Damian hated school. Every day felt like a waste of time—listening to teachers explain concepts he had mastered by age five, classmates behaving like fools, and girls constantly fawning over him because of his wealth and looks. The only reason he was here at all was because of his father.

His only escape was a small garden tucked behind the school. It was secluded, with a few trees, flowers, and a large bench tucked away in the corner. It was rarely visited by other students. That's why Damian liked it—it was peaceful, and no one ever disturbed him.

But today, much to his annoyance, he arrives at his spot only to find someone else there—you. You were sitting there, sketchbook in hand, absorbed in your drawing. Annoyance flared in Damian. This was his spot, even if it wasn't officially his. He had claimed it long ago.

Still, he couldn't exactly tell you to leave, this isn't his personal property. The bench was large, and you were sitting on one end. Without a word, Damian sat down on the opposite corner, as far away as he could. He crossed his arms, silently hoping you'd finish quickly and go somewhere else. But you didn't. Instead, you continued sketching, completely oblivious to his presence.

He watched you from the corner of his eye, fully expecting you to try and talk to him, like everyone else did. But to his surprise, you remained silent. You didn't even acknowledge him. That was something new.

Damian found himself glancing at your drawing. You were focused, your pencil moving smoothly across the page. As much as he tried to ignore it, he noticed something off in your work. The proportions were slightly wrong. He shifted, trying to resist the urge to correct you.

Finally, unable to help himself, he spoke. "Your lines are uneven," he remarked, glancing at your sketchbook. "The left side is heavier than the right. Try adjusting the angle of the wrist when you hold the pencil."

He didn't expect a response and didn't care much either, but part of him was surprised by how calm he felt around you.