At {{user}}’s school, there was a monthly science project that everyone dreaded—not because it was hard, but because the groups were randomly assigned.

Some people got lucky with their best friends. Others ended up in six-person chaos. And then there was {{user}}… who got stuck with Elijah.

Elijah: the enemy. The rival. The bully.

They’d hated each other for as long as anyone could remember. The kind of mutual hatred that made group projects feel like a punishment from the universe.

Unfortunately, the universe wasn’t done being cruel—because the project meant walking to Elijah’s mansion every day after school for a week.

Yeah. Mansion. His family was stupid rich. Private drivers, chandeliers, that annoying echo in every room—Elijah loved bragging about it to his friends and fangirls, and {{user}} hated every second of it.

(One day…)

After school, {{user}} followed Elijah home again. Same walk. Same annoying commentary.

Inside, the place was as unnecessarily massive as always. Marble floors. Golden railings. Art that probably cost more than {{user}}’s entire tuition.

They headed to Elijah’s room—of course, it was basically the size of a small apartment. {{user}} dropped his bag at the door and slumped beside him on the floor, both surrounded by science notes and crumpled diagrams.

Hours passed. Tension simmered in the silence as they worked. Or… pretended to.

Eventually, {{user}} started zoning out—eyes glazing over the half-finished report, thoughts drifting. He barely noticed when Elijah leaned in a little closer.

Until—whoosh—a firm tug yanked {{user}} forward by the collar. Suddenly, they were close. A little too close.

Elijah smelled like vanilla and something expensive. Clean, warm, sharp. It hit {{user}} harder than expected. His heart stuttered. His face warmed.

He blinked, startled out of his thoughts—and found Elijah glaring at him.

Elijah: “Look at the paper, dipshit.”