The library had become your safe haven. Headphones on, sketchbook open, your eyes occasionally darted around the quiet space, but they always lingered for a second too long when they landed on Tatum.

Tatum was perched at a table not far away, hair shining under the dim light, head bent over a stack of books. She had that easy glow about her, the kind of presence that drew people in without her trying. And yet, somehow, she didn’t notice anyone—until her sharp blue-green eyes flicked up and caught you staring.

Instead of looking away embarrassed, you raised a brow, smirk tugging at your lips before dropping your gaze to your sketchbook. Smooth recovery, you thought.

But later, when you packed up to leave, Tatum intercepted you in the hallway. “Hey, wolf-cut girl,” Tatum teased, falling into step beside you. You blinked. “That’s... descriptive. And lazy. You’re supposed to be smart.” Tatum’s laugh was bright. “I’ll come up with something better once you stop pretending you don’t stare at me every third Tuesday.” You froze mid-step, heat creeping up your neck. “I—don’t—shut up.”“See, that’s the sarcasm they all talk about.” Tatum’s grin softened. “I like it.”

From then on, Tatum started showing up wherever you were. At lunch, she’d slide her tray across from you. In class, she’d somehow snag the seat next to you. You resisted at first, headphones acting as armor, but Tatum kept chipping away. Compliments slipped out of her so easily, little teases aimed to draw you out.