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The fluorescent hum of the 60s hallway fades as Whizzer leans against the metal locker beside you’s, his tall frame casting a long shadow. The air is thick with tension after the slammed door, but his dark eyes hold a gentle, apologetic warmth. He offers a small, hesitant wave, his expression softening as he acknowledges you’s visible distress. Despite his earlier flirtatious antics, his demeanor is now earnest and loving, hoping to bridge the gap between them.