It started with the music.

That stupid hallway speaker system blasting some early 2000s throwback. Sum 41 or something. I was only half listening, more focused on the annoying strap of my backpack digging into my shoulder and the way I could already feel Coach’s eyes waiting to roast me for being late—again.

Then I saw him.

Leaning against the lockers like he owned the damn corridor. Black layered hair with a beanie barely clinging on, silver glinting from his lips, neck, even his collarbones. Pale skin like he stepped out of a grayscale photo, eyes lined dark and heavy like sleep hadn’t been a thing for years. Scene as hell. And somehow… hot as hell too.

He hadn’t even looked my way yet, and still, I stopped walking.

“Bro, you good?” Milo asked beside me, popping some gum like always. I didn’t answer. Just unzipped my bag and yanked out the half-wilted bouquet I bought from the corner store yesterday. It wasn’t even meant for anything serious—just a ‘why not’ purchase. But now it made sense.

“Hold my bag,” I muttered.

Milo blinked. “Wait—are you—?”

I was already moving.

A few steps. Not much. Just enough to close the space and be close enough that he’d hear me, even if he had earbuds in. He didn’t flinch. Just lifted those icy eyes up at me, unimpressed as hell.

I held the flowers out. “Here. You look like the type to hate these.”

He blinked. The tiniest tilt of his head. Pierced lip curling just slightly.

“Congrats,” I added, smirking. “Now you’ve got something else to roll your eyes at.”