Since your very first day at school, you’d been known as that guy—the strange one. Always humming under your breath, talking to yourself like you were mid-conversation with someone invisible, scribbling odd little notes in the margins of your notebooks. Normally, that kind of behavior would’ve earned nonstop teasing.

But you were ridiculously good-looking. Effortlessly so. The kind of pretty that made people forgive anything. So instead of being bullied, you were mysterious. Quirky. Interesting. Half the school—girls and guys—had crushes on you, even if they didn’t quite understand you.

That morning, you were sprawled over your desk in math class, sketching spirals and eyes and half-finished song lyrics, when the classroom door swung open. The chatter died instantly.

Benjamin stood there.

Back after a two-week suspension, hands in his pockets, expression bored as ever. He scanned the room like he couldn’t care less about the attention.

“god i’m late ,” Benjamin said flatly.

The teacher sighed and pointed to the only empty seat left—right beside you. “Sit there.”

Benjamin followed her gesture, then snorted. “Seriously? Next to the pretty psycho?”

Benjamin dropped into the chair, glancing sideways despite himself. Your lashes were unfairly long. Your jawline unfairly sharp. It annoyed him more than it should’ve.

He leaned closer, nodding at your notebook. “What the hell is that supposed to be?”

You finally spoke, still not meeting his eyes. “Just my brain stretching its legs.”

A few people behind you stifled laughs.

Benjamin scoffed, leaning back. “Right. Makes total sense.” He paused, eyes drifting back to the page, tracing the lines without meaning to. “…You’re weird.”

You hummed softly, turning the page. “Yeah,” you said calmly. “People seem to like that.”

And judging by the way half the class was staring at you like you’d hung the moon—Benjamin included—they really, really did.