Morning Tension
Sunlight poured lazily into the classroom, dust motes floating in the golden beams, but Ohm barely noticed. His eyes, trained to spot movement, immediately found the familiar figure lounging at the back—Nanon, leaning against the window frame, casually flipping through his notes as if the world revolved around him.
"Why is he always here? Always… everywhere I look?" Ohm thought, teeth grinding invisibly behind clenched lips. His pulse was sharper than the chalk scratching against the blackboard.
Nanon's gaze flicked up and met his, the infuriating smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Morning, Ohm," he said softly, deliberately, almost lazily, yet the weight of it hit Ohm like a thrown stone. "You look… tense. Haven't even touched your coffee yet?"
Ohm felt heat rise to his face. Coffee has nothing to do with this. He wished he could look away, wished he could pretend he didn't care. Yet every word, every tilt of Nanon's head, every careless glance forced his mind to betray him.
The classroom filled with chatter, the mundane rhythm of students settling into seats, yet between Ohm and Nanon, the air vibrated with silent electricity—years of rivalry distilled into a moment of undeniable attention.
He remembered the playground fights, the stolen lunches, the whispered embarrassments in front of teachers. And yet… why did he feel his chest tighten when Nanon's gaze lingered on him just a heartbeat too long?
Nanon's eyes sparkled with mischief, knowing, teasing. "You're quiet today. Distracted?"
"I'm not distracted," Ohm said, voice low, almost sharp. But inside, his mind betrayed him: Distracted… by him? Impossible.
Nanon chuckled softly, that sound curling like smoke in the air between them. "Huh. Must be all that brooding. It suits you… sometimes."
Ohm's fingers tightened around his pen. Stop noticing. Stop thinking. He's infuriating. He's everything I hate.
And yet, every word Nanon spoke lingered, every glance etched itself into memory, weaving a tension neither wanted to admit.
Project Pairing
The professor's voice cut through their silent war. "Today, you'll begin drafting the initial ideas for your showcase project. You two—together."
The words landed with the weight of inevitability. Ohm's jaw tightened, muscles tensing. Nanon, for his part, leaned forward with a glint in his eyes, as if daring Ohm to make the first move.
They approached the workspace side by side, shoulders brushing once, twice. Ohm felt a jolt—a spark he would never admit to anyone, not even himself.
Nanon smirked. "Comfortable sitting that close?"
"Don't get used to it," Ohm replied, tone clipped. Yet the flutter in his chest said otherwise.
Hours passed as they debated, argued, and teased over the project's simplest aspects. Topic selection, method of research, division of tasks—it became a battlefield of words, sharp, witty, precise.
Yet beneath the sarcasm and rivalry, there was an unspoken acknowledgment. Every glance was loaded, every brush of hands a silent confession.
When Nanon reached over to correct a misaligned sheet, their fingers touched—briefly, almost accidentally. Both froze, heartbeats quickening.
Why does a simple touch feel like… Ohm's thoughts stumbled, failing him entirely.
Nanon's chest did the same. He's… infuriating. But why does it feel like warmth?
Hidden Sides
During a brief break, Nanon observed Ohm quietly adjusting the notes, meticulous, careful—something almost tender, almost human in the way he worked alone.
He's… different when no one's watching, Nanon thought, a strange flutter in his chest. Still irritating, still broody, but… there's something… soft there.
Ohm, meanwhile, noticed Nanon gnawing at his pen, worrying about the project, something he never admitted to anyone. He's not just smug and careless. He's… thinking. Always thinking.
A tension, unfamiliar yet intoxicating, settled between them. They were no longer simply rivals—they were mirrors, reflecting pieces of themselves in each other they never wanted to see.
Nanon leaned over the table to reach for a misplaced notebook. Shoulders brushed again. Hearts thudded. Neither spoke. Neither moved away.
"Being just friends is impossible," Ohm thought, bitter, flustered, unwilling.
"And I hate that I feel this," Nanon admitted silently, eyes on Ohm's back.
Afternoon Sparks
The day dragged on, filled with tasks, debates, and accidental intimacy. A shared pencil, a lean over the table, a brush of hair from a sudden gust of wind through the window—moments that ignited tiny, unspoken fires.
Every interaction carried weight. Every glance lingered too long. Every sarcastic comment hid fascination, and every teasing word masked the slow bloom of something dangerous, something beautiful.
By late afternoon, the library felt empty, silent but for the sound of their pens scratching across paper and the occasional sigh or muttered word.
Nanon leaned back, stretching, eyes finding Ohm again. "You know," he murmured, soft, teasing, "you're… not as unbearable as I thought."
Ohm's breath caught. He searched for words, found none. Beneath the wall, the sarcasm, the rigid perfection—there was a flicker, a flutter, a truth he couldn't admit.
Rain and Reflection
The bell rang. They stepped outside into a soft, drizzling rain. Nanon, ever the mischief, produced an umbrella, a gesture simple yet intimate.
Shoulders brushed. Hands occasionally collided. Every contact sparked awareness, confusion, desire.
"Being just friends is impossible," Ohm admitted aloud, though only the rain heard him.
"And I hate that I like it," Nanon thought, leaning slightly closer, not daring to speak the words.
The storm outside mirrored the storm inside—raging, gentle, confusing, undeniable. And for the first time, they were caught not by circumstance, but by the pull between them, a force neither wanted to fight.