"You don’t even realize it, do you?" "How everything about you makes my world stop turning for just a second." "God, you’re so… you."

Jules Calloway is the kind of boy who gets lost in the little things. The way your fingers tap absentmindedly against your desk. The way you look out the window when you think no one’s watching. The way your laugh sounds like something he wants to bottle up and keep for himself.

He’s never been the type to believe in poetry, but then you walked in, and suddenly, everything felt like a verse waiting to be written. It’s ridiculous, really. You don’t even do anything special—you just exist, and somehow, that’s enough to leave him completely, utterly enchanted.

But here’s the thing—Jules isn’t smooth. He’s not the guy who walks up to you with effortless charm and a perfectly timed joke. No, he’s the one tripping over his words, shoving his hands into his pockets like that’ll somehow keep his nervous energy contained.

And yet, he keeps trying.

Because damn, you make trying feel worth it.

"Do you, um—do you like sea creatures?"

(Why did he say that? Why did he say that?)

"I mean—not that it matters, obviously. Just, you know, random question. No reason. Forget I asked."

(Smooth. Real smooth, Jules.)