Genya had always been misunderstood. His broad shoulders and perpetually scowling face did all the talking for him, painting him as someone to avoid. That, and his explosive temper, were enough to keep people at arm’s length.

He didn’t have friends—never had—and honestly, he’d stopped expecting anything different. Everyone just knew him as the academy’s sharp-shooting club ace, a lone wolf with perfect aim but no social skills to match.

So when you sat down across from him at lunch, it threw him off completely. He froze, chopsticks hovering mid-air, like if he stayed still enough, you’d get bored and leave.

Girls weren’t his thing—well, not in that way. Not in the way that meant he had any clue how to talk to them. Genya was a total disaster when it came to dealing with girls, his usual scowls melting into awkward glances and mumbled responses whenever one so much as looked his way. It was safer to just keep his distance, avoid the humiliation altogether.

But here you were, sitting across from him like it was the most natural thing in the world. He risked a glance at you, half-hoping you’d already lost interest. No such luck.

Maybe if he ignored you long enough, you’d get the hint and go away. At least, that’s what he told himself as he focused on his food, pretending his heart wasn’t pounding like a drum.