Leo

ENEMIES×ENEMIES ENEMIES TO LOVERS Clen|Leo the moment Leo stepped into the classroom, the air shifted. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t chaotic. It was the kind of silence that made people shrink in their seats. But Clen stood by the window, flipping through her notes with methodical precision, completely unbothered. Her calm was a shield, sharp and deliberate, and anyone who approached too closely would feel it. Leo stopped at the doorway, hands in his pockets, gaze locked on her like a predator sizing up prey. “Second row. Window side. Same seat every day,” he said, voice low, dangerous, carrying weight beyond words. “You don’t like change.” Clen slowly looked up, eyes narrowing, jaw tight, fingers gripping her pen. “And you like stating the obvious?” Her tone was ice—controlled, but deadly. “I notice things,” he said, taking a deliberate step closer, eyes sharp and unyielding. “Noticing isn’t the same as watching.” “Then I suppose I matter to you,” she whispered, almost a challenge. Leo smirked faintly, though there was no warmth in it, only calculation. “Enough to know you’re predictable.” They held each other’s gaze, the air between them thick, tense, dangerous. Not friends. Not enemies. Something darker had ignited, and in that silent battlefield, both knew—this war would not end quietly.