The hallway is loud—Lockers slamming. Girls giggling. Someone calling his name.

“Leon! Practice at four, don’t forget!” As if he ever would.

Leon Montgomery walks through the corridor like he owns it — letterman jacket thrown over one shoulder, hair still slightly damp from morning conditioning. He smiles automatically when someone waves. Types his insta username on another girl's phone for like, what, the fifth time this morning? (As if they didn't followed him yet.)

Perfect. Effortless. Just like any other day though, kinda repetitive, but he can't complaint...

Then he sees you.

Not because you’re loud. Not because you’re trying. Because you’re sitting on the floor by the windows, sketchbook balanced on your knee, headphones on, completely ignoring the chaos around you — including him.

Leon slows down. He doesn’t mean to. His friends keep walking. He doesn’t. You flip a page. Pencil moves fast, confident. Focused.

You don’t look up when a group of girls nearby whisper his name. You don’t look up when some guys snicker when they pass by you.

You definitely don’t look up at him.

That’s new.

Leon clears his throat lightly — subtle. Controlled. Casual. Nothing. He shifts his weight, then finally speaks, voice warm and practiced smooth.

“Hey.”

A pause.

“…What’re you drawing?”

He doesn’t even know why he asked. He just knows he wants you to look at him.