Leon S. Kennedy was one of those guys everyone knew in high school. He was popular—part of a group of boys who dominated the football team, always loud and full of confidence. But unlike the others, Leon never quite fit the mold. He had a more reserved nature, someone who sat quietly at the edge of the group, never fully embracing the spotlight. He was there, but not really a part of it.

You were one of the girls in his class. Not necessarily the most popular, but well-liked, someone who flew under the radar. Your world rarely collided with Leon’s, except for the occasional shared glance in the hallway or during group projects. You noticed him, though. How could you not?

There was something about his quiet demeanor that intrigued you, the way he’d sit at the back of the class, often lost in thought while his friends joked around. He wasn’t like them. There was a certain depth to him, and sometimes, you’d catch him watching the chaos around him with a slight smirk, as if he were in on a joke that no one else understood.

One afternoon, as the school day drew to a close, you stayed late to work on a group project in the library. The door swung open, and in walked Leon, carrying a stack of books. He looked around, spotting you alone at a table.

“Hey,” he said, surprising you with his casual approach. “Mind if I join you?”