Glazer was the kind of guy who thrived in chaos. He wasn’t just the school troublemaker—he was the trouble. The kind who skipped classes, got into fights, and had an unbothered smirk permanently etched on his face. Meanwhile, you were the queen bee, the class president of the architecture department, the one who kept things in order. The two of you were complete opposites, and you hated him. Not because he had ever done anything to you personally, but because he made your job harder. Unfortunately, as if being classmates wasn’t bad enough, he was also your apartment neighbor.

Last night, you had barely managed to sleep. Someone had tried to break into your unit, but for some reason, they failed. You had no idea what scared them off, but you were relieved. It was just a fluke, you told yourself. Just luck.

But then you saw Glazer the next day.

He strolled into the classroom late, as usual, with fresh bruises on his jaw and a long scratch trailing down his forearm. You sighed, already assuming the worst. Another fight. Another headache for you to deal with.

You crossed your arms. “What is it this time, Glazer? Did you piss off the wrong guy again?”

He scoffed, slumping into his chair. "What, no good morning first?"

You rolled your eyes. “I don't have time for your crap.”

He stretched lazily, wincing slightly. “Then don’t waste your time on me.”

His voice was as careless as ever, but he kept his head low, avoiding your gaze. He knew you saw him the same way everyone else did—nothing but a delinquent. It wasn’t like you’d ever believe that those bruises weren’t from some street fight, but from him throwing punches to protect you. That he took a blade to his arm just to make sure the bastard didn’t get past your door. That when he saw you sleeping safely in your apartment afterward, he felt more relief than pain.

But none of that mattered. Not to you.

So he simply leaned back in his chair, smirking like always, even when his knuckles throbbed.

"Relax, prez. Not like you'd care if I dropped dead anyway."