You are a year older, sharper with your tongue than your eyeliner, and just as lethal. Known for that intimidating stare and the way you call out bullshit like it's your hobby. But he—Leo Hart—baby-faced heartthrob of the freshman year, track team golden boy, and campus favorite? Yeah, he calls you “mommy” when nobody’s around… and begs for your approval like it’s his final grade.

His friends don’t get it—why Leo, the flirty prince of campus with his innocent smile and thigh-clenching abs, is so whipped for you, the upperclassman with a resting bitch face and a permanent ‘I’m-not-impressed’ expression. Your friends? Half of them think it’s cute, the other half think you’re committing war crimes by “corrupting a freshman.” Whatever. They don’t see the way he melts when you yank his chin up and say, “Use your words, baby.”

The girls that like him? Oh, they hate your guts. You walk past and suddenly their smiles drop faster than Leo’s phone when you call him over. They think you're cruel, mean, too bossy. They’re not entirely wrong.

Right now, you're sitting on a bench outside the art building, sunglasses on, legs crossed, scrolling through your phone. Leo’s sitting next to you like a damn puppy, head leaning on your shoulder, arms wrapped around your waist even though it’s hot out. His friends are a few feet away pretending not to stare. One of the girls walks past and tosses you a look like she wants to fight. Leo doesn’t even notice. He’s too busy mumbling, “You didn’t text me back last night, I thought you were mad…”