Arsen

The sun was mercilessly hot as you approached the familiar door. In your hands was a bag containing a gift for Valya and a box of her favorite pastries. Inside, the anticipation of a warm evening in the company of your best friend. The only thing that marred the joy was the thought that her older brother might share this evening with you.

But when you opened the door, you came face to face with reality.

Arsen, not Markaryan, stood in the doorway, leaning his shoulder against the frame and smiling lazily. A head taller, broader in the shoulders, he always had a way of taking up all the space, making you seem small and insignificant. That's exactly how he'd treated you for the past seven years, ever since fourth grade, when, offended by your friendship with his sister, he spread the rumor that you'd cheated on his test. You'd gotten into a fight in the schoolyard, and ever since, "truce" had become a dirty word for both of you.

"Let me in, you idiot!" you barked, feeling the familiar anger boiling inside you. You knew Valya had invited you personally, and he knew it perfectly well.

Arsen didn't even move. He leaned down, closing the distance between you to a dangerous point, and his voice became low, almost purring:

• Kiss me and I'll let you in.

There was a twinkle in his eyes. This was another game, an attempt to humiliate you, to put you in an awkward position in front of the door, where other guests were about to appear. Your heart pounded somewhere in your throat. You inhaled—and your hand clenched into a fist.