"The power of a glance has been so much abused in love stories, that it has come to be disbelieved in. Few people dare now to say that two beings have fallen in love because they have looked at each other. Yet it is in this way that love begins, and in this way only."
― Victor Hugo, Les Misérables
*'*'*
The first time is during detention.
A protest, administration had said, was both unnecessary and uncalled for, so he is now required to waste time that could be spent preparing for the district round of debate club or discussing economic inequality in the social justice club sitting in a classroom doing absolutely nothing.
So instead, he goes over his arguments of the practice topic ("The government should never restrict freedom of speech", straightforward enough) in his head as the teacher marks tests and shoots the occasional glare to no one in particular.
"What are you in for?" The voice breaks his concentration and he looks around the room to see who's speaking, only for his gaze to meet that of a senior that he swears is vaguely familiar, but he can't quite place him. There is no immediate shushing, so the teacher that is supposed to be supervising them must be gone, then.
Recognition passes across his face. A smirk. "Oh, you're the one who lead that protest yesterday. Is that what your daily routine's like, wake up, go to school, fight against the system?"
"Police brutality in schools is a major issue," he replies, barely masking his indignance. He doesn't know what this person wants from him – most strangers who have mentioned it either congratulated him or demeaned him, and he is doing neither.
The senior laughs, and it isn't a pleasant sound. "Oh my god, you're actually serious? What, you think you're going to change the world or some shit?" Annoyance creeps up from his stomach and he can feel the urge to argue every point rise up but he suppresses it. He'd only mock him more.
"Of course," he replies automatically with more harshness than is probably required, "and if the people make enough noise, change will come eventually."
A snort. "Yeah, and I'm going to be robot-fighting princess when I grow up."
A pause. Seconds tick by. He's dealt with more difficult people at rallies, but god, how could one person be so annoying? Maybe, if he just ignored him, he'd stop being so bothersome.
"You're not going to keep the conversation going? I'm hurt." he says as if they had never stopped, clutching his heart and giving him an unexpectedly good mock puppy face. He can't help but noticing that his tousled curls really add that 'please?' effect to it.
Evidently, this strategy is not going to work.
He blatantly looks the other way, trying to focus on, say, how he's going to convince administration that protests are signs of a socially involved student body and not "a bunch of kids making a lot of noise because they can", as one of the vice principals had put it.
"You don't even know my name, Apollo." He grins. "I think we should fix that, don't you?"
For a moment, his mind blanks out.
"Are you flirting with me?"
A raised eyebrow. "And what if I am?"
For once, he is at a loss for words. "I –"
The teacher comes back and dismisses them, then leaves again almost immediately.
"Well, that's my cue. See you around, Apollo." The senior gets up and practically strolls out, leaving him wondering what the hell just happened and also with the distinct feeling of wanting to yell at him.
And somehow, he just knows that this is going to happen again.
*'*'*
A/N: This was a gift that I am apparently continuing. I'm not even in this fandom, man.