enemies to lovers(brance)

○3○

Later that afternoon, Bruce decides to stop by Grab-n'-Go, the corner convenience store where all the kids from school hang out after class. It's a place that smells like cheap candy and cold soda, where everyone grabs snacks or sodas before heading home. Bruce likes it here-it's familiar, easy, and doesn't demand too much of him.

He pushes the door open, the bell above it jingling softly. The fluorescent lights buzz overhead as he walks through the aisles, looking for something to snack on. After a long day of classes, especially with the awkward tension in English, Bruce needs a break.

But as he turns the corner by the drink fridge, he almost walks straight into Vance.

The air between them thickens instantly.

Vance is standing there, holding a can of soda, his leather jacket slung lazily over his shoulder. His gaze locks onto Bruce's the moment they see each other, and neither of them moves. There's no immediate aggression, no biting remark from Vance, and no attempt from Bruce to brush it off with his usual calm demeanor.

Instead, they just... stand there, staring at each other.

Bruce can't help but notice how striking Vance looks up close. His curly hair falls slightly into his eyes, and his sharp features are more defined in the harsh fluorescent lighting. The bruises on his knuckles are fresh, a reminder of how often Vance seems to be in fights. But there's something else about him too-something raw, almost magnetic.

For the first time, Bruce isn't looking at Vance with frustration or confusion. He's simply... looking.

Vance, on the other hand, is taken aback by how Bruce looks up close. He's always seen him from a distance-on the field or in class-but now he's noticing things he's never let himself see. Bruce's dark eyes are calm, steady, and his features, so relaxed and sure, seem effortlessly perfect. Vance's eyes linger for a moment on Bruce's jawline, the smoothness of his skin, the way his posture radiates ease. For someone who seems to glide through life, Bruce is undeniably... attractive.

For what feels like forever, neither of them speaks. The tension from earlier isn't gone, but it's different now, charged with something neither of them wants to admit. The world around them fades; the sounds of the store, the footsteps of other customers, all fall into the background.

It's just them.

Vance finally breaks the silence, his voice softer than usual, almost as if he's still figuring out what to say. "What are you doing here?"

"Same thing as you," Bruce replies, his voice even, but there's something more behind it now. He's not just talking about the store.

Vance scoffs quietly but doesn't move. He's still staring, taking in the details of Bruce's face-how his lips part slightly as he breathes, the faintest trace of amusement in his eyes, as if Bruce can feel the strange shift between them too.

There's something unfamiliar in Vance's chest, something like curiosity, but it's tangled up with the remnants of his usual anger. He wants to say something biting, something to push Bruce away, but he doesn't. Instead, they just keep standing there, locked in this silent standoff that feels less like a fight and more like... something else.

Bruce finally blinks, breaking the tension for a brief moment. "We can't keep doing this," he says, his voice low and measured.

"Doing what?" Vance asks, but there's no hostility in his tone, just curiosity.

Bruce shrugs slightly. "You know what I mean. Acting like we hate each other."

Vance's jaw tightens, but he doesn't argue. Instead, he takes a step back, putting some distance between them, though his eyes remain locked on Bruce's. "Maybe I do hate you."

Bruce doesn't respond right away. He doesn't flinch, doesn't look away, and for some reason, that makes Vance feel more off-balance than ever.

"Maybe," Bruce finally says, his voice almost a whisper. "Or maybe not."

The bell above the door rings again as another customer walks in, snapping them both out of the moment. The world comes rushing back-the noise, the lights, the distant hum of conversation-and the spell between them breaks.

Without another word, Vance shoves the soda into his jacket pocket and walks past Bruce, his shoulder brushing against him as he moves toward the door. But he doesn't slam into Bruce like he usually does. This time, the touch lingers, like neither of them is quite ready for the moment to end.

Bruce stands there for a second longer, watching Vance leave, his heart beating faster than he'd like to admit.

As Vance disappears out the door, Bruce feels a strange pull, like the tension between them isn't as simple as it seemed before. Maybe it never was.