If you read 'Enemies to Lovers' this is basically the same. I think it follows on better after reading that one but I wasn't quite done with the story after publishing Seb' POV and wanted to experiment writing the same sex from two different POVs without any confusing back and forth. So this is Will's POV. Never done it before but it was fun to write. Hope you enjoy.
Sebastian Saji, the most arrogant, prickly, bastard you could hope to meet in a lifetime snuggled closer to me and sighed contentedly in his sleep, his long limbs tangled with mine and his soft black hair tickling my cheek. My single bed just about managing to contain the two of us as my eyes began to droop too. Fucking bliss. I'd been waiting for this since we first met.
We met in school, all those years ago. I remember vividly when he joined my art class, he stood at the front, watched eagerly by the whole bunch of us, a set of rabble that should have had any kid about to puke with nerves. He was tall even then, and slim, as he remains now, black hair stylish but neat, pale skin flawless, devoid of any marks at all. I remember thinking he looked like one of those figurines, the ones I saw in stores sometimes, in a plastic case keeping the world from marking them. I had always been desperate to have my own, new and shiny and perfect. I'd only ever had second hand, already claimed by someone, broken, bruised and disposed of.
He didn't look fazed at all. As he stood there and delivered the obligatory introduction that children universally dread he regarded us with a look I knew well. Disregard. We weren't worth being scared over, making friends with or even placating. This asshole didn't give two shits about being one if us at all.
The first thing I felt was anger, burning hot and bitter in my gut. It's not like I wanted him to like me, but to simply disregard me like a lower life form? It stirred up ugly feelings in me.
It wasn't personal, I figured that out pretty fast. In the moment though, as he stood there dismissing me, his ice blue eyes flashing with mild irritation and his closed stance emphasising his lithe frame I felt like every nonchalant gesture, every bored flick of his hair was directed at me with laser beam intensity.
I was the youngest of six brothers, often a last thought and hyper aware of being invisible. I knew by then all the ways to make a person notice you, pay attention to you and feel the impact of you on their lives. I'll be honest, the fastest and most effective by far was to be a disruptive, noisy, fearless little shit and I'm not really sorry to say, that was me.
So he took his seat, immediately starting work at the assigned task and pointedly ignoring everyone around him and I drew piercing blue eyes on my sketch pad again and again and again.
After that I suppose I must have ben a pain in his ass. I threw paper balls at him in class, tripped him in corridors and yelled insults, all to get that searing glare of his focused on me and only me. I didn't think too hard about he felt because between his better-than-you attitude and top label, clean, neat clothes it was clear he had things easy.
So what if I pissed him off? It wasn't like it made him cry or anything, he just got madder at me. I sort of liked that, him getting mad. I felt a rush of something when his stupid mask of perfect calm slipped. A kind of pride at being able to affect him even as he ignored everyone else. I loved making those cold eyes of his flare with heat.
Years passed like that and we both got better at pressing each others buttons. He worked out my family weren't rich and I just got put in this school as a lucky break to show they had people from all backgrounds, some charity place or whatever for being good at music. Bullshit in my opinion. I figured out he was wildly competitive and a neat freak. We got physical once or twice, close to blows but never quite crossing that line.
Then there was the kiss. Maybe I'd figured I had a bit of a thing for him before that, but never had I dared to think he might feel the same. It was ridiculous, borderline insane, to imagine us together in that way. He would definitely have laughed, I assumed, then used it against me for the rest of our lives.
It happened on a leafless winter day, I saw him in the corridor and felt something rise in me, something fearless and exciting. He was a model student, in his blazer, white shirt, tie done correctly, hair coiffed, skin glowing and those goddamn eyes already lit up with annoyance just for being in this place. I had to touch him, needed to. So I started a fight with him, a proper one this time.
I knew I was taking things too far as I grabbed his blazer, making him jolt to an almost comical stop and hiss in annoyance as the bell rang to signal 5 minutes until class. He probably told me to fuck off or some damn thing I don't remember and tried to shove me away. So I shoved him back, hard, and when he whirled back towards me he caught me in the jaw with a skull rattling punch.
I could take a hit even then but for a second I saw stars, then I pushed him, as hard as I could to pin him into the wall. The corridor had cleared as our altercation began and no-one remained to drag me off him. I brought my own fist up to smack him right back and then I looked at him properly.
Pinned against the wall, hair mussed, blazer askew, he looked alive. Suddenly, fiercely, alive and like he wanted this, all of it. I paused, not loosening my grip, both of us breathing hard, neither of us blinking, then, after what could have been a millennium, his eyes moved to my lips. His own were pink, soft looking and trembling from adrenaline.
Fuck me for doing it but instead of hitting the son of a bitch I stopped thinking, dragged him to a door a few steps left of us (janitors cupboard it turns out) and half threw him in. I slammed the door behind us and as I turned back to him he eyed me like a cornered animal, ready to go in for the kill.
I swallowed, and then before he could open his smart mouth or push me away and leave I wrapped an arm around his waist and one behind his head taking in his shocked expression as I touched my lips to his in a closed lipped kiss. Bam. The sensation hit me like fucking lightning jolting every nerve in my body to life. I felt like my heart was beating out of my chest as I started to release him, to check how he would react.
As I moved I felt him grab my shoulders, keeping me in place as he kissed me back. Angry, biting, messy, kisses that left no room for air, again and again until our lips swelled and our hands began to move. As my own hands, my tan making them dark against his pressed white shirt, reached for his belt he seemed to snap out of whatever trance we had been in, shoved me into a mop bucket and bolted.
After that he was more careful, more distanced, but just as arrogant and spiteful.
