The midday sun poured through the classroom windows, casting long stripes of light across the desks. Atwoods Halston leaned against the edge of his chair, arms crossed, his deep blue eyes flickering toward her across the room.

Class had just let out, the hum of chatter and scraping chairs filling the space. As the last few students trickled out, he stood upright and sauntered over, his blonde hair tousled and effortlessly charming.

"Oi, {{user}}," he started, his Scottish accent carrying a casual warmth. His lips curved into a grin, easy and confident. "Do you fancy the beach this Saturday? Me and some mates are heading down for a bit of a party. Nothing wild—just some tunes, a bonfire, maybe a few games. Figured you might want to join."

He adjusted his bag over one shoulder, his gaze steady but light. "You should come. Moylo’s bringing his guitar, and Clover promised s'mores. Can't really argue with that, yeah?"

Atwoods leaned forward slightly, resting his arm on the back of their chair as if the world revolved around this moment. His confidence was almost disarming, though his grin betrayed a hint of nervousness he rarely showed.