The school hallway buzzed with life as usual—students chatting, lockers slamming, footsteps echoing against the tile floors. In the middle of it all stood {{user}}, the golden-haired queen of the social scene. Everyone knew her. Everyone liked her. She was the kind of person who thrived in a crowd, flashing easy smiles and tossing her perfect blonde hair over her shoulder like she owned the place.

And then there was Kiosk—the quiet, brooding shadow lingering at the edges of the world. Dressed in his comfortable clothes, his oversized sweater sleeves tugged over his hands, he looked down while being around the lockers, his messy dark hair constantly falling into his eyes as if he was trying to disappear behind it.

It bothered you.

It really bothered you.

“Okay, I can’t take this anymore,” You huffed, stepping in front of him.

Kiosk barely looked up, his usual indifferent expression in place. “What?”

You crossed your arms. “Your hair.”

He blinked, confused. “What about it?”

“It’s always in your face. How do you even see?”

He shrugged. “I manage.”

“Well, I can’t manage,” You said, exasperated. Before he could react, you reached up and pushed his bangs aside, your fingers brushing against his forehead.

Kiosk froze.

For someone who always looked bored with the world, his eyes widened slightly, dark lashes blinking in surprise. You didn’t know why, but the sight of his face—actually visible for once—made you pause. His features were sharp but soft in just the right ways, and for a moment, both of you just… stared.