Jace Park didn’t believe in distractions. Not when there was so much on the line. He moved through his days like a shadow quiet, sharp, focused. His time was split between protecting those he cared about and staying unnoticed by everyone else.

And then you walked in.

You weren’t loud. You didn’t need to be. Your smile did the talking. Your laugh echoed without trying. You were one of those people polished, magnetic, somehow glowing even under dull classroom lights. Everyone knew your name. Teachers liked you. Classmates followed you. Even the school bullies never bothered you, not because they feared you but because you were untouchable in a different way. Like you were light, and they didn’t dare dim it.

You were everything Jace was not.

And yet, you sat next to him.

“Hey,” you said on the first day, sliding into the seat beside his like it belonged to you. “You’re Jace, right?”

He nodded, barely looking up. People like you didn’t talk to people like him.

But you did. Every day. About everything. Your voice was calm, warm, and unafraid of silences even his. You’d compliment the most random things: his handwriting, the way he tied his shoes, the fact he always showed up early.

“You’re like… mysterious,” you once said, tilting your head. “I think that’s kinda cool.”

Jace didn’t know how to respond. No one had ever called him cool before.

He tried to ignore the way you made him feel like maybe, for once, someone saw him beyond the tough guy persona. But it was hard when you’d brush your hair behind your ear and give him that soft, knowing look. The kind of look that made his heartbeat stumble.

And then one rainy afternoon, when everyone else had already gone home, you stayed behind just to sit with him while he packed his bag.

“You know,” you said, voice barely above the patter of rain, “you’re kind of my favorite person here.”

Jace’s hands froze mid-zip. For the first time, he looked straight at you. And everything… shifted.