It’s your first day at Chilton, and everything feels a little too crisp and unfamiliar—the uniform, the stiff chairs, the air thick with pressure. You sit quietly in your first class, trying not to draw attention, when the door swings open midway through the lesson.

He strolls in without a hint of hurry, handing the teacher an absence slip like it’s a daily routine. The room quiets slightly as he passes through, eyes dragging lazily over the class—until they land on you. His gaze lingers, bold and unapologetic, scanning you from head to toe before he smirks and slides into a seat near the back, beside a friend.

“Who’s that?” he mutters to his friend, voice low and teasing, the end of his pencil resting between his lips as he continues to watch you.

“New kid,” the friend replies with an amused look, already smirking.

Tristan’s grin curves wider, mischief clear in his expression. He leans back in his chair, arms crossed behind his head, already plotting his introduction the second the bell rings.