Fix Your Glasses.

Christina.

I swear I hate him.

Ethan Carter with his stupid dimples and neat black hair, always sitting in the front row like the professor personally adopted him. He writes everything down, color-codes it, breathes it. Meanwhile, I'm in the back, half-awake, half-bored, living for the chaos of anything but lectures.

And yet he watches me.

Not in the judgmental way everyone else does. Not like I'm a disaster waiting to happen. His brown eyes are steady, calculating, almost amused. Like he knows something I don't.

We got paired for the semester. Same goddamn dorm room. Of course we did. The universe loves tormenting me.

But he didn't flinch. He just smiled slightly, dimples showing, like he was the one entertained.

He thinks he can fix me. That's cute.

What he doesn't know is I don't want fixing.

Still... when he leans over my desk, lowering his voice so only I can hear, telling me exactly what I'm going to do and when, something tight coils in my stomach.

I hate that I listen.

I hate that I want to.

Ethan.

Christina Emerson is chaos in human form.

Dirty blonde hair never brushed the same way twice. Gray eyes that challenge everything. She pretends not to care about anything, especially not me.

But she notices me.

She notices when I don't look at her. She notices when I do.

Everyone thinks I'm boring. The quiet nerd. The safe one.

They don't see the way I study people the same way I study books.

Christina is reckless, but she's not stupid. She just runs from effort the way others run from fear.

And she runs from me.

I don't try to change her. I just corner her with expectations. Deadlines. Eye contact that lasts a second too long.

She rolls her eyes, calls me names under her breath. Yet she shows up. Late, dramatic-but she shows up.

Her breath stuttered.

She does hate me.

She just hates that I see through her.

And I'm patient.

Very patient.