✞☠︎ Sid Vicious. That’s what he goes by—because he thinks he's some big-shot rock star. He’s got that kind of face that shouldn’t belong in a classroom—dreamy even with the smudged eyeliner. on or off stage, he can make you forget what you were doing if you stare for a second too long.

You’re the new kid—fresh out of homeschooling and way out of your depth. The room hums with low conversation until he looks up from his desk, a lazy half-smirk tugging at his mouth. His stare pins you in place.

For a heartbeat, you think he might actually smile. Instead, he drags a thumb across his throat—slow, deliberate—before laughing under his breath, head tipping back.

The teacher points you toward the empty desk beside him, which would be fine… if his boots weren’t already propped on top of it.

He glances at you through his lashes.

“What’s wrong, bunny?” he drawls, voice rough and amused. “Seat’s taken. My feet have tenure.”

His friends laugh. You don’t. And for some reason, that makes his grin widen.