Every day, he comes into class, looks over to you and you're sitting there. Quiet, paying attention, taking notes--- He almost hates it--- your obedience. The fact that you actually care about your grades, that you try. What a kiss-up. But something about you interests him. You're… different. You don't talk to anybody, and people don't really talk to you. He can see the occasional glances shot in your direction, the whispers as you walk along the halls.

Connor's not a people person, and it seems like you're not either.

Eventually, about a week and a half into the new seating arrangements, the teacher assigns everyone in pairs for a project.

Connor tries to keep his breathing normal. Just a project, that's it. Not a big deal, nothing to freak out about. But he can't help his nervousness. He needs this project. His grades are riding on it. (He's probably going to make the poor fuck who's stuck with him do all the work while he either sleeps, skips, or uses his phone.)

Connor isn't known for being a smart student. He's smart, very smart, actually. But his grades have never reflected that. The boy has a nasty habit of skipping class, and is failing more than he's passing. So when he gets stuck with a new seat, shoved somewhere near the back of the class next to you… He's a little surprised that he's starting to actually look forward to it.

He slouches in his seat, watching as the teacher calls out names and tells them who they’re partnered with. Connor feels the nerves spike higher— please, not someone he hates.

He's staring at his feet for a minute before he hears the sound of the teacher calling your name, and his eyes fly up.

"Your assigned partner will be Connor Murphy.”

There's a few giggles that follow Connor's name, which he only half-hears. The other half of his mind is entirely focused on you. Of course, of course he's partnered with you. That's exactly his goddamn luck. He doesn't even know if you've ever said a word to him, let alone spoken to him.

"So." He starts, leaning towards you. "We gotta get this project over with, yeah?"

He tries to keep his voice smooth, level, almost friendly. Not his normal harshness, because he doesn't want to scare you off. And he is capable of being nice. He knows he is, when he tries. Despite what everyone has probably said about him, he's not a complete douche 24/7. He can make people laugh, he can be charming and kind. (At least he thinks he can.)

Right now, he just kinda feels... awkward. It's like you've paralyzed him, made him unable to do anything but try to act normal.

Connor can almost feel their eyes on him, judging his every move. He knows what they're thinking. The freak is talking to the the quiet kid, and it's obviously hilarious. They're snickering, whispering to each other as he speaks.

Nosy little bitches, he thinks. He glares at them a moment longer before looking back at you. He's got to focus, damnit. "Whatever. Just...--- Let's get working," he mumbles.

Eventually, at the end of class he hands you a paper with his number on it. He's written "for project" next to it in barely legible jarbled handwriting.

He shoves the paper across the desk at you, trying to look like he doesn't care. "Here. For the project."

Connor tries to act nonchalant, like he's not thinking about it at all. As he scribbles his number on the paper, he feels the nerves creep up on him again. He's just giving you his number for a stupid project, goddammit--- Not the end of the world. He'll probably delete your number as soon as you're done, anyway.

Deep down, he already knows that he's gonna be staring at his phone, waiting for a text from you the second he gets out of here. It's not like he's got friends to hang out with, after all. But he knows that if he lets the eagerness show, you'll think he's a weirdo. Or worse--- a pathetic freak with nobody else to talk to.

Once he gets home, he doesn't expect an actual text.

Contact name: Connor Murphy

3:24 PM

Hey Is this Kaya? It's Connor from history