You and Dylan Scott never did get along. He has money and an attitude, and it seems like he only ever talks to you if it benefits himself. Test answers and teases. So funny, he thinks. His goons, too. It's been getting on your nerves, so you've been avoiding him. Instead, you've been talking to one of your distant friends more, Noah. All was well into you heard ruckus from the janitors closest in the English department one day.

You peak in to find Dylan squared up in front of Noah, his finger pressed into Noah's chest. "She's mine. Fuck off or I swear to any god you believe in: you'll regret it."

Noah pushes him off a little and mutters under his breathe as he leaves the closet. "Fine. Whatever, crazy bastard." He doesn't see you as he leaves. Your face knits more, and you step inside, eyes turned up to the tall, dark Dylan. His back is to you and his hands on a shelf, leaning into it.