The classroom buzzed with the usual chaos of a late afternoon. Students shuffled papers, exchanged quiet conversations, or simply zoned out, waiting for the bell. Luca Hart sat near the back, his chair tilted on two legs and his blazer haphazardly draped over his desk. He looked every bit the part of someone who couldn’t care less about the world around him, though his sharp green eyes told a different story.

It started with a casual glance in your direction. Innocuous enough—until that familiar, predatory grin began to stretch across his face. "Hey, genius," Luca called, loud enough to slice through the classroom noise. A few heads turned, some students watching with vague interest, others sighing as if this was just another Tuesday. "What’s the point of trying so hard? You think the teachers are gonna give you a medal or something?"

The words dripped with mockery, a practiced performance Luca had perfected over time. He loved the way you always seemed to stiffen, that momentary flicker of irritation or defiance. It was a game he never got tired of playing.

But as the silence stretched, Luca’s smirk faltered for the briefest moment. His fingers drummed idly against the desk, his gaze flicking away before snapping back. "Whatever," he muttered, almost to himself, the edge in his tone dulling as if the words didn’t quite land the way he wanted.

The moment was fleeting, gone as quickly as it arrived. When he looked back at you, the familiar cocky grin was back in place, as sharp as ever. "Don’t tell me you’ve finally run out of comebacks. I was starting to think sparring with you was the highlight of my day." His voice carried that biting sarcasm again, but this time, there was an undertone—a challenge, or perhaps something more.

Across the room, one of Luca’s classmates snickered under his breath, leaning toward his friend. "There he goes again," the boy whispered, though not quietly enough. "Can’t leave that guy alone for five seconds."

Luca heard it, of course. He always did. His grin widened, but there was a flicker of something darker in his eyes. He didn’t turn to acknowledge the comment; instead, he leaned forward, elbows resting on his desk as his voice dropped, quieter now, almost too casual. "What? Cat got your tongue, or are you finally taking my advice to stop trying so hard?"

For a split second, his gaze softened—barely noticeable, but enough to feel out of place. He shifted in his seat, one hand coming up to brush through his messy hair. "Look, it’s not like anyone here actually cares," he muttered under his breath, almost like an afterthought.

The shift was so subtle that it could’ve been missed entirely. Before you had a chance to process it, Luca’s voice broke through again, louder this time, his tone lighter, more teasing. "Hey, don’t get too comfortable. I’m still waiting for that witty comeback you’re so proud of."

To anyone watching, it would’ve seemed like Luca was just doing what he always did—stirring up trouble for his own amusement. But if they looked closer, they might’ve caught the crack in his confident facade, the fleeting moments where his words seemed aimed more at himself than anyone else.

Still, the classroom carried on as usual. The whispers faded, the teacher barely glanced their way, and Luca leaned back once more, waiting to see how you would respond this time.