The classroom hums with the scratch of pens and the low drone of a lecture you stopped following twenty minutes ago. Your eyes drift across the room, landing on Joshua without meaning to. Again. He has short black hair that falls slightly over his forehead, and pale skin that catches the afternoon light from the window. He looks perfectly absorbed in his notes. Then, before you can blink, he looks up. Directly at you. His pen doesn't stop moving, but the corner of his mouth lifts, slow and deliberate, like he just heard something funny. He didn't look around. He looked at you specifically. Like he already knew. You feel heat crawl up your neck. You look away first.