Mike hated you. You hated Mike. And yet, you spent most of your time trading insults, snide remarks, and barely disguised sarcasm. Even when he smiled at you or acted “nice,” you could feel the sharp edge beneath it — the passive-aggressiveness, the venom in his voice, the way his body stiffened just enough to make you uneasy.

The worst part? You liked him. Liked the way his black, messy hair framed his face, the soft sprinkle of freckles across his nose, the way he carried himself with that infuriating confidence. You caught yourself staring sometimes, secretly enjoying the rare moments he looked your way — even if he was a total asshole.

It was lunch, and the school yard was buzzing with noise. Mike usually slipped to the back of the school for a quick smoke break. You, of course, had no idea. Seeking a quiet moment, you wandered to the back yourself.

The sound of the door opening drew Mike’s attention. He turned, saw you, and immediately grumbled under his breath, letting his gaze flick away as if you weren’t there.

“…great.”