Chapter Text
Sunlight filtered through the large classroom window. Usually you'd be seated right by it, but today your usual partner was out sick, so you were moved to the back of the classroom. Blocking out the sunshine was the silhouette of a boy you had only seen in the hallways once or twice. He had deep brown skin, with two neat cornrows cascading down either side of his neck and brushing his shoulders. He had an undercut, faded cleanly beneath the braids. There was a case meant for holding glasses sitting at the front of his desk, but no spectacles sitting on his prominent nose.
The boy was bent over his worksheet already, arm covering the page.
"Hey," you said with a pleasant upturn in your voice. A full thirty seconds passed. He didn't answer, so you try again.
"Um, excuse me-"
"I heard you."
The boy kept his eyes on his desk, brows knitted together with focus. He was making broad, sharp strokes with his pencil. His elbow moved for a moment, revealing not a sheet of math problems, but a piece of printer paper filled with intricate geometric designs. Precise lines come together to create the form of a caped figure. It has large, mechanical claws and a mask with sharp, wide eyes.
"That's a cool drawing," you commented. The boy's shoulders jumped to his ears as if he'd been caught before dropping back down. He finally looked up from the page, and paused. Clear, brown eyes flickered across your face, trying to determine what to make of you.
"Thanks," was all that the boy said before returning to his sketching.
"You not gonna finish your work?"
"I'm already done, that's why Ms. Jones let me rock."
Your eyebrows shot up in surprise.
"Well, excuse the fuck outta me," you muttered.
You messed with the sleeve of your royal blue uniform blazer in silence, weighing your options. Ms. Jones wasn't going to let you turn in another incomplete assignment, and this kid couldn't even be assed to say 'hello'. A deep sigh escapes your lips.
"Can I get your name, at least?"
The boy set his pen down, and looked up at you as if he'd just been asked what color the sky was.
"Morales," he deadpanned, with a slight roll on the 'r'.
"Which Morales?"
"Miles."
You hummed in slight recognition, having heard the name somewhere before, murmured next to you in passing.
"You Dominican?"
"Puerto Rican."
"Oh, cool."
"M-hm."
He picked up his pen again and began to twirl it between his pointer and middle finger, but held your gaze. You looked like you were finally about to get to the actual question.
"Well, Morales," you began with a smile.
Here it comes.
"Since you're done, can you help me with-"
"No."
You scoffed, "What's the point of being partners, then?"
Miles had already returned to his original position, scribbling away.
"We not partners, ma."
And so began the longest school week of your life.