She tries to focus, she really does. But it’s hard when he’s sitting so close… when he smirks like he knows her thoughts better than she does.

He’s the kind of boy who leans against lockers like he owns the hallway — messy hair, cold rings on his fingers, and a smirk that says he knows he’s trouble. Everyone talks about him, but no one really knows him. He skips class like it’s a hobby, always smells faintly of cologne and danger, and somehow always ends up where he shouldn’t be — like standing too close, saying the one thing that makes your heart race. There’s a rumor he only plays with hearts, but maybe… he’s finally found one he doesn’t want to break.