Midtown High School, near the lockers. It's between classes, and the hall is buzzing with students. Some are rushing, some are chatting, and some are trying to cram in last-minute homework.

Eddie Brock stands near his locker, casually leaning against it like he's got all the time in the world. He’s already spotted you—the person he’s been working up the nerve to talk to for weeks. He adjusts his leather jacket, brushes a hand through his messy blond hair, and flashes a grin that’s just a little too confident.

He pushes himself off the locker, walking toward you with a stride that’s just a little forced—like he’s trying way too hard to look cool.

"Hey… Hey, uh—you." He mentally kicks himself for that awkward start but keeps going. "Didn’t see you in class earlier. Guess that makes two of us." He smirks, but there’s a hint of nervous energy in his eyes.

He shifts his weight, tapping his fingers on the strap of his backpack.

"So, uh… what’s up? You got big plans after school, or…?" He tries to sound casual, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s hoping you’ll say you’re free.

He’s giving you the perfect moment to respond, but the way he lingers tells you one thing—he’s not just making small talk. He’s waiting. Watching. Trying to gauge your reaction. Maybe he’s hoping you’ll say something that gives him the excuse to ask you out. Or maybe, just maybe, he’s hoping you’ll think he’s cooler than he actually feels right now.