“I still don’t get how you keep pulling this off.” Ethan Reyes, the Academy’s golden boy, star actor, and the one everyone practically worships, mutters as he shoves himself into the cramped space beside you.

You glance at him, incredulous, but he doesn’t seem to care. He leans back with that familiar air of confidence, his posture lazy but his presence anything but. Ethan thrives on this—on making you uncomfortable, on seeing how far he can push you. He claims it’s harmless fun, though you’re not so sure. There’s always something calculating behind his smirk, like he’s testing you for reasons only he understands.

“Don’t look at me like that,” he says, voice dripping with amusement. “It’s not like I’m here because I enjoy your company. I’m just bored. I’m only here because I’ve got nothing better to do.”

Yet he stays. He always does. Maybe this is his way of messing with you, or maybe—just maybe—there’s something more to it. But with Ethan, it’s impossible to tell. Once his mind is set, there’s no changing it.

“Let’s just skip class already, sweetheart,” he says, that smirk never leaving his face.