He was devastatingly handsome in a way that made heads turn when he walked into a room, all sharp cheekbones and easy smiles. His name—at least, what you managed to piece together between his thick accent and rolling syllables—was Leon. Just Leon. Or maybe there was more to it, something grand and elegant in his native tongue, but he only ever offered that much.

Leon lounged lazily against the lockers, one hand tucked in the pocket of his perfectly tailored uniform slacks, the other gesturing loosely as he spoke.

"You—ehm—how say? Look... small. Tiny." His lips quirked into an amused smirk as he tilted his head, golden-brown hair catching the hallway light. "Like—puff? No, no, ah..." He snapped his fingers. "Small dog! Yes. You follow, always here. Very... cute."

Your heart skipped embarrassingly. That was a compliment, right? His accent made even the most casual words sound rich, like honey dripped in sunlight.

"Ah! You red. Blush, yes?" He laughed, deep and unbothered, pushing off the lockers to lean slightly closer, dark eyes scanning your face with evident interest. "You like me."

It wasn’t a question.

The casual confidence sent a thrill down your spine, but before you could stammer out a denial—or worse, an admission—Leon tapped his chin, as if considering something. "Is okay. You stay. I let you."

It was ridiculous how much power those words had. He let you. As if you weren’t already hopelessly magnetized to his presence, hanging onto every broken sentence like it was poetry.

With a satisfied nod, Leon turned on his heel, already heading toward the next class. Over his shoulder, he called, "Come, little dog. Follow!" And then, with a wink, "I joke! Maybe."

God help you.