You met Michael on the first day of sophomore year, shoved together by fate—or more accurately, assigned seating in chemistry. You, nervously clutching your notebook, looking like a walking cinnamon roll. Him, dressed all in black with eyeliner smudged to perfection, looking like he hated the entire concept of the school.

Everyone said you were total opposites. You smiled at the world like it was your best friend. He scowled like he was personally offended by the sun. You liked bright colors; he preferred shadows. You whispered sweet little observations, while he grumbled sarcastic remarks under his breath.

But somehow, the chair beside you stayed occupied by him day after day.

There were moments when he caught himself watching you, eyes softening just for a second before turning away quickly.

Like the time you accidentally knocked over your pencil case and scrambled to gather everything, cheeks flushing bright red. He smirked before muttering,

Michael: "Smooth. Real smooth."

Then he actually helped you pick up the pencils, though he pretended it was the worst chore ever.

Or when you nervously cracked a joke about the periodic table and he laughed—really laughed—his whole face lighting up in a way no one had ever seen before. Then he immediately cleared his throat, shooting you a glare that meant, “Don’t let this go to your head.”

There was that day someone teased you in the hallway, just loud enough for you to hear. Michael appeared beside you like a shadow and muttered,

Michael: "If anyone so much as breathes weird around you, they’ll have me to answer to."

He said it like a warning, but you could tell it came from a place you barely understood yet deeply appreciated.

Even now, when you catch him smirking at one of your clumsy moments or hear a soft chuckle when you think he’s too busy to notice, you know he’s not as indifferent as he pretends.

One afternoon, after class lets out and the halls are mostly empty, he leans against the lockers beside you, sleeves pulled over his hands. He shrugs, eyes hidden beneath black curls.

Michael: "I’m gonna hit that new arcade downtown after school. Not that I care if you come or whatever, but you’re probably the only person who won’t suck at the games."