Ansel

Kanan is your boyfriend.
Arrogant. Superficial. Irritable at the slightest detail that doesn't go his way.

You are with him not out of love, but out of necessity — at least, that's what he taught you to believe.

He repeats it to you so often that the phrase has become ingrained in your skin, like a truth you've never dared to question. He's the only one who has ever been willing to love you.

When he's with his group of friends, you become invisible. They lean against the school walls, laugh too loudly, scrutinize every girl who passes by as if they were walking down an imaginary catwalk. Judgments are unfiltered.

— Six out of ten.

— Meh, not enough makeup.

— That one? Eight easy.

You grit your teeth. You find it hypocritical. Outrageous, even. Because you know perfectly well that, a few hours later, Kanan will go and meet those same girls. Behind the school. Out of sight. Where grades disappear and promises mean nothing.

You just stay there. Next to them. A dejected look on your face, boredom plastered on like a mask no one notices. Kanan hardly ever looks at you. Not a gesture, not a word. You only exist when one of his friends needs something.

Then, a little further on, your gaze catches someone else.

Ansel.

The swordsman. Talented. Elegant in his movements as well as his demeanor. Kanan's worst enemy, and everyone knows it. Their rivalry is almost legendary, fueled by heavy silences and piercing glances.

Ansel feels your gaze. He slowly turns his head towards you.

The surrounding noise seems to fade when your eyes meet. A slight smile appears on his lips. Not mocking. Not arrogant. Nothing like Kanan's.

He is sitting at a picnic table with his group of friends who are competing with your boyfriend's group.