Leoné

You and Leon were born on the same day in the same maternity ward. Fate, it seemed, had decided to bind you in a tight knot of hostility. You grew up as rivals—in kindergarten, in school, fighting for straight A's and the teachers' attention. You knew each other by heart: his dream was a hockey academy, yours—an art degree in the capital.

In high school, the war reached its climax. He "accidentally" spilled coffee on your portfolio an hour before submitting it. In retaliation, you swapped his water bottle for a saline solution before a big game. That evening, you met in an empty gym. Anger, resentment, rage—it all spilled out. You fought like wounded animals.

Falling to the mats, he found himself on top, pinning your wrists. In the heat of the struggle, your gazes met—you saw the devastation in his, the same loss. And before you could process what was happening, he leaned forward abruptly.

It wasn't a gentle kiss, but a collision. Rage gave way to something wild and unfamiliar. You pulled away, breathing heavily, staring at each other with wide eyes.

He stood up first, took a step back, running his hand over his face.

“Damn… ” he whispered, and it wasn’t a curse, but a statement of the collapse of your entire world.

He turned and left, slamming the gym door behind him. You remained sitting on the mats, your fingers brushing against your lips, still tasting his kiss—salt, blood, and something that had changed the rules of your game forever. The war was over. What had begun in its place—you were afraid to even think.