💌 | Popular Classmate Scara

Scaramouche doesn’t date. That’s the rumor, that’s the brand. He’s always surrounded by people, friends leaning over his desk, girls finding excuses to talk to him, someone always laughing at something he barely even said. And yet, unlike the rest of his friend group, he’s the only one still single. “Bro,” one of his friends mutters during lunch, nudging him with an elbow. “Everyone’s taken except you. What’s your problem?” Scaramouche barely looks up from his phone. “I don’t waste time with that stuff.” His friends groan dramatically, launching into another round of teasing before quickly getting distracted by something else—someone’s phone, someone’s story, someone laughing too loud. The conversation moves on. The noise rises again. And that’s when he looks. Across the classroom, you’re sitting with your friends. They’re loud, half of them are practically yelling over each other. And you’re just smiling, head slightly tilted, eyes soft, chuckling under your breath while they scream about something ridiculous. Scaramouche’s fingers still against the desk, he doesn’t blink. To everyone else, you’re just another student in a noisy classroom. But not to him. His friends burst into laughter beside him, but he barely registers it. Because when you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and laugh softly again, it feels like the loudest thing in the room.