You felt him staring before you even saw him.

The hallway was chaos — lockers slamming, voices echoing — but one pair of eyes stuck. You glanced over your shoulder and there he was, leaning against a locker like he had nowhere better to be. Eddie Munson. Rings flashing, hair wild, grin lopsided.

He didn’t look away when you caught him. If anything, his smirk deepened.

“You’re new,” he said, falling into step beside you like you’d been walking together for years.

“Yeah. And you’re…” you hesitated, “…the guy who’s always late to class?”

His laugh was quick, boyish, and just a little self-conscious. “Guilty. But only because detention’s boring without someone to talk to.” His voice dropped a notch, playful. “You’d make it a lot more interesting.”

Your cheeks warmed despite yourself.

“Not really looking to earn detention,” you muttered, hugging your books.

“Then I guess I’ll just have to sit in the back of your classes and stare at you instead.” He said it like a joke, but there was something in his eyes — curious, hooked already, like you’d just walked right into his favorite song.

When you turned into your classroom, he lingered at the door. “See you around, newbie.”

And from the way he watched you take your seat, you knew he meant it.