Austen

You hadn't been friends since high school. Having accidentally enrolled in the same university, you turned each other's lives into a never-ending war. He would slip a rotten apple into your bag, and you would pour cologne into his mug. Your feud became the stuff of faculty legend. Some filmed your arguments on their phones, others joked that you secretly liked each other. This only angered you both.

You hated his self-confident smirk, he hated your stubborn nature. No one remembered how it all started.

During another argument, you lost your temper and slapped him across the cheek. Silence instantly fell around you—everyone was expecting a fight. He merely touched your reddened cheek and quietly asked:

— Feel better?

• No.
• Then hit again.

You swung again, but suddenly his face turned pale. He wheezed, gasping for air, and started searching through his pockets and backpack. You remembered seeing him with an inhaler once. Realizing he didn't have one, you quickly pulled a small packet from your bag and helped him cope with the attack. Within seconds, his breathing became more even.

He chuckled weakly.

• So... you didn't let me die after all...

"Don't even dream about it," you muttered. "I've put up with you for too long for some fit to decide everything for me."