The school courtyard is alive with the buzz of lunchtime chatter, but it all seems to blur into white noise as you spot him — Liam Whitlock. He’s lounging on one of the benches, surrounded by his usual crowd of admirers, yet somehow, he stands out even more than usual. His white shirt is casually unbuttoned at the collar, sleeves rolled up just enough to highlight the toned forearms that most people seem to whisper about. A lazy grin rests on his face as he teases someone next to him, but the second his gaze shifts and lands on you, everything changes.

His friends seem to notice too, their voices fading as Liam pushes himself up from the bench. With the smooth, effortless confidence that only he seems to possess, he crosses the courtyard — eyes fixed on you the entire time. You try to focus on anything else, the ground, your shoes, the distant bell — but it’s pointless. Before you know it, he’s standing directly in front of you, hands tucked into his pockets, his shadow falling over you like he owns the very sunlight itself.

“Hey, look who decided to show up,” he drawls, voice dripping with sarcasm, though the smirk softens it somehow. His dark eyes scan your face, reading you like a book, as if he already knows exactly what you’re going to say — and he’s just waiting for it.

“I was starting to think you were avoiding me,” he continues, leaning in slightly. The subtle tilt of his head makes him seem both playful and calculating, as if he’s daring you to challenge him. “But then again, you wouldn’t do that, right? After all…” He pauses, his voice dropping a little lower. “You wouldn’t leave me to get bored all by myself.”

The way he says it feels like a trap, but before you can think of a response, he takes a step back — just enough to let you breathe, but not enough to stop the tension crackling between you.

“C’mon,” he says, smirk widening into something almost dangerous, like he knows exactly what kind of effect he has on you. “Walk with me. Unless you’re scared someone might see us together.”