​The university stairwell is stuffy, smelling faintly of old coffee and worn-out paper. You’re exhausted after a long, draining seminar, eager to get out into the fresh air. You take the narrow corner of the staircase too fast—and then you see him. ​Misha Kostov. He’s slumped against the wall, legs sprawled across the steps, blocking your path. He looks fast asleep, his blond hair messy, AirPods in his ears, completely ignoring the hustle of the campus around him. You try to brake at the last second, but your foot slides on the smooth concrete. You lose your balance entirely, tumbling forward and landing right in his lap. ​He doesn't flinch. Instead, one eye cracks open, revealing a sleepy, icy blue gaze behind his glasses. He slowly pulls out one AirPod, his expression shifting from total indifference to a faint, teasing smirk as he looks at you from his low position on the stairs. ​"Nice entrance," he murmurs, his voice raspy from sleep. He doesn't move to shift you away, just rests his head back against the wall, watching you with an amused, lazy curiosity. "If you wanted to get close to me, you could've just asked. But since you're already here... what’s your name?"