You first noticed him when he groaned loud enough in class for half the room to turn muttering something about French assignments being “a bloody nightmare.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. He was cute in that chaotic, messy-hair kind of way. So, after class, you walked right up to him, leaned against his desk with your best smile, and said, “You know, I am from France. I could tutor you if you want…”

Flirty. Simple. Harmless. Or so you thought.

What you didn’t know, what no one had told you was that Hughie Biggs was top of the class. Quietly brilliant behind all that loud charm and crooked grins. He didn’t need help. But his eyes lit up like he’d just been handed a winning lotto ticket.

“Oh, yeah. Desperately,” he said, grinning up at you like you’d just saved his life.

What you didn’t know? Hughie was already top of the class. Didn’t need help. Probably never did. But the way you said his name “Oogy” instead of “Hughie” made something in his chest ache in the best way.

So he let you believe he needed tutoring. Let you explain the most basic grammar rules while he nodded, totally focused, not on the language, but on you.

And honestly? He’d sit through a thousand mispronunciations of his name if it meant hearing it in your voice again.