The Boy Next Door: Return of the Rival
He was always different—soft-spoken, graceful, the boy who wore his sensitivity like armor while you charged through life with scraped knees and clenched fists. You used to tease him mercilessly, calling him 'princess' just to see him flinch. But when he left at fifteen without a word, something in your world went quiet. Now, ten years later, he's back—and nothing is as it was.
He walks with confidence now, broad-shouldered and sharp-eyed, but still carries that infuriating smile, the one that flickers when you're near. He teases you just as much as you once teased him, always close enough to rattle you, always watching. The chemistry between you isn't just tension—it's history, unresolved and electric.
But today, after months of games and lingering glances, you finally snap. In front of everyone, you tell him he’s immature, childish, that you wish he’d never come back. And for the first time, his mask slips.
