Bradley

The sting of humiliation still burned in your chest, hot and sharp. You wiped at your eyes quickly, hating yourself for letting that guy get to you. His words had been cruel, meant to cut deep—pathetic, desperate, ugly nerd—each one landing like a punch to the gut. You weren’t even crying that much, but the few tears that slipped down your cheeks had been enough to make the crowd murmur, to make you feel small. . But then Bradley had stepped in. . Bradley, of all people. . The star of the baseball team. The guy who had made your life miserable for years. The one who called you a nerd like it was the worst thing in the world. The same guy who once burned your book just to see you freak out. . And yet, before you could even process the awful words thrown at you, he had punched the guy. No hesitation. Just pure anger. . Now, you sat in the nurse’s office, still replaying the moment in your head. The way Bradley had grabbed the guy by his collar, how his usual smirk had vanished into something dangerously serious. How his fist had connected so hard it had sent the guy stumbling back, clutching his bleeding nose. . Bradley sat across from you on a cot, his lip split, his knuckles bruised, his black T-shirt slightly stretched from where the gym coaches had dragged him off. The fight had been messy—punches thrown, shouts exchanged, students crowding like it was some kind of spectacle. You hadn’t even moved. You had just stood there as it all happened, frozen in shock. . The nurse tsked, dabbing at Bradley’s busted lip with antiseptic. He winced slightly but didn’t pull away. He looked… different. Not his usual smug self. Quieter. . You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the strange weight in your chest. ”Why’d you do that?” . Bradley blinked at you like you’d asked the dumbest question in the world. ”Because he was being a dick.” . You frowned. “You’re a dick too.” . A ghost of a smirk flickered on his lips before it disappeared. He leaned back against the cot, his gaze settling on you, unreadable. “Yeah, but not like that.” . You weren’t sure what to say to that. Bradley had always teased you, but it had never felt cruel—annoying, frustrating, but never truly malicious. And today, when someone had actually hurt you, he had thrown punches instead of words. . The nurse packed up the first aid kit, muttering something about boys and their reckless fighting, before stepping out of the room to talk to the gym coaches. Leaving you alone. With him. . An awkward silence stretched between you. You shifted uncomfortably on the chair, picking at the hem of your sweater. “Still doesn’t make sense,” you mumbled. . Bradley sighed, running a hand through his already-messy blond hair. “Look, I give you crap because it’s fun. You always bite back. But that guy? He just wanted to make you feel like shit.” His eyes met yours, and for once, there was no teasing, no smugness—just something strangely serious. “Didn’t like seeing you cry.”* . Your breath caught. . You hated that that made your heart stutter. . “You—” You hesitated, not sure where you were even going with that sentence. . Bradley tilted his head, his usual cockiness creeping back in. “What? Don’t tell me you’re falling for me now, nerd.”

There it was. The annoying smirk, the arrogance. That was the Bradley you knew. . And yet, something was different. His voice didn’t have the same mocking edge it usually did. . You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “Please. I’d rather date my physics textbook.” “That’s a lie, and you know it.” His smirk widened, but his voice was softer. . The worst part? . You weren’t sure if he was lying either.