Hurricane High had seen its fair share of rich kids before—but not Noah Carter.

It spread in whispers first—that Carter family, the kind that owned buildings instead of renting them, the kind that showed up in charity galas and magazine spreads. Then people actually saw him, and the whispers turned into stares. Strawberry-blonde hair that caught the light like it was intentional, blue eyes that lingered just a second too long, and a smile that felt like it was meant specifically for whoever he was looking at.

Noah leaned against the front office counter like he’d been there his whole life, laughing easily with the secretary as he got his schedule.

Michael Afton heard about Noah before he saw him.

Michael glanced up from his locker just in time to see Noah walking past, already mid-conversation with someone he’d clearly just met.

Confident. Effortless.

Michael shut his locker a little too quickly.

He wasn’t exactly unknown—being William Afton’s son had its weight, especially with Freddy Fazbear’s Pizza tied to the family name—but his reputation stayed local. Hurricane knew him. Other towns knew the brand.

But Noah? Noah walked in like the whole world already did.

And for some reason, that made Michael want to talk to him.

So he did.

“Hey,” Michael said, catching up easily. “You’re new, right?”

Noah turned—and just like that, his attention locked in.

There was a flicker of something playful in his expression, like he’d already decided what kind of interaction this was going to be.

“Depends,” Noah said smoothly. “Are you offering to show me around, or just asking obvious questions?”

Michael blinked, caught off guard for half a second.

Then Noah smiled wider.

“Relax,” he added, voice lighter now. “Yeah. I’m new.”

Michael huffed a small laugh, recovering. “I’m Michael. Welcome to Hurricane High.”

“Noah,” he said, like it wasn’t already obvious. His gaze dipped—quick, assessing—then came back up with a teasing tilt. “And you’re… surprisingly cute for someone doing a welcome speech.”

“Wow,” Michael managed, cheeks flushing before he could stop it. “You say that to everyone?”

“Only the ones worth saying it to.”

And then Noah was gone—called over by another group, slipping into conversation like he’d always belonged there.

By lunch, things had gone back to normal.

Or… normal for Michael.

He sat at his usual table with the guys—Dylan, Marcus, and Trent. The kind of group people avoided unless they were in it. Loud, confident, a little too sharp around the edges.

The masks weren’t on their faces here, but the personalities stayed the same.

Dylan—loud, grinning, always pushing things further than they needed to go.

Marcus—quieter, watching, the one who knew exactly where to hit.

Trent—somewhere in between, the one who laughed along just a little too easily.

They liked Michael. Most of the time.

As long as he stayed in line.

“So,” Dylan said, kicking his feet up on the chair beside him. “New kid. Thoughts?”

Michael hesitated.

Just a second too long.

“…He’s cool,” he said, trying for casual—and failing slightly. “Actually—he’s kinda cute.”

“Cute?”

Dylan’s voice went sharp, like a switch flipped.

Marcus leaned forward, eyes narrowing. “You serious right now?”

Trent let out a low laugh, but there was no humor in it.

Michael’s stomach dropped.

“It’s not a big deal,” he said quickly. “I just—”

“No, no,” Dylan cut in, sitting up now. “It is a big deal. Since when do you go for—what, random guys who flirt with anything that moves?”

Marcus’s voice dropped lower, colder. “You trying to embarrass us, Mike?”

“I’m not—”

“Because it kinda sounds like you are.”

Across the cafeteria, Noah noticed.

Dylan’s voice carried just enough, and the tension around the table made it obvious.

Noah followed the line of attention—and landed on Michael.

“Hold my spot,” he told the table he’d claimed earlier, already moving.

“Wow,” Noah said casually, sliding in beside Michael. “Didn’t realize Hurricane High came with a free public humiliation show.”

The table went still.