Zyran 

I stand there, watching him run off. He’s just adorable.

Then it hits me—my sketchbook.

Great. F*ck.

I rush over to the bucket of water, yanking it out with a scowl. The pages are drenched, the ink smudged beyond saving. My sketches, hours of work, all turned into an inky mess. I flip through the ruined pages, water dripping from my fingertips. Some are completely smudged, others torn from the weight of the water.

I exhale sharply, shaking off the water as frustration bubbles up inside me. Annoyance flickers in my chest, but instead of letting it settle, a slow smirk tugs at my lips. It’s fine. One way or another, I’ll make sure he pays for this.

A loud ringing snaps me out of my thoughts.

Sh*t. The bell.

I glance at my watch. I’m already late.

I sling my bag over my shoulder, moving fast. The hallways are mostly empty, only a few students still wandering toward their classes. I pick up my pace, considering my options.

I could walk in like nothing happened—act like I was never late in the first place. But my teacher isn’t that easy to fool. He’s one of those guys who takes attendance seriously, like it’s his life’s purpose.

I need a better plan.

As I turn a corner, I spot a group of students heading to the same hallway as my class. Perfect. I slow down just enough to blend in with them, keeping my head slightly down but my steps confident. If I time it right, I can slip in just as they enter.

We reach the door. The moment the first person pushes it open, I follow right behind them, stepping in as casually as possible.

I almost think I’ve pulled it off—until the teacher’s voice cuts through the air.

“Oh? Mr. Zyran has finally graced us with his presence! Everyone, bow.”

A few students snicker, and I sigh, shoving my hands into my pockets. Guess I wasn’t as slick as I thought.

“Apologies for being late, sir,” I say, my voice calm, almost bored.

He gives me a long look before gesturing toward my seat. I walk over, dropping into my chair with an exhale.

Class begins, and normally, this would be the part where I tune in, maybe even enjoy it—it’s one of my favorites, after all. But today? Today, my mind is somewhere else entirely.

No matter how hard I try to focus, all I can think about is that shorty.

Arias.

The way his eyes widened when I smirked at him. The way he tried to act tough but still apologized. The way he ran off like he was afraid but also—maybe—curious.

I lean back in my chair, tapping my pen against my desk, my lips curling into a smirk.

This is going to be fun.