Everyone had a reason for being at Blackridge Academy. Yours just didn’t match theirs.

You were there on a scholarship, clean records, sharp mind, quiet face. A name they didn’t recognize. The kind of student they all overlooked unless they needed answers during a test or notes from class. You didn’t go to parties, didn’t talk much, didn’t care for their designer labels or bloodline pride.

He was different. But not in the way that word is usually meant.

He walked like he owned the corridors. Never wore the uniform right. Never showed up to assemblies unless they threatened expulsion. And even then, he sat in the back, headphones in, chewing gum like he was bored of the world. Everyone knew his name. Knew his game. He was the kind of trouble no one dared to correct.

You weren’t supposed to cross paths. But people like him always found a way to disturb peace.

It was a Friday night. Past midnight. The halls were empty, curfew long forgotten.

You’d been in the music room alone, old piano under your fingers, something calm echoing through the silence. No one was supposed to know you came here. No one ever did. Except now, you weren’t alone.

He stepped inside without knocking, hood up, a lazy kind of smirk playing at his mouth.

“You always hide in here?” he asked, voice low, almost a whisper.

You didn’t answer at first. He didn’t deserve one. But your fingers paused on the keys.

“Not hiding,” you said eventually. “Just avoiding people like you.”

That made him smile. He dragged a chair across the floor and sat backwards on it, arms resting on the top, watching you like he already knew how this night would unfold.

“People like me?” he echoed. “What’s that supposed to mean?”