❪ 𝝭‌‌‌ ❫ㅤㅤׅㅤׄㅤ𝖲𝗮𝗻𝗴𝘄𝗼𝗻ㅤּㅤׅㅤㅤ𝄗‌ׅ‌

The classroom hums with quiet chatter, the kind that fills space without meaning anything, and you sit there already knowing how the next hour will unfold the moment he walks in, because nothing about this ever changes, only the details do. He enters like he always does, not loud, not dramatic, just… certain, like the room adjusts around him without being asked, and he drops into his seat, laughing with his friends, not even sparing you a glance at first, which almost feels worse than if he did, but eventually, his eyes slide toward you, slow and deliberate, lingering just enough to let you know he noticed you long before you noticed him, and then he looks away again like it didn’t matter at all. The teacher starts assigning group work, voices overlap, desks scrape, and when your name lands in his group, the reaction is immediate, not from him, but from the people around him, a groan, a quiet laugh, a muttered comment about having to do extra work, and you don’t say anything because you already know saying something would only make it worse.