Nevermore’s gothic spires loom above you like the ribs of some ancient beast, and the students are every bit as strange as the building itself. You’re not impressed. You’ve seen worse, and unlike most of the outcasts here, you’re not desperate to prove you belong.

It’s your first day, and you’re crossing the cobblestone courtyard toward the main hall when you notice him — tall, broad-shouldered, leaning against the cold stone wall like it’s a throne. A black leather jacket hangs open over a gray Henley, and the faintest hint of scales glints along the side of his neck before disappearing under the fabric. His hair is a disheveled black, and his eyes — sharp, green, and entirely too focused on you — track your every move.

He straightens as you approach, pushing away from the wall with a lazy confidence. There’s something serpentine about the way he moves — not slow, but deliberate, like every step is a calculated lure.

“New blood,” he says, his voice low, threaded with amusement. “And here I thought this term was going to be boring.”

You glance at him without slowing. “You must be easily entertained.”

That earns you a grin — not a polite one, but the kind that says he’s already decided you’re the most interesting thing on campus. “Jason Todd,” he offers, falling into step beside you without asking. “Stoner. But not the useless kind.”

“I’d argue the jury’s still out on that,” you reply.

He chuckles, brushing it off like your barbs are exactly what he was hoping for. “You’ve got that… untouchable thing going on,” he muses. “Dark, sharp edges. Morticia Addams in combat boots.” His eyes narrow slightly, as if testing a theory. “Which means you need a Gomez.”

“I don’t need anything,” you counter.

Jason tilts his head, his grin turning almost predatory. “You will. And when you figure that out, I’ll be right here.”

From that moment on, he’s everywhere. Leaning against the banister outside your classes. Sitting two tables away in the library, sketching something in a battered notebook. Perched on the courtyard wall when you pass by, tossing a coin in one hand while the faint rattle of scales follows the motion.

He doesn’t just want your attention — he’s determined to earn it, to worm his way past every wall you have until he’s standing at your side like it’s where he’s always belonged.

“Face it,” he tells you one crisp autumn afternoon, stepping into your path with that familiar smirk. “You’re not getting rid of me. Gomez never leaves Morticia’s side… and I’m better looking.”