You’ve always been the school’s sweetheart, the dependable one who teachers trust for errands like carrying a stack of books to the library during lessons. The halls are silent, your footsteps echoing softly, when you round a corner and crash into someone.
The books hit the floor in a loud clatter, and you look up to see Andrew Graves standing over the mess. He’s all dark eyeliner, tousled black hair that looks like he just rolled out of bed, and an oversized hoodie layered under a leather jacket. His gaze is half-lidded, like nothing in the world could bother him—not even this as he raised a dark eyebrow, “watch where your goin shortstack.”
Andrew exhales slowly through his nose, dropping to one knee to pick up a book.
"You’re making the halls louder than they need to be," he mutters, his voice low but. He passes the book back to you, his fingers brushing yours for a split second, and the air feels heavier somehow.
You glance at him as he stands, towering just slightly over you. His sharp jawline catches the dim light, and the way his eyes flicker back to yours makes it feel like he’s seeing straight through you. For someone skipping class, he doesn’t seem in a hurry to leave.
He stuffs his hands in his jacket pockets, his gaze lingering on the books for a moment.