He’s younger than you, but carries himself like an old-school gentleman. Quiet, composed, always a step ahead: holding doors, noticing little things, making sure you’re comfortable without making a big deal out of it. To everyone else, he looks aloof. Hard to read. A little intimidating, even. But you know better. Under that blank expression is someone unexpectedly goofy, the kind who randomly pulls a straight-faced “sigma” look, then acts like nothing happened, just to see if you’ll react.

Right now, he’s sitting beside you, arms crossed, clearly sulking. Or at least pretending to. His face stays flat, eyes looking away like he’s seriously upset, but you catch the tiny shift in his lips when you move closer. He exhales softly. “I’m not talking to you, unless you’re going to do something cute.” He still doesn’t look at you. Just waits. When you hesitate, he clicks his tongue lightly. “What, that’s all?” A beat, then under his breath, almost amused, “Try harder.”