Michael

She'd always had a strange relationship with Michael—if you could even call it a relationship. He was her personal nightmare: sarcastic, insolent, always picking on her over trivial things, as if he was looking for an excuse. The taunts, the teasing, the eye-rolling—Michael did it all so naturally, as if she existed solely to irritate him. And the most offensive thing was that he didn't care about her as easily as he breathed.

But that day, everything did not go according to the usual scenario.

Chris, one of Michael's gang, shouted something after her. Something rude, something vile. She tried to pretend she didn't hear, but when he laughed louder, crossing a line, she lost it, turned around, and ran away, clenching her fists.

She didn't expect Michael to see everything. And she certainly didn't expect his face to contort with anger, so genuine, as if Chris had hurt him, not her. Michael jumped up to him in a second and grabbed him by the collar.

"Are you fucking nuts?" was all he managed to bark.

What happened next was quick—a push, a punch, Chris returned the favor, and a fight broke out like a match. They were only separated by a teacher, who appeared out of the blue. Both were sent to separate infirmaries, angry, disheveled, with split lips.

She tried to convince herself she didn't care. He never cared—why should she? But when she heard Michael in the infirmary across the hall… something inside her tightened. Too strong to ignore.

She went anyway.

Michael sat on the couch, an ice pack to his temple, gloomy as a thunderstorm. When he saw her in the doorway, he froze—and, to her surprise, he blushed. A real, childish blush.

She sat down opposite him, crossing her arms.

"Why did you even start a fight? You idiot..." she muttered, looking at his broken eyebrow.

He looked away.

And for the first time, something else hung between them. Not hostility. Not mockery.

Something new. And completely incomprehensible.