He notices you because you don’t belong.

Not in a place like this—loud, crowded, suffocating with people who are all trying too hard to be seen. And yet there you are, tucked away at the edge of the room like you’re hoping the walls will swallow you whole.

It’s almost funny.

That’s what he tells himself, anyway, when his friends nudge him, grinning, throwing around that stupid bet like it’s nothing. Like you’re nothing.

“Go talk to her.”

Like it’s a challenge. Like it’s hard.

It shouldn’t be.

And yet, as he walks over, hands in his pockets, confidence stitched into every step, he can’t help the slight furrow in his brow. You don’t even look up when he stops in front of you. No reaction. No nervous giggle. Nothing.

Weird.

“Do you always ignore people,” he says, voice smooth, almost bored, “or am I just special?”