The autumn sun cast a warm but gentle light, the kind that hinted at the crispness of the season without the bite of winter. A faint mist lingered over the school field, like a gauzy veil softening the edges of the world. Keller walked briskly through the hallway, one hand gripping his backpack and the other clutching a set of books. His head was tilted slightly downward, his thoughts preoccupied with the morning ahead.

The clock tower's hands pointed at 8:55, a silent reminder that the first class would begin in five minutes. Keller quickened his pace, pushed open the classroom door—and the usual hum of chatter abruptly ceased.

In that moment, his gaze was drawn, almost against his will, to a figure by the window. The boy sat with a kind of careless elegance, long legs crossed casually under the desk, one arm draped across its edge. And then their eyes met—gray-blue, cold and unyielding, like the surface of a frozen lake. Keller felt an inexplicable weight settle on his chest, as though the air had been sucked out of the room.

"You're blocking the light," the boy said, his voice smooth and low, the kind that didn't need to be loud to command attention. It carried an edge, as if used to being obeyed.

Keller blinked, then frowned slightly. "Sorry," he replied, the words laced with a subtle irritation he didn't bother to hide. "But this is a classroom, not your personal balcony."

A ripple of tension swept through the room. Eyes darted between Keller and the boy by the window, whose expression shifted—just barely. He arched an eyebrow, more amused than affronted. "That's... interesting," he remarked, as though filing the moment away for future reflection.

Keller resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He turned on his heel and strode to an empty seat in the back row, pointedly ignoring the faint prickling sensation of being watched. But even as he lowered his head and opened his notebook, he couldn't shake the awareness of those gray-blue eyes trailing after him.

Chemistry was the first class of the day, and the teacher announced they'd be working in pairs for a lab experiment. Keller was still unpacking his notebook when a firm hand rapped against the edge of his desk.

He looked up—and there he was again, the boy with the frosty stare.

"You're partnering with me," the boy declared. It wasn't a request.

Keller blinked, incredulously. "You're just going to pick someone at random like that?"

"Everyone else here is a waste of time." The boy's tone was as confident as it was dismissive, as if the matter had already been decided.

For a long moment, Keller simply stared, caught between disbelief and irritation. But under the teacher's watchful gaze, he reluctantly grabbed his materials and followed the boy to their shared station.

As the experiment began, Keller grudgingly admitted the boy wasn't all talk. His hands moved with precision, his instructions concise, his grasp of the steps almost annoyingly perfect. But his attitude—so certain, so imperious—set Keller's teeth on edge.

"Pay attention to the measurements," the boy said at one point, his voice clipped. "I don't want to redo this."

"Thanks," Keller shot back, his tone laced with sarcasm. "I've got it."

The boy's lips quirked, just slightly. "Good."

Grinding his teeth, Keller forced himself to focus on recording data. But his eyes kept straying to the name tag clipped to the boy's chest: Aiden. He mouthed the name silently, noting how well it matched the boy's aloof demeanor.

At lunchtime, Keller wandered the cafeteria with his tray, scanning for an unoccupied table. He spotted an empty corner seat near the window, only to realize someone was already there—Aiden. The boy was idly drumming his fingers on the table, his gaze distant, as though he were above the noise around him.

"Sit here," Aiden said, catching Keller's eye. His tone was flat, almost as if he didn't care whether Keller actually did.

Keller hesitated, then relented. He slid into the seat across from Aiden, setting his tray down with a quiet clatter. "Why invite me?" he asked after a moment, his curiosity outweighing his initial annoyance.

"You don't seem like the type who enjoys crowds," Aiden replied without looking up.

Keller bristled at the remark. "Thanks for the observation," he said coolly. "But I don't need your pity."

Aiden finally looked up, his lips curving into a faint smile. "Pity? Don't flatter yourself. I just find you quieter than the rest of the noise."

Keller didn't know how to respond to that, so he didn't. He focused on his food, though his mind was still tangled in the enigma of Aiden's detached, almost clinical interest in him.

The next day, Keller overheard two classmates whispering in the hallway.

"I heard his family's loaded. Like, they own-a-dock loaded."

"Yeah, he used to go to this fancy private school. Apparently, he transferred here on his own."

Keller's brow furrowed. Aiden didn't just seem different, he was different.

Meanwhile, Aiden faced his own confrontation at home.

"You transferred to a public school?" his father demanded; his voice sharp with disbelief.

"Yes," Aiden replied, leaning back in his chair with an air of indifference. "I couldn't stand the pretense anymore."

"You know what this does to the family's reputation, don't you?" his father said coldly, his gaze hard and unrelenting.

Aiden met his father's eyes, his own expression unreadable. "I don't care about the family's reputation. I care about living a life that doesn't make me sick."

His father's knuckles turned white against the edge of the desk, but he said nothing more.

After school that day, the skies opened in a sudden downpour. Keller stood at the school gates, staring helplessly at the rain.

"No umbrella?" a familiar voice asked from behind.

Keller turned to find Aiden standing there, a sleek black umbrella in hand. His expression was neutral, but his presence alone was enough to make the moment feel less bleak.

"Take it," Aiden said simply, holding the umbrella out. His voice was as calm as ever, but there was something almost awkward in the gesture, as if he wasn't used to offering help.

Keller hesitated, then accepted. "Thanks," he muttered.

Aiden nodded, then stepped into the rain without another word, his figure quickly swallowed by the storm. Keller stood there for a moment, gripping the umbrella tightly, a strange warmth blooming in his chest.

That moment, he realized, might be the start of something he hadn't seen coming.