#school setting

He liked the freedom. Thank god he learned how to cook; otherwise, he would’ve starved his first night alone. His apartment was nothing fancy, but it was his. Quiet, safe, livable.

With a week left before the semester began, Elias was set on making the most of his remaining vacation days. The only part he hated about living alone? Taking the trash out.

He muttered curses under his breath as he trudged back upstairs, plastic bag swinging at his side. Living on the third floor wasn’t too bad—until something cold and sticky leaked from the trash and landed on his foot.

“God—!” Elias nearly jumped out of his skin. He gagged at the sensation, fighting the urge to throw the entire leg away. He let out a tired sigh and a yawn, stretching his limbs lazily before shoving his hands back into the pockets of his hoodie.

As he reached his floor, fishing out his keys, a scent drifted past him—warm, sweet, and nostalgic. Cinnamon rolls.

He paused.

That smell—fresh from the bakery just down the street—hit him like a punch to the stomach. He turned around instinctively, catching only a glimpse of someone already halfway down the stairs. The source of the scent was gone, leaving Elias with an empty hallway and a sudden, burning craving.

His stomach growled.

"...Damn," he muttered.

Soon enough, college began—and Elias dreaded the day from the moment he opened his eyes.

He walked down the campus halls with a heavy yawn and a lazy sigh, his uniform wrinkled and his tie hanging askew. He looked like he had slept in his clothes, rolled out of bed, and wandered into school by accident. The only thing saving him from total judgment were his annoyingly good looks: tousled brown hair, sharp features, and icy blue eyes that seemed almost too alert for someone half-asleep.

Elias stood out, even if he didn’t seem to care. He dragged his feet down the hallway, half-listening to the chatter around him, already regretting his life choices—when something slammed into his back.

Hard.

He staggered forward a step, but stayed upright—thankfully, he still exercised despite his sloth-like personality, or that impact might’ve floored him. Before he could react, a familiar scent hit him—sweet, warm, unmistakable. Cinnamon rolls.

His stomach growled on cue.

He turned around to find someone sitting on the floor, rubbing their head, surrounded by scattered books. You.

“Oh—uh, let me…” Elias muttered, crouching slightly to help. But maybe his voice was too soft, or maybe you were just that fast—because in a blur, you had already gathered your things like your life depended on it.

You blurted a rushed apology, then bolted, vanishing down the hallway and leaving Elias standing there—confused, still hungry, and blinking at the space where you’d just been.

“…Was that my neighbor?” he muttered under his breath.

Later that day, he found out your name. (Name), wasn’t it? A stroke of luck—or fate, maybe—you were in the same class.

Now seated at the back of the lecture hall, Elias watched as you sat in the front, furiously scribbling every word the professor said like your life depended on it. Your back was hunched over your notebook, posture tense with focus.

Elias leaned back in his chair and yawned. He briefly considered paying attention too... but that thought passed quickly.

Sleep tugged at him like an old friend, and before long, his head drooped, eyes fluttering shut.

Still, he couldn’t help but think—at least now he had a name to put to “cinnamon roll.”

A few weeks passed, and by now, everyone knew one thing about you—you took your studies seriously. Really seriously.

From the back row, Elias found himself watching again as you confidently answered yet another one of the professor’s questions. He didn't even catch the full context of the question, but he still felt a quiet, genuine sense of admiration. Internally, he gave you a slow clap.

He glanced down at his notebook. His pencil scratched lazily across the page, first forming doodles of cinnamon rolls, then stacks of books... and then, without even thinking, he started sketching your silhouette. The tilt of your head, the slope of your shoulders—his fingers moved almost on instinct.

Then he caught himself.

Whoa. What?

Elias blinked, staring at the outline of your figure, and quickly erased it. The page now a smudged mess.

He sighed, slumping forward to rest his chin in his hand. Must be the lack of sleep. Yeah. That had to be it.

His eyes drifted up again, settling on you at the front. Even from behind, you radiated focus. He watched you scribble something down with that signature urgency, and he didn’t even realize how long he’d been staring until the snickering beside him broke the trance.

“Did you see that? Such a nerd,” one student whispered with a chuckle, nudging the other.

Elias blinked. His ears perked up. Were they... talking about you?

For some reason, that annoyed him.

He turned to them, his blue eyes sharp and frosted over with irritation. “Hey. Shut up. Can’t you see I’m trying to sleep here?”

His voice was calm, but it carried weight. Enough to shut them up instantly.

They looked away, startled, and mumbled an apology. Elias rolled his eyes and slouched deeper into his seat.

Idiots.

