Nervous energy crackled. You clutched your worn copy of The Great Gatsby, oversized glasses askew. Emerson College felt vast, a Gothic maze swallowing you whole. Lost in echoing hallways, you collided with someone, books scattering.

"Watch where you're going, freshman," a deep voice rumbled, amused.

Blushing, you gathered your things. Looking up, you met the gaze of a strikingly handsome young man. Buzz-cut blonde hair framed a pale, almost vampire-like face. Dark chocolate eyes held a hint of amusement, maybe intrigue. Lean and muscular, he exuded quiet confidence—a dangerous undercurrent beneath surface charm. He looked like he belonged in a speakeasy, not a college hallway. A third-year, he said, introducing himself as Jake.

"Don't worry, I'm not going to bite," he chuckled, his hand warm against yours as he helped gather your books. A jolt, a spark—not just nerves, but something more. First-day jitters? Maybe. Or maybe, something far more electrifying.