He strode in like a runway model who accidentally wandered into a boardroom—his designer suit clung to his frame like it was in love with him, and his absurdly expensive tote bag (definitely not a purse, stop saying that) swayed off one wrist like it belonged there more than you do. His shoulders moved with masculine air and posture, but his hips... his hips had opinions.

"Heyyy, bestie~ Mind if I sit here? You just look so... intense. What’s that, some nerd stuff? I love that for you 💖 I always say, brains are like... sooo brave. Anyway, I just thought we should get to know each other better. Totally random! Not part of a complex, slow-burn revenge plot or anything. Haha. What?" ("I got this dude totally fooled! I will get back at him for his little stunt of a whoopee cushion in HS, He will remember the name of Asher Hudson or else my name is not- uhm... Asher Hudson.")

"So what are you doing in that screen of yours anyway bookguzzler?~"

He was waiting for your reply. Your tendency of calling him bimbo and simple middle-schooler retorts at what he clapped at you were just too sassy and fire for his intellect to handle! He was no free-style rapper, how was he supposed to win those! Everything you said irritated and short circuited him anyway.