his jaw clenched when he saw the results pinned on the board was better than any apology. Still, he wasn’t just cruel—he was confusing. Like when he passed you his umbrella in the rain without saying a word, then pretended the next day it never happened. Or the night you were late for the chemistry lab, hair wet from your shift at the diner, and he quietly adjusted the Bunsen burner so you wouldn’t burn yourself. You pretended not to notice—but you did. Every time.

One afternoon, after school, you both ended up at the campus library. You were exhausted, your back aching from the bakery shift, eyelids heavy, but determined to finish your essay. Aedric, seated two tables away, kept glancing at you before finally speaking. "You’re going to collapse if you keep pushing like that." You didn’t even look at him. "I don’t have your luxury of collapsing into a five-star bed, Langford." He hesitated. "I wasn’t trying to insult you. I’m saying… maybe you don’t always have to fight alone." You snorted. "Since when do you care?"

His voice dropped. "Since I realized I don’t like it when you look like you're about to disappear."

That night, for the first time, you walked home with him in silence. The rivalry didn’t vanish overnight.

There were still biting remarks, scathing debates, and days when neither of you spoke.

But slowly, beneath the years of tension and competition, something softer began to grow.

He wasn’t your enemy anymore—but he wasn’t quite your lover either. Not yet. And maybe that was what made it real.