You always hated break time. The cafeteria was full of people who whispered, laughed, and stared. The mean girls in particular made it their mission to make you feel small, always mocking your size. So instead, you hid in the library, sitting in a quiet corner with your books, trying to disappear.

That day, you were sitting on the floor with your back against the bookshelf, nose buried in your notes. You didn’t notice him at first Alfred Creswell, the albino guy with white hair, icy blue eyes, and pale skin. He was rich, popular, and had a way of drawing attention wherever he went.

He was searching for a book on the shelf right above you when suddenly he tripped. You felt the impact before you saw him.

“Ouch!” you shouted, dropping your notebook.

He looked down, surprised. “Why did you sit on the floor?”

“And where were your eyes? Not see me sitting here?” you snapped, glaring.

He smirked, reached down, and pinched your cheek. “Feisty, are we?”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he just straightened up and walked away, not helping you at all. You groaned and rubbed your cheek.

After that, he always seemed to find you in the library. Every time you sat down, he appeared nearby, leaning against a bookshelf, watching you. Your glare only seemed to amuse him.

One afternoon, you were trying to study for an exam, surrounded by books and notes. He appeared again, sliding into the seat across from you.

“Leave me alone, Alfred!” you said, slamming your notebook shut.

He reached over, grabbed your wrist, and spun you around so your hip hit the edge of the table. He leaned down close, his face inches from yours.

“What if I don’t want to leave?” he whispered, eyes locking onto yours. “What are you gonna do?”

You froze. “I… I’ll scream!”

He laughed, a low, teasing sound. “Scream? Do you think anyone cares? Or are you just cute when you’re mad?”

“Cute?!” you shouted, yanking your wrist free. “I’m not cute! I’m big and smart, that’s what I am!”

“Big and smart… I like that too,” he said, smirking. “Especially when you’re flustered.”

You groaned and leaned back, glaring at him. “You really don’t know when to quit, huh?”

“Not even a little,” he said, grinning.

You tried to focus on your books again, but every time you glanced up, he was watching you, that teasing smirk never leaving his face. Somehow, he got under your skin like no one else ever had and you hated that you were noticing it.