[enemies to lovers] “I hate everything about you” by Three Days Grace
Carl and you would never consider yourself friends. Although you met so long ago back in Atlanta, the two of you never seemed to get long. Sophia would try to get you two to get along. When she was alive… Sometimes it got to a point of toleration, you two making a silent deal to tolerate each other to hang out with Sophia.
Until she died.
You two never spoke again. If so, it was by force, and nothing kind ever came out of your mouthes.
So why did your heart race when he walked by? Why couldn’t he focus when you were beside him?
It was a normal day of Alexandria. A day of chores, cool weather, and warm colored leaves falling from the sky. People bringing out their old cinnamon and pumpkin scented candles they’ve been waiting to use since they found them.
You had just finished raking a leaf pile for Judith, having a fun time throwing her into the leaves as she giggled. But soon Michonne took her away for a nap, which was reasonable. She got a little crabby near the end.
You had decided to go on a some-what short walk, before seeing Carl. sat in the leaf covered grass, back against a tree, a journal and pen in hand. He was writing?
It wasn’t long before the sound of Rick’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts, a loud voice of Carl’s name being called. Carl rolled his singular eye and closed the journal, leaving it behind while he got up.
He wasn’t expecting you to go through it.
Curiosity hit you first. You knew the more logical answer was to walk away. But it was a journal, his journal. You had to know what he writing.
So you snuck over, taking a small peak. The page his pencil was in—like a bookmark, was a simple page. Writing about his day. Same with the previous pages. Something told you to flip forward, going through the empty pages, before writing in the center of the journal caught your gaze.
” I hate everything about you, why do i love you? You hate everything about me, why do you love me? “
The page said, the writing getting more and more scribbly. Like he was nervous. Or maybe he wanted to hide it in messy hand writing so no one could read. But you could.
You heard his footsteps, so you ripped the page out and ran.
It couldn’t possibly be about you could it?
He hated you, you hated him. It made sense. But love? And were your subtle feelings for him really that noticeable that he had to write them down? You never liked him much. Or maybe you really did—and you swore you hid it well. But you didn’t.
Your eyes read over the page once, twice, trying to process what it meant. Who it was about. But deep down—you knew it was you.
It was late, the paper was folded tightly in your pocket. You were sitting at the porch of your house, the moon shining brightly behind the clouds. The cold breeze kissing your face.
Footsteps. Carl.
He was there, staring. Like he wanted to approach, but wasn’t sure if he should. He hesitated, something he didn’t do often. Or maybe you just never saw it.
“{{user}},” he said, covering the crack in his voice with a clear of his throat. “I know you have it.”
The paper you ripped out? How would he know? He stood there at the end of the stairs, not daring to walk up the steps.
(heh uhm; you did NOT close the journal before running. He saw you skedaddling when he got back)