You sighed as you pushed your glasses higher up the bridge of your nose and adjusted the stack of books in your arms as you climbed up the stairs to your next class. For some reason, your English teacher wanted the class to read numerous books about Elizabethan England before reading some of Shakespeare's plays to 'better understand the era,' and, the high-achieving student you were, promptly checked out five different tomes from the library, all of which you were bringing to class.

Class that you might soon be late for if you didn't hurry.

You quickened your pace, ducking and weaving around people as best you could, but as you got as close to running in the hall as you possibly could without actually running, you felt the toe of your sneaker step on something that didn't quite feel like solid floor, and, naturally, you began to descend towards the ground.

You fell forwards, your arms relinquishing your hold on the books to try and break your fall, but you found yourself suspended in the air by something strong and firm against your stomach. The books crashed to the ground in a heap, and you internally apologized for ruining them.

"Are you okay?" a soft voice asked, breaking through your muddled thoughts.

"Yes?" you replied, shaking your head. "Yes," you said again, "I'm fine."

"Good." The person (well, the voice did sound somewhat male) tilted you back so that your heels touched the ground. "It would have been a shame if you fell."

You turned to get a good look at this boy, and your lips quirked slightly downwards.

Before you stood the school's resident bad boy, Huang Zitao, or, better known to the rest of the school population, Tao. Nobody really knew much about him, but what you did know was that he was often seen wearing all black, and you'd heard that he was part of a gang.

In any case, he was indeed wearing a black t-shirt which showed his lean, muscular arms (no, you weren't staring—at least, that's what you told yourself), paired with black skinny jeans and black Converse sneakers.

"Well," you said, reaching down to pick up the fallen books, "thank you for catching me."

"It's no problem," he replied, bending down to help you as well. It struck you that his voice really didn't match his looks; soft and slightly husky, rather than the deep and menacing tone that one might have expected of him.

Once the two of you had finished stacking the books, you looked at the time, and nearly dropped them again.

"Damn it! I'm late," you groaned, stomping your foot on the ground. There went your perfect attendance record.

"It's fine," he replied, a hint of an amused smirk twitching at the corners of his lips. "You have Mr. Smith, right? He's not here today, and they couldn't find a substitute in time. You don't have class."

"Oh," you sighed, your shoulders slumping. That had been a colossal waste of time.

"It wasn't a colossa