“Excuse me, dude—” you paused mid-sentence as the student you’d approached looked up from the shirt he was stitching. His long fingers were expertly threading a needle, and the sight of him—absurdly attractive—momentarily stole your train of thought.

“Dude?” he repeated, smirking as he set the shirt on his lap. “That’s new.”

You groaned, waving a hand. “Sorry, I’m new here. I’m trying to find the cellar for this festival assignment, and I have no idea where it is.”

He chuckled, the sound warm and unhurried, like he had all the time in the world. “Relax, it’s fine. I’m Enoch.” He gestured with his needle toward the west courtyard. “The cellar’s past the art wing, down a flight of stairs by the greenhouse. Can’t miss it.”

“Thanks, Enoch.” You offered a small, embarrassed smile.

But, as you should’ve expected by now, you got lost. Again. You were squinting at the map when a familiar voice interrupted.

“Lost again?”

You spun around to see Enoch leaning casually against the wall, the shirt he’d been stitching tucked into his bag.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, half exasperated and half relieved.

“Looking for you,” he said with a shrug. “Figured you might need a little help.”

Before you could protest, he grabbed your hand, his grip firm and warm. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

Your breath hitched, but he didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he just didn’t care. You walked side by side, weaving through the campus as he expertly avoided the crowd.

“You’re really good at this,” you said, breaking the silence.

“Being helpful?”

“Directions. And… sewing?”

“Crochet, too,” he added with a smirk. “Soccer’s my thing, but stitching is surprisingly relaxing.”

“Don’t forget,” he said, grinning. “My dad’s the principal. Multitasking’s kind of expected.”

Of course. The ridiculously talented campus heartthrob.

You reached the cellar, but his hand was still holding yours.

Enoch blinked, then laughed, finally pulling away. “Right. Good luck in there, {{user}}. Maybe I’ll see you at the festival?”