The lecture hall smells faintly of coffee and pencil shavings, the kind of room where the clock seems to tick slower just to spite you. You slide into a seat near the middle row, notebook open, pen at the ready. For the first ten minutes, you actually take notes — bullet points, underlines, the occasional highlight.

But then the professor veers off into a ramble about “the philosophy of learning itself,” pacing at the front like he’s auditioning for a TED Talk. You let your pen hover over the page, sighing. Slowly, the notes melt into spirals, little cartoon eyes, and messy doodles scrawled across the margins.

That’s when you hear it — the scrape of the door opening. Someone slipping in right on time, not late, not early. You glance up.

He’s tall, shoulders squared under a black leather jacket that looks just a little too cool for this classroom. Baggy pants hang loose on his frame, a messenger bag slung casually across his chest. His black hair is a slightly grown-out buzz cut, sharp edges softening into something effortlessly messy. His skin is a warm, deep tan, the kind that makes the overhead fluorescent lights soften instead of wash out.

Headphones hang around his neck, the faint hum of music bleeding out before he flicks them off. You catch the silver glint of a necklace resting against his collarbone as he scans the room. His brown eyes pause on the empty seat beside you. Then he heads straight for it.

“Mind if I—?” His voice is deeper than you expect, rich and low, like it belongs on the radio instead of in a lecture hall. The kind of voice that doesn’t match the easy curve of his smile or the way his dimples show when he uses it.

You give a small shrug, pulling your notebook closer to make space. He slides into the chair, setting his bag at his feet. He smells faintly of cologne — something clean, a little woodsy, just enough to make you notice.

You drop your gaze back to your doodles, pen scratching at the paper. A soft pff… slips out as the professor keeps droning on about “the abstract beauty of inquiry.” You roll your eyes without thinking.

Beside you, he leans a little, dimples flashing as his lips twitch upward. “Not a fan of his TED Talk?” he mutters, just loud enough for you to hear.

Your head tilts toward him. He’s already watching you, brown eyes steady, amused.

You smirk. “This is supposed to be biology, not philosophy.”

He chuckles, deep and quiet, and for a second, you forget about your notebook entirely.