Honestly, if it weren’t for you answering every damn question, the professor would’ve forced the whole class into recitation by now. They should be thanking you.

And besides, nerds were cute.

He scoffed at the thought and looked out the window, trying to distract himself from the faint warmth spreading across his cheeks.

Just the lighting, he told himself.

Definitely not blushing.

A few more weeks passed, and Elias was certain of one thing: he was in hell.

With projects piling up and quizzes coming at them nonstop, he felt like he was barely surviving. He let out a heavy sigh as he slouched in his seat, dreading what was coming next—quiz results.

Though, if he thought about it, maybe he didn’t have much to worry about. That quiz had been surprisingly easy. He’d skimmed the material the night before, and most of it was straightforward.

Still, waiting for the results gave him that familiar, sinking feeling. He sat in his usual spot at the back of the classroom, tapping his pencil against the desk, his eyes occasionally drifting toward you.

He watched as the professor approached your desk, smiling as they handed you your paper.

“Excellent work, as always. Congratulations!” the teacher beamed.

Elias caught the slight sparkle in your eyes as you glanced down at the score. A small, proud smile curved your lips. He felt something tug at his own—he couldn’t help but smile, too.

Then the professor turned to him.

“Morin!” they said with a cheerful grin. “Perfect score. Well done—keep it up!”

The words felt almost too loud in the sudden hush that fell over the class. Elias hesitated, blinking as the paper was handed to him.

“Oh, uh… thanks,” he mumbled, his voice uncertain. As he lowered his gaze to the quiz, he could’ve sworn he felt your eyes on him—just for a second.

When class was dismissed, Elias took his time packing up, his mind still a little fuzzy from the praise. He reached for his notebook, but froze mid-motion.

There it was again.

That scent.

Cinnamon rolls.

He stopped, still as a statue, heart suddenly racing. Slowly, he looked up—and found himself face to face with you.

His breath hitched.

“Hey,” you said with a soft smile. “Congrats on the perfect mark.”

Elias stared, completely blank. His lungs forgot how to work, and his fingers went clammy against the straps of his bag.

Words. Where were the words?

“Hey?” you said again, eyebrows slightly raised in concern. “You alright?”

Your voice snapped him out of the daze. “Ah—yeah. Thanks,” he stammered. “You… you too. Congrats.”

His voice cracked a little at the end, and he hated it.

You gave him a curious look—somewhere between amused and confused—but said nothing else as you turned and walked out of the classroom.

Elias finally exhaled, as if he’d been holding his breath the entire time. He slumped against his chair, the scent of cinnamon rolls still lingering in the air.

Apparently, cinnamon rolls weren’t the only thing you were leaving him craving.

After that encounter, Elias couldn’t seem to get you out of his mind. He was constantly thinking about you. When he fell asleep, he wondered if you were still awake. When he woke up, he hoped you were still asleep. While eating, he pondered if you liked to pour your milk before the cereal—like the psycho he is. On the train, he wondered if you took the same route he did. No matter what he was doing, his thoughts always drifted to you, and he couldn’t understand why.

It didn’t help that his feet unconsciously followed you from a safe distance. Where he once sat far away, now his seat was only four chairs from yours, still at the far back. During free moments, he usually ate in the canteen, but now he found himself reading a book on the creation of quantum physics, sitting just a few tables behind you in the library, his eyes discreetly on you as you studied and took notes.

In the time he had spent ‘following’ you—not in a stalking way, he assured himself—he learned more about you. You didn’t know how to tie your tie (he even watched videos to figure it out), you didn’t eat much, always grabbing a sandwich from the canteen and calling it a day, and most worryingly, you always overworked yourself. When he was desperate to see more of you, he even listened through the thin walls of his apartment to hear what you were up to. Through that, he found out you studied late into the night, and if you didn't stop, Elias was sure you'd burn out completely.

His fears were confirmed the day you fainted in the hallway: your breath heavy and shaky, your body feverishly hot. Swearing under his breath, Elias rushed to pick you up and hurriedly carried you to the nurse’s office. He watched anxiously as the nurse tended to you—placing a cool towel on your forehead and helping you take fever medicine. He finally relaxed when you looked somewhat better.

The nurse glanced at him and asked, “Are you the boyfriend?”

Elias blinked, caught off guard and stumbling over his words. Should he deny it? Accept it? “U—I guess so. Yeah, I am,” he nodded awkwardly.

The nurse raised a brow but said, “Okay, take care of them. They’ve been overworking themselves. I’ll get more medicine.” Elias nodded and found himself sitting beside your bed, unable to stop staring at you.

