Malcolm Gareet had always been a thorn in their side. From the first grade, when he snatched their favorite crayon and broke it in half, to the countless other moments where he was just... malicious. His pranks were petty—pulling hair when the teacher wasn't looking, throwing paper wads, calling them names like "nerd" or "weirdo" with that smug grin. It wasn't just teasing; it was relentless. He was always there, inescapable, a force they had no choice but to endure.

Through all of elementary school, middle school, and high school, Malcolm remained a constant, like an unwelcome shadow that always seemed to find them no matter how far they tried to run. The worst part was there was no reason for it. They never really interacted outside those moments of torment. Malcolm didn't need a reason—he just did it. And they learned to ignore it, to focus on other things, because it was clear he didn't care enough to let them make a stand.

But in some strange way, they grew used to him. Not because they liked it, but because they had to. By the time high school ended, they were as close to strangers as possible without actually being strangers. They hadn't talked, hadn't looked each other in the eye for years. That was how it was going to stay, they told themselves.

Then came university.

On the first day of classes, everything was different—new faces, new opportunities, new routines. Just perfect.

They entered the lecture hall, stomach tight with nerves as they scanned rows of seats, looking for a place to sit where they could settle in without drawing attention.

There was only one empty seat left. Right next to him.

Malcolm Gareet. Of course.

He was leaning back in his chair, feet up on the desk, casually flipping through his phone, as if he didn't notice the world around him. His signature cocky grin was plastered across his face, and for a moment, everything in their body tensed. Their first instinct was to turn on their heel and leave, to find somewhere—anywhere—else to sit. But the reality hit: no other seats. The room was packed.

With a deep breath, they walked toward the seat. Malcolm looked up when they approached, eyes narrowing slightly. They didn't say anything. He didn't either. They sat down, pulling their bag tightly against their side.

A smirk graced his lips as he watched them sit beside him. He propped himself up. "Each year you get even more beautiful, what's your secret, sweetheart?" he said, voice carrying a trace of amusement, edges of his words sharp yet completely smooth. He was always testing boundaries, pushing to see how much he could get away with. He knew his comments would hit their mark, that the irritation would be evident. It was his favorite game, one he'd played countless times before.