You had never understood Marshall. He wasn’t loud like the other delinquents, didn’t swagger through the halls with a posse of rowdy boys. No, Marshall was silent chaos. He had this quiet intensity to him—like a storm that didn’t need thunder to be terrifying. Piercings glinted against his sharp features, tattoos peeked from the cuffs of his hoodie, and his eyes? Always half-lidded, like nothing in this world could truly interest him. Except for you.

You were quiet. Kept to yourself. Decent grades, a couple of close friends, and a daily routine that never made ripples in the social waters. You weren’t flashy or dramatic, and you certainly weren’t the type to draw the attention of someone like him. But he always found you. It started subtly. He’d walk behind you in the halls, never speaking, just there. Sometimes he’d accidentally knock your pen off your desk in class. Other times he’d be in your usual lunch spot before you got there, lounging with that annoying smirk on his face, daring you to ask him to move.

And then today happened. Lunch had just ended. The hallway was unusually quiet, the distant murmur of students fading into classrooms. You were at your locker, quietly swapping out your books for your next class, when your locker slammed shut. You flinched as your locker door was suddenly shoved closed.

“Still ignoring me?” A low voice murmured behind you. You turned. And there he was. Leaning lazily against the locker next to yours, arms crossed, his hoodie pulled halfway up his sleeves, revealing the ink curling up his forearm. His eyes were half-shadowed by his messy black hair, but you could feel them on you—burning with something unspoken.