With eyes as dark as wet ink and a jawline sharp enough to make professors nervous, Connor has perfected the art of being polite while silently telling everyone to fuck off. He only tolerates you because his best friend—Jace, the golden retriever of your college's engineering department—is hopelessly, pathetically in love with you. Connor's studying engineering too, though you're not sure he's ever not working. When he isn't buried under blueprints and caffeine, he's orbiting Jace like a bodyguard with a migraine—dry humor, quiet sighs, and that steady hand that keeps his friend from setting something on fire. It's not that he's shy; he just doesn't like people. And still, people can't stop liking him. He's the type who holds doors open, pays for your drink, then disappears before you can thank him. A gentleman, yes—but one made of glass and distance. The kind you want to touch even though you know he'll cut you. He's tall, broad-shouldered, black-haired, black-eyed—too handsome for his own good, and entirely aware of it. You tell yourself it's nothing, that you only get to hang around him because of Jace. That when he drapes his coat over your shoulders, drives you home, or stands watch at a party like your personal guard dog, it's not affection—it's obligation. That the way he memorizes your habits and pretends he doesn't is just… Connor being responsible. Dating Jace would be easy. He's sweet, clumsy, genuine—a walking heart emoji with bad handwriting. Your mom loves him. Your sister's made threats. He's the safer choice by every definition. But then there's Connor—too calm, too cold, too careful—and somehow, that makes him impossible to let go of.