slow burn [✓] | second chance [✓]

♪ 𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓴𝓲𝓷𝓰  𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮  𝓪  𝓹𝓸𝓼𝓽𝓮𝓻  𝓫𝓸𝔂 ♪

'are you from another lifetime'

They were eleven and twelve, having met at the clothing store that cornered the most populated street in their city, and it became their regular spot, for a shared love of fashion.

Then they were twenty-one and twenty-two, and nothing had changed.

They still bickered as though they were children, oblivious to the cruel world and the greatest of enemies. The whole campus knew of their rivalry.

She was fresh out of her fifth hookup this week, while he remained unwaveringly single, much to the dismay of the school's female population.

Both were in med school and at the top of their class, with a constant shift in the first and second positions every single ranking season. The biggest news, and the first one to break every exam season, had been the same ever since their first year: who got the higher score?

Last mock test, it had been Chanel who'd come up on top. But only by half a mark. That had been the biggest point of gossip across the last couple of weeks.

'How are you, babe?' he droned lazily. 'Sulking, Ray, sulking,' she huffed, a light blush spreading on her face thanks to the chilly wind.

It was late spring, but the cold was still there. Chanel was dressed in a high white fluffy tank top and a black miniskirt, paired with her black combat boots. She should've been freezing, yet here she was.

Ray, however, was dressed in a stylish suit, plus a thick wool coat to cover him.

'You're shaking, bunny,' he noted, a flicker of concern on his face. 'C'mon,' he shrugged off his coat and put it over her shoulders, his fingers brushing over her collar.

She didn't flinch, staying perfectly still while he wrapped her in his scarf as well.

'Ray, if this is you attempting to be human, don't even try. We all know that you're too far gone,' she warned, 'Chanel if my mother saw you shivering as mad as you are right now, she'd kill me. I'm doing this for her and my own sanity, not because of you,' he replied, a bite in his voice, warning her not to argue.

'Face it, Winters, you've got no jurisdiction over what I wear or if I get to freeze to death or not,' she said stiffly.

'Tell that to my mother, or, if you're so sure of that, yours,' he challenged.

She fell silent. He was right, and she knew it.

'I'll have it dry cleaned and steamed by tomorrow morning before your first lecture,' she turned on her heel and took half a pace forward before his voice stopped her. 'Keep it,' he told her.

And she did.

For the next week, it was all she wore. As the days became warmer, she alternated the days she wore the coat, but the scarf was her favourite accessory.

He often smirked at her when they walked past one another. It had been a new coat, and he'd been planning to wear it to one of the many dinners their school was so famous for, but he'd given it to her without a second thought.

Seeing her cold was one thing he despised, though his pride never allowed him to tell her outright.

But still, they were the same children who sneaked out into the treehouse during the dead of night just to hug and celebrate special occasions. They were the same children who'd, without a word, swapped half of their lunches with one another. Of course, as they got older, the action would raise a hell lot of questions, but never did those questions receive answers.

Even now, they'd ask for their lunch portions to be in half, either in a paper bag or in a container, and it'd be left in the other's room without a note.

That was their way of life.

Argue in public, and caring—almost unwillingly—under the cover of the shadows.

They never stopped going to the treehouse, although as they aged, those moments turned into vulnerable discussions. They knew more about one another than anyone else in the world, even their own mothers—who happened to be best friends.

Some nights, when they weren't home, they'd curl up in bed, waiting for the correct time to text the other. After all, that was what phones were for. Their number of social media followers was well beyond the hundred thousand, their numbers, however, were the school's best-kept secrets.

They could both count on one hand the number of people they had entrusted with their numbers.

The number of people who had both their numbers saved on the same phone was none.

Zilch, zip, nada.

After all, no one would've been able to handle the intense pressure of being both their friends. Being caught in the middle of their lengthy and quite often very loud arguments was by far the most undesirable position to be in at their school.

A couple of weeks after he'd given her his coat, the biggest event of the year came around.

Mid-year results were out, and, to everyone's surprise, there was no second place.

There were only two first places.

Cheating was impossible, especially when they'd sat in different halls to take the test, but it'd been the third time this term. Not once, not twice, but three full times. Each time, their answers had been nearly identical, but each answer had been supported by an almost completely different reason.

They were the best of the best, there was no doubt about it.

However, they were partaking in the most talked-about project throughout the school, one usually only fourth-year med students and above could participate in.

They were the first to be younger than the accepted age, but they had been accepted for a reason. They'd never been put on the same project before, and contrary to popular belief, they worked together seamlessly.

Every conference was filled with their ideas, and it turned out to be successful in ways they could've only dreamt of.

During those couple of weeks, they grew closer in the public's eyes, fighting less regularly and sharing a passion for their art. They treated each piece of work as a challenge that would allow them to heal the world. And, in some cases, it did.

During those rainy nights when they had no one to turn to, they didn't stay on the phone anymore. Instead, they met up at the most popular cafes and restaurants, chatting over a delicious meal of hotpot or Chanel's favourite hot chocolate.

It took time before they progressed to that stage, of course, but giving talks and attending lectures as well as sitting in on many meetings helped develop their relationship a heap.

They bickered here and there, of course, but their social media profiles and posts were now filled with pictures of one another.

And it wasn't so uncommon to see them walking to class together now.

A love story didn't just happen overnight, and, like any real love story, they had some bumpy rides. But they learned how to scale those times together, one operation at a time.

'my greatest enemy'

✎...A/N: I'm a sucker for childhood enemies to lovers troupe, so oops,

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xxx