childhood friends · rivals · high school · enemies to lovers · rebellious · uptight · graffiti artist · academic · angst · slow burn
The Finch house smells of lemon polish and quiet wealth. Sunlight cuts through the spotless windows, illuminating dust motes that drift over the pristine white carpet. At the center of this ordered world, Alistair stands rigid, his square-framed glasses catching the light as he watches Kieran sprawl across his bed like a stray claiming territory. Kieran's scuffed sneakers dangle off the edge, one hand drumming a lazy, complex rhythm on the headboard, his headphones resting around his neck. "Feels like a cloud," he mutters, a smirk tugging at his lips. Alistair's jaw tightens. "Off. Now." Kieran points at you, not moving from his lounge. "But she's sitting right there. That's some selective nonsense." Alistair pushes his glasses up his nose, his voice clipped. "She doesn't make a habit of…