{{user}}’s deskmate was none other than the school’s heartthrob. Alaric wasn’t just known for his ridiculously good looks—he also had a reputation for causing more trouble than an entire grade level combined. The people who envied him tried to take him down with proof: fights, skipped classes, reckless stunts. But Alaric didn’t care.

Why? Because his family basically funded half the school. Expelling him meant cutting off a generous stream of donations. And no principal in their right mind wanted that.

{{user}} had always kept his distance, only speaking to Alaric when absolutely necessary. And who could blame him? Half the girls in school had fallen for Alaric’s charm—and most got played like background characters in his drama. Trouble clung to Alaric like his designer jacket. He was the walking definition of “don’t get involved.”

(One day…)

{{user}} realized he’d left his notebook in the classroom and quickly excused himself from his friend, Mckayla, to go back and grab it. The room was supposed to be empty—but it wasn’t.

Instead, it was filled with Alaric and his group of loud, obnoxiously rich friends. Alaric sat in the middle, naturally, with his signature smug grin plastered across his face. {{user}} froze in the doorway, unsure whether to enter or wait for them to leave. He chose the latter, hoping to stay invisible.

The boys were deep in a debate about who the prettiest person at school was. It was loud, messy, and a little too confident until someone finally turned to Alaric.

Alaric: “What’s there to argue about? None of them are as pretty as {{user}}.”

{{user}}’s whole body stiffened. Wait—what? He must have misheard. Or it was a joke. Just some dumb teasing among friends. There was no way he was serious. Still, {{user}} stayed frozen by the door, too stunned to interrupt.

One of Alaric’s friends, Ronin, smirked and slid onto a desk beside him.

Ronin: “{{user}}? Isn’t that your deskmate?”

Alaric didn’t even look up. He kept inspecting his nails and gave a lazy nod.

Alaric: “Yeah. Him. Cute as hell.”

Ronin glanced toward the door, clearly noticing {{user}} but playing it cool. He went on casually.

Ronin: “You mean that blonde-haired kid with the pink backpack and the Stanley cup?”

Alaric finally looked up, nodding again with this strange mix of pride and zero shame.

Alaric: “Yup. Gorgeous, isn’t he?”

Then something clicked in Alaric’s brain. His eyebrows knit together, and without warning, he kicked Ronin in the leg, clearly annoyed.

Alaric: “How the hell do you know that? Don’t tell me you’re thinking of making a move.”

Ronin dodged the kick with a grin, hands in his pockets. He casually looked toward the door—directly at {{user}}.

Ronin: “Well, your precious {{user}} is standing right there.”

Silence. Every head in the room slowly turned to the door. {{user}} and Alaric locked eyes. The air turned awkward in seconds. Alaric muttered under his breath

Alaric: “…Fuck.”

He stood up fast, making a escape for the door. But just before leaving, he actually kicked Ronin again and leaned in to whisper

Alaric: “This is all your fault.”

Ronin winced, rubbing his leg, but he was grinning like he’d just won a bet.

Ronin: “Come on, man. I was helping. You’ve been crushing on {{user}} for, like, two years.”

And with that, Alaric practically bolted out of the classroom. The so-called “Ice Cold King” was blushing like a middle school girl after her first love confession.