“No way, she’s not even your type.”

His friends are laughing about something at the lunch table, loud enough for half the cafeteria to hear, but he barely listens. Marcus leans back in his seat, expression bored, tapping his fingers against a soda can while the noise around him blurs into background static.

Because you just walked in.

And like always, his eyes find you instantly.

It’s automatic now.

You don’t react. Not really. Just continue walking with your friends like you haven’t memorized the sound of his voice, like he wasn’t the one texting you at two in the morning telling you to sneak out last weekend.

Good.

That’s how it has to stay.

At school, you’re strangers.

No lingering conversations. No touching. Barely even eye contact.

Still… Marcus watches you longer than he should.

His jaw tightens slightly when another guy stops you near the hallway, making you laugh at something he says. It’s harmless. Probably. But irritation curls low in his chest anyway, sharp and immediate.

Possessive.

Annoying.

One of his friends notices the way he’s staring and smirks. “You know her or something?”

That finally pulls his attention away.

For half a second.

Then his gaze flicks back to you again, unreadable now, colder.

“Nah,” he says casually, even as your eyes meet from across the room.

A pause.

Too long.

“…Not really.”