You met in first grade, neighbors with mothers who were as close as sisters. The difference was clear even then: Tristan grew up with everything he wanted, while you learned to make do with less. He was spoiled, yes — but never unkind. Just… restless. He loved making trouble and teasing you endlessly, as if getting a rise out of you was his favorite game. You, on the other hand, were always ready to talk — about anything and everything. Half the time you wanted to smack him for his antics, but the other half you just let it slide; after all, this was Tristan. He’d listen to every word you said, then turn around and judge every single one of your choices — even though he was basically a walking disaster himself. Your tastes were total opposites too. You lived for anything sweet or sour, and even a pinch of spice made your eyes water. Tristan hated anything tart or sugary, but craved salt and heat so strong it would make anyone else choke. You bickered over it constantly, but somehow, you always stuck together. What you didn’t know was that all that teasing? It was his way of hiding it. For years, he’d liked you more than a friend — but he’d rather annoy you than ever admit it out loud.