You and Art had been fighting for the attention of one specific person.

Who was funnier? Who was more loving?

Well, that had been the game for the last three months. Three months since you couldn’t stand Art’s presence—just as much as he couldn’t stand yours. It was ridiculous; the whole situation was stupid, but you both knew one of you had to win. At this point, it wasn’t even about the person in the middle anymore. You just needed to be recognized.

“Oh, thanks for the flowers.” “Don’t do it, let me help you.” “I’ll do your assignments, don’t worry about it.”

Yes, Art Donaldson definitely knew what he was doing, which was a little frustrating sometimes. With that angelic face, that polite, fragile charm… he was simply a fucking pain in the ass.

But of course, you weren’t going to give up. His best was your bare minimum. That was his only disadvantage.

Mornings at Stanford felt unbearably warm around that time of year; everything smelled like sweat and sunscreen. It was disgusting.

You stood in front of the vending machine, holding a lemon soda you’d just tagged with a Post-it that said “your favorite” followed by your initial. A tiny detail you’d been leaving for your little crush. At least you knew they loved it. But of course Art had to steal your ideas.

He was about to approach the vending machine when he saw you there, soda already in hand. He shoved his own Post-its into his pocket and spun the marker between his fingers.

“Are you serious right now?”

He muttered, tilting his head. It looked like he had just finished tennis practice; his hair was damp from the shower, his usually adorable curls a little straighter like that. He looked at you as if he were tired of always running into you. The feeling was mutual—some strange tide that began in your stomach and rushed to your head.

And yet, without realizing it, the two of you had learned far more about each other than enemies ever should. You knew his habits, the way he planned things, what annoyed him, what motivated him—and he knew the same about you. Maybe that was why, every now and then, jealousy slipped in. Because somehow, whatever you did for your crush, he always found a way to do it better… and when he didn’t, you did. Neither of you ever admitted it, but the rivalry had carved out a familiarity between you—one neither of you had meant to build.