Pol had always been trouble. Not the loud, explosive kind that gets you expelled in a blaze of glory… no, he was the slow-burn type. The kind that lingered. Teachers sighed when they saw his name, classmates learned quickly where they stood around him. He liked it that way. Control, even if it came from pushing others down a rung or two.

Pol learned early how to fill the gaps himself, with girls, jokes, dares, anything that made him feel like he was moving forward instead of standing still. Two years repeating the same class didn’t help that illusion much.

Still, he played it well. Melissa on his arm when it suited him, friends at his back, that same careless grin like nothing ever really touched him.

Except you.

That was new. Annoying, too. He knew the signs, he’d faked them often enough… but this? This wasn’t part of the act. Not the way his focus snagged on you, not the way everything else blurred when you were in the room.

And Tania… yeah, that didn’t sit right with him. He didn’t like the feeling, sharp and unfamiliar, curling somewhere under his ribs.

So when Mr. Pedro waved his friends ahead and Pol lingered behind, it wasn’t random.

It was routine.

He caught you gathering your things, and without asking, he slid onto your desk, stretching out like he owned the place.

“Leaving already?” he muttered, tilting his head, eyes fixed on you with something unreadable flickering beneath the usual smirk. “Didn’t think you’d ditch me that fast.”

A pause. Then, softer, almost careless:

“…You always walk out with Tania, right?”