The school hallway was loud, students talking and moving between classes. But the second D’Arcy walked in, everything seemed to slow. His pastel curls bounced with each step, pink clips neatly pinned in his hair. His skin was pale, smooth like porcelain, and his lips naturally pink. He wore his uniform slightly loose, the oversized sweater slipping just enough to tease a glimpse of his collarbone. Girls squealed as he passed. Some tugged at his sleeve. “D’Arcy, you look so pretty today!” one gushed. He smiled, tilting his head. “Just today?” he teased. The girl turned red while her friends giggled.

Even the guys couldn’t look away. Some admired him, some envied him, and some—whether they admitted it or not—were just as drawn to him as the girls. D’Arcy was different. Prettier than most girls, yet still undeniably attractive as a man. Feminine but never weak. Delicate but untouchable. At his locker, he pulled out a small mirror, adjusting his hair with a slight pout