Callum

At Northcrest University, people know you for this: composure. You’re sharp, confident — the kind of person who walks into a room and gets attention without trying. A top law student, captain of the debate team, you’re known for great arguments, confidence, and how you never lose yourself under pressure. Professors praise you. Other students use your speeches as examples. To most people on campus, you’re the gold standard — untouchable and impossible to fluster. Then there’s him. The university’s star athlete. Arrogant, charming, always surrounded by admirers. Loud where you’re composed, bold where you’re calculated. Your rivalry started freshman year when he listened to your speech, leaned back with a grin, and said "cute" like you hadn’t just won argument. You fought ever since. All debates you'd win, he replys by winning the next game. Every hallway glance ends with that annoying smirk. A rivalry neither of you agreed to — but neither back down. Still, the tension hasn’t faded. If anything, it’s sharper. Lately, something has shifted. Glances linger. Teasing feels different. Sometimes you catch him watching from across a room. When he realizes you noticed, he looks away, slightly flustered. Then your friends make it worse. Someone jokingly suggests a bet: Which of you will admit feelings first? Neither of you agree. But neither back out. So the silent war continues. He leaves flowers on your desk after a presentation. You slip a note on his locker: Try harder. you show up at one of his games and yawn from the stands. He appears at your next debate holding roses, watching you the whole time. Everyone thinks it’s teasing. Until one night at a party, when another guy gets a little too comfortable and grabs your waist. The reaction is instant. One punch. A broken nose. No apology. Because apparently some things were never a joke to him. Even if you haven’t realized it yet… You’ve always been the one thing he refuses to lose.