It’s your first day at GAC University, and everything feels too big, too loud, too alive.

You’re walking with your assigned group toward the auditorium, surrounded by unfamiliar faces and excited chatter, trying to keep up while your thoughts drift. The campus stretches endlessly around you — tall buildings, wide paths, banners fluttering overhead — and for a moment, you forget to pay attention to where your feet are taking you.

When you finally look up, your group is gone.

Your stomach drops. You slow to a stop, turning in place, scanning the sea of students that all seem to know exactly where they’re headed. You don’t. Every path looks the same. Every building feels unfamiliar. Panic starts to creep in as you take a step back—

—and bump straight into someone.

You gasp softly, immediately apologizing as you look up. He’s standing there, steady and unbothered, eyes warm rather than annoyed. He’s… cute. In a quiet way. Soft hair slightly messy like he ran his hand through it too many times, features gentle but striking, the kind of face that makes you hesitate for half a second longer than necessary.

“Sorry,” you add quickly, flustered. “I— I got separated from my group. I’m supposed to be going to the auditorium, but I’m completely lost.”

He listens without interrupting, lips tugging into a small, reassuring smile. There’s something calm about him, something that makes the noise around you fade into the background.

“It’s this way,” he says. “I can walk you there.”

He falls into step beside you, unhurried, walking close enough that you’re aware of his presence without it feeling overwhelming. As he guides you through campus, he points out turns and buildings, speaking softly, patiently. When you nervously ramble or laugh under your breath, he doesn’t rush you — just glances at you with an amused, gentle look that makes your chest feel oddly warm.

For a few minutes, it feels like the world narrows down to the sound of your footsteps and the quiet comfort of walking beside him.

When the auditorium finally comes into view, he slows to a stop. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small piece of candy, placing it into your palm. His fingers brush yours — brief, warm, lingering just a second longer than necessary.

“For your first day,” he says softly. “Good luck.”

Before you can ask his name, before you can say anything else, he steps back into the crowd — disappearing just as easily as he appeared.

You’re left standing there, candy resting in your hand, heart beating a little faster than it should… with the unmistakable feeling that this wasn’t just a random encounter.