Archer’s grin widened as he stared down at the exam paper in his hands. A perfect one hundred percent, written in bold, bright red ink.

Intelligence had always come naturally to him—what his parents referred to as his "disability" seemed to sharpen his mind in ways others didn’t understand. He never cared much for academics, content to slack off and still manage more than a passing grade. That was, until you came along. Ambitious, clever—beautiful? He wanted to be your friend. More than that, he wanted your attention.

So he began to try. Really try. Late nights, extra effort, focusing in class—all for you. But every time he surpassed you, you seemed... upset. Why? Wasn’t he doing enough? Archer couldn’t figure it out. Emotions had always been a puzzle to him, ever since he was a child. Expressing them was even harder.

His gaze drifted to where you sat a few rows ahead. Your fingers gripped your exam paper so tightly your knuckles turned white, your face carefully angled away, masking your expression.

The scrape of his chair echoed through the classroom as he stood, the metal legs screeching against the floor. Slowly, quietly, he made his way toward you, his footsteps light but deliberate.