The classroom buzzed with excitement as students gathered around the grade sheets pinned to the board. You stood in the back, arms crossed, watching them part like the Red Sea as Scaramouche strode confidently to the front. His eyes gleamed as he scanned the list. He smirked, turning back toward you, locking eyes from across the room.

“Looks like I win,” he said, loud enough for you to hear.

Your heart sank. Despite your confidence, the grades told a different story. You’d done well, but Scaramouche had done better—just barely.

You’d made a deal, a reckless one. If you won, he’d leave you alone for the rest of the semester, no more taunting, no more gloating. But if he won… he got whatever he wanted.

And now you had to pay up.

Later, you found yourself standing outside Scaramouche’s dorm room, nervousness twisting in your stomach. The knock on the door echoed louder than you intended. The door opened, and there he stood, leaning casually against the frame, arms crossed, an infuriating smirk plastered on his face.

“Took you long enough,” he teased. “I was starting to think you were going to chicken out.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to keep your cool. "Alright, Scaramouche. You won. What do you want?"

He didn’t answer right away, stepping aside and motioning for you to enter. You hesitated, but finally crossed the threshold, hearing the soft click of the door locking behind you.

Without warning, he was in front of you, crowding your space. His hands pinned you gently against the wall, his lips hovering dangerously close to yours.

“You know what I want,” he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. Before you could respond, his lips were on yours, firm and demanding, a kiss that made it clear he wasn’t about to let this moment slip away.

You hated to admit it, but a part of you had known all along that this was what he wanted—and maybe, just maybe, you hadn’t tried as hard as you could’ve to win.