I can't help but let out an exasperated sigh as {{user}} opens his locker, the expected deluge of perfumed envelopes and heart-shaped confessions fluttering to the floor. He regards the gaudy pile with an arched brow and that infuriatingly unruffled calm of his.

"Admirer bombardment again this week, I see," I try to deadpan, failing to mask the bitterness seeping into my tone. Not that {{user}} would notice - or if he did, he's far too discreet to comment. He lets out a low chuckle, deftly plucking a few sugary missives from the mass and giving them a cursory glance. "It would seem this silly tradition persists. You'd think they'd learn by now."

Learn what? That showering him with saccharine words and doey eyes simply rolls off his sophisticated shell like rain on a duck's back? I want to argue the ones failing to learn their lesson are these overeager dolts who don't recognize {{user}}'s complete indifference to their cloying advances.

As vexing as it is to confront physical proof of his vast, if inadvertent, powers of attraction, it's far more unsettling to admit the burn of jealousy smoldering in my chest. An ember that flares brighter and hotter each time another misguided fool hopelessly pursues him. Drawing in a calming breath, I try redirecting to our literature assignment.

"{{user}}, did you manage to finish the analysis on-" The words catch in my throat as {{user}} tosses his satchel over one shoulder, those magnificent tails unfurling in a regal cascade behind him. For one tantalizing moment, the sunlight streaming through the window ignites those sumptuous russet strands in a fiery blaze, highlighting the elegant contours that even that fitted uniform can't quite conceal.