He couldn’t describe the fear he felt when you suddenly fainted while he was following you. He sighed deeply and looked at your closed eyes, trailing his gaze over your eyelashes, down to your nose, and finally to your lips. Your lips—they looked… nice.

Before he fully realized what he was doing, his body leaned in closer. You looked so peaceful, really so—had you always looked this cute? It wouldn’t hurt, right? He thought, as he softly pressed his lips to yours. The kiss was gentle and smooth. Pulling away, Elias felt a little embarrassed because of his chapped lips. Maybe he should’ve bought lip balm after all.

He leaned in again, this time bolder, deepening the kiss. In the back of his mind, he screamed at himself for doing this without your consent. If you suddenly woke up to find your classmate—someone you barely knew—making out with you, what on earth would you do to him? But the bliss was too overwhelming to stop.

His tongue traced over your lips, tasting sweet—like strawberries on a hot summer day. He almost groaned as his face flushed deep red, his tongue exploring your mouth as if it were his. His… just the thought made him more flustered.

Suddenly, he felt a twitch in your facial expression. Panicking, he jerked back, finally bringing himself to his senses. Holy shit, he had just made out with you while you were unconscious. Clearly, you were about to wake up—he couldn’t risk being labeled a pervert. Red-faced, he dashed out of the room, swearing there was definitely a tent in his pants. Fuck.

When you eventually woke up, the nurse looked at you inquisitively. “Where’s your boyfriend?”

You raised an eyebrow. “B—boyfriend? I don’t have one.” Ignoring the nurse’s deadpan expression, you touched your lips lightly and wondered, What was that?

Ever since your fainting episode, your days had returned to normal—mostly.

Except for one thing: Elias Morin was suddenly everywhere.

He sat beside you in class now, greeting you every morning like it was second nature. He volunteered to be your partner for projects. He sat across from you in the library, sneaking you snacks under the table when the librarian wasn’t looking, whispering explanations when you furrowed your brows at a tough question.

You couldn't understand it. Elias Morin, your longtime academic rival—the boy who slept through class and still pulled perfect grades—was now practically glued to your side. And to make things even stranger, you’d recently discovered the two of you were neighbors.

You went to school together now. You went home together, too.

As the two of you walked side by side down the familiar street toward your apartment building, your eyes narrowed, trailing over Elias’ profile. He looked too casual. Too relaxed. Too shady.

You clenched your fists. It had always pissed you off how he managed to ace everything without breaking a sweat. He barely even participated in group work, yet always got an A. Meanwhile, you poured your soul into every assignment, every lecture, every line of every textbook—and he still came out on top.

Your stare intensified.

Elias felt it. God, he felt it. The weight of your gaze made his skin burn. He could feel sweat forming at the back of his neck. His face flushed a light pink as he glanced away, pretending to look at something in the distance.

His thoughts were racing.

Do they know?

Did they find out? Did they feel it—that kiss?

He nearly gasped. What if they’re reading my mind?

His heart thudded painfully as he tried to banish the very thoughts that now began bubbling up—scandalous, shameful thoughts of you that made his blood rush downward. He swallowed hard, shaking his head like it would help.

You looked at him in alarm. “W—What’s wrong with you?”

Elias flinched. “N—Nothing. Why?”

You narrowed your eyes, voice turning sharp. “You’re acting suspicious. Why are you suddenly being this nice to me?”

He gulped. “What do you mean? We’re neighbors now...”

You stopped walking. He froze in step too, instinctively.

Then, without warning, you closed the distance, grabbed him by the collar, and pulled him down to eye level.

Your gaze locked with his, fierce and unwavering. “If this is some sort of game to catch me off guard, I won't allow it.”

“You’ve had the spotlight long enough, Elias,” you said, voice low and heated. “I’ve studied every answer you’ve ever given. Traced every step you’ve taken to the top.”

Elias blinked, mouth slightly open, breath caught.

“And now?” you continued. “I’m coming for you. I won’t stop until I’m standing where you are—above everyone else… above you.”

Your grip on his collar tightened. Your next words came softer, yet sharper—cutting straight through him.

“And when that day comes, I want you to look at me and realize—no one’s ever chased you this hard. Not for glory. Not for pride. But because I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

Elias could only malfunction.

His brain short-circuited. His face burned red down to his collarbone. His hands twitched awkwardly by his sides. His knees nearly buckled.

And worse—God, worse—he was sporting another damn tent in his slacks.

The air was thick with the scent of cinnamon rolls. His nose twitched. His lips parted. His thoughts screamed in confusion: