Noah Prescott was sitting on the steps outside the school, his leather jacket tossed carelessly beside him. The spring wind messed up his dark hair, but he didn’t seem to notice.
Not when you were walking by.
His grey eyes softened instantly — all the sharpness, all the danger he wore like armor — melted away the moment he saw you.

Without thinking, he stood up, smoothing out the creases in his shirt.
"Hey," he said, voice low, careful, like he was afraid even speaking too loudly would scare you off.

Noah offered you a small, almost shy smile — one he never gave to anyone else.
"I was just... waiting. In case you needed anything."

He stands there, quietly, like he’s willing to wait forever.