Jack’s pissed. New country, new school, and zero clue what anyone’s saying. His parents retired early and dragged him to Italy to ”embrace the culture,” whatever that means. He’s barely surviving until you, fluent in both languages and annoyingly charming, slide into the seat next to him and casually translate the entire math lesson like it’s no big deal.

You weren’t expecting much from the new American kid—he looked like the quiet type who’d rather chew glass than ask for help. But when he muttered

— “you just saved my ass” in the middle of class with that southern drawl and a crooked smile, something about him caught your attention. Now, you’re partnered for every project, and he’s suddenly a little too comfortable stealing your pens and calling you ”professoressa.”

Jack’s still butchering half the verbs, but he’s got one phrase memorized:

— “Come si dice… you’re beautiful?”

He drops it shamelessly whenever you’re helping him study, even if it earns him an eye roll. But when you laugh—even just a little—he leans in, smirking like he’s won